This is one of those films that starts with a bad title and only gets worse.
If I recall, I saw this at my friend Kirk's tenth birthday party and it was the first time I used the word 'dreck' in a sentence.
'Unidentified Flying Oddball' has all the appearance of having been written and filmed over a long weekend. Edited in someone's basement one night over a keg of beer.
One thing sticks in my memory like an oak splinter: the way Spaceman Tom never called King Arthur 'your majesty' or 'sire,' but instead just plain ol' good ol' 'King.' As in 'hey, King, get yer hands offa my girl, see.' If you like that sort of talk, and your brain development arrested in grade three, then the team behind 'Unidentified Flying Oddball' wants you.
The science was excellent, however. I know now that if I ever need to defend myself from a deathly laser beam, I need only wear the shiniest armour I can find ('Say, King, gimme yer armor! Now don't get all persnickety on me, see? I'll give it back all nice and proper-like, and polished up with good ol' American spit shine').
Disney produced this matted ass-hair sandwich in the days before they became the media Godzilla they are now. Their stock was leaning into the toilet in those days and, hey, so will you after seeing this film.
Incoherent plot, humourless gags, crummy special effects, poor sets. It's not a good kid's film. Not a good film, even though based on a Mark Twain story. But I may change my tune. Perhaps someday I'll see this movie the way I presume it was meant to be seen. On crack.
