THE APPLE
1980

From 1980 comes an understandably forgotten Goban-Globus production that is not a kickboxer or ninja flick; but rather, a low-rent mixture of Rocky Horror, Xanadu, Grease, with a little half-baked Adam and Eve allegory thrown in, no extra charge. Yes, Virginia, this is a sci-fi musical, with people breaking into song and synchronized dance for no reason whatsoever.

And what a bizarre musical it is! Set in the near future of 1994 Manhattan, but West German-shot (look for the Berlin landmarks), this very early Cannon film is a fable of innocence lost and good triumphing in the end-oops, did I spoil it for you? But along the way we are subjected to some glorious badness in several forms. The actors are often made up in an androgynous Weimar Berlin manner reminiscent of Rocky Horror, one of several coincidences between the two films. Both feature overdone stage acting, and in both the two main characters are two lovebirds from the sticks, who get split up and seduced. The storyline about music industry corruption, among other things, seems to suggest an influence from The Phantom of the Paradise, as well.

Menahem Golan and Yorum Globus made their fortune off of cheap Charles Bronson and Chuck Norris action flicks, and were often executive producers on films. But this time it’s personal! Golan and Globus produced, and Golan is credited as director and co-writer. A cast of unknowns prevails in this charming turkey. George Gilmour, the male lead with the tight pants, doesn’t show much magnetism here, and I’ve been unable to find other acting credits from him. Perhaps now he’s doing local theatre in Germanyor Ireland, or wherever he’s from; I can’t quite place his accent. Sawed-off Roger Daltrey look-alike Alan Love plays pop singer Dandi and Grace Kennedy was his partner Pandi. He’s bad, but she has good pipes and seems like she can act-whatever happened to her? Prolific soundtrack composer George S. Clinton (not the P-Funk guy) and the film’s co-writers also play small roles. With an uncredited cameo by exotica singer Yma Sumac. Female lead Catrine Mary Stewart actually pulls this silliness off better than most of the leads, and indeed may be why she went on to a real career. Her most memorable credits for trash film fans are The Last Starfighter and Night of the Comet.

The filmmakers let you know it’s the future (and definitely NOT the seventies), because everybody has on shimmery suits and has added a tiny streak of spray-in haircolor on their 70s style hairdos. In the world of the 90s, BIM (Boogalow International Music) is the new brainwashing cult/marketing scheme, and all the new hit pop bands are BIM bands. Alphie and Bibi, two innocent small-town kids from Moose Jaw (It’s repeated several times so you can get the joke), make a splash at the Eurovision Song Contest, and so are swept up by Mephistophelean music biz manager Boogalow (pronounced just the way it’s spelled), who promises to make them stars. Alphie has doubts, won’t sign the thick contract, and ends up penniless, while Bibi becomes a huge star singing brainwash crap-pop to the masses. Meanwhile, the cult of BIM grows and grows until it even takes over the gernment. Bibi realizes her mistake a little late, and, well, how much more do I need to say about this thin plot? The BIM marks on the face are now mandatory (another biblical reference, even if it is from Revelations), as is mass enforced exercise. Veering even more wildly towards farce, the film shows people stopping in the middle of whatever they were doing- driving, putting out a fire, performing surgery, etc., to do the state-mandated BIM exercise program.

Boogalow, the undersized Devil figure, talk/sings his way through a horribly misguided reggae song about how he knows how to be a master, or rather, mahstah. “Cultivate a need, grab them by their greed, slaves are guaranteed, when you know how to be a mahstah.” There’s a disco song called “Coming” which is about… guess what. It tries hard to be a Donna Summer–Giorgio Moroder composition, and sports nearly naked couples cavorting in a synchronized modern dance routine simulating sex.

Most of the musical numbers seem to not advance the story too much, with the exception of Bite The Apple, perhaps. The action, such as it is, seems to grind to a halt for Mr. Clinton’s musical orphans. “It’s a natural, natural, natural desire, meet an actual, actual, actual vampire, let the apple set your soul on fire, fire, fire!” And in the Hell scene –Jesus, what can you say about lyrics like “Holy apple, Sacred apple, Take a little chance, Get into a trance, Join me in the apple dance.”

There’s the requisite prancing queen sidekick, the muscled henchmen, the bad girl who wants to be good, the controlling Jewish mother (“You kids today, you’re so Meshuga”) and other kooky background characters, like the Juggalo-esque hoods in jumpsuits, who first boo, then, inexplicably start cheering for Bibi & Alphie’s sickeningly earnest “you’re my shelter from the storm” love ballad, entitled, I shit you not “Love, the Universal Melody”.

Make no mistake, this movie is the clichéd “so bad it’s good” film your Momma warned you about. You may have a hard time deciding which you are most repellently fascinated by, the bizarre songs (“Hey, hey, hey, BIM’s on the way”), inappropriate use of fake accents and red lens filters, the stagey acting, the same ten dancers dressed in a hundred different outfits, the cheap shiny costumes and overdone make-up, the dim lighting, the ridiculous dancing, the international accents of the Manhattan police, the gratuitous drag queens, cheap props (70s station wagons are not futuristic vehicles just because you weld bubbles on them!) or simply the overall bloated 70s period excess. Either way, it’s an overload of bad taste and (I want to believe) good intentions. The question you will most likely consider when watching this film is “What the hell were they thinking?” Like when they wrote a whole dance number about speed that says, “America, the lanof the free, is shooting up with pure energy, and everyday she has to take more.” Instant party classic, if you can handle its’ bad-acid flashback look and way off-Broadway songs. The music is silly and bombastic, but the lyrics are funny and slyly satirical. It’s not easy to write bad music on purpose. Your enjoyment of The Apple may be greatly enhanced by the consumption of adult beverages. Released the same year as (and a poor cousin to) Xanadu and Can’t Stop The Music. Can’t imagine anyone ever thinking that this was cutting-edge or innovative or even commercial, it seems dated before it was even made. Premium hackwork—made on time and on budget and in focus, but artistically incoherent and grabbing wildly from any style that just might still be trendy.

For stills, a trailer and audio files from the film, point your browser towards http://www.mgm.com/title_clip.do?title_star=APPLETHE

-Hysteric Eric