Perfect

Adam Lawrence (John Travolta) is a relentless, cynical Rolling Stone reporter from New York. He is in Los Angeles to track down an elusive interview. He has a second idea to write about fitness clubs as the new singles bars. He tries to interview instructor Jessie Wilson (Jamie Lee Curtis) known as the "aerobics pied piper" at The Sport Connection. She refuses due to a previous reporter who wrote that she had an affair with her swim coach. He interviews customers like Sally (Marilu Henner) and Linda (Laraine Newman) who is described by another as "the most used piece of equipment in the gym". He is being pressured to testify about his other interview and hand over his notes. When Adam hands in a sincere story about health clubs, the editor rewrites it as a take down piece digging up the old story about Jessie.

This movie is hopelessly dated. It was probably dated and cheesy even at the time of its release. The aerobics scenes are too extended. They feel like cheesy music videos. I actually don't mind the story. Travolta and Curtis are fine actors. The movie is sincere in the writing. However, it can never truly escape the cheese factor.

My Goodness, what a bomb! We didn't drop anything this big on Iraq!

Perfect is the story of a Rolling Stone reporter (Travolta) who trips over his ethics, or lack there of while writing two big stories. His first story deals with a computer tycoon in hot water with the U.S. government for selling his products to an Eastern-Bloc country. This angle is played way up considering the lack of details we are told about the situation. No matter, the story you will remember deals with a swanky health club in L.A.. Travolta wishes to write a piece about how health clubs in the 1980s are replacing the singles bars of the 1970s as the #1 place for people to meet. Take that premise and see how long you can stretch it. Director Bridges apparently thought he could drag it out for nearly two hours and still keep our attention.

This film suffers from a severe lack of focus. There are too many location changes to count. There is also too much running around and too much time wasted on insignificant little things. For example, what was up with Travolta's sudden trip to Morocco near the end of the film. It had no purpose what so ever! Another problem this film has is its tendency to drag out every scene to last as long as whatever cheesy 80s dance song is playing in the background. That gets old pretty darn quick.

This film is also hopelessly dated in terms of fashion. If any guy came into my health club wearing tights or a fish-net tank top, he'd probably get beaten up. Bridges & CO also try to recycle a gag that worked in Urban Cowboy. In that film, there was a scene featuring numerous women dressed up for a Dolly Parton look-alike contest. In this film, we get about a hundred people dressed up as Boy George in a scene at a hotel. In Urban Cowboy it worked since there was a legitimate reason for all the people to dress that way. They were at least trying to win a contest. The scene in Perfect is useless and it only serves to date the film even further.

This film was by no means Travolta's worst. Has anyone seen The Experts or Shout? This film did, however, have his most embarrassing scene. In it, he's sweating away in Jamie Lee Curtis's aerobics class and doing a never-ending series of pelvic thrusts to the dance beat. His crotch has obviously been stuffed with a sock, or perhaps the thing Hammer used in his Pumps in a Bump video. Truly hilarious!

Travolta is a talented actor, but he has nothing to work with here. Jamie Lee Curtis is also a great talent, but she is wasted as well. She looks absolutely gorgeous, but her character is so moody and abrasive that we can hardly stand her. The supporting cast of mostly unknowns fills out their respective stereotypical roles as well as they can.

In all, this is a poor film on all levels. It tries to be an insightful look at journalistic ethics and falls flat on its face. It comes off as being little more than a two hour plug for Rolling Stone Magazine. Too Bad.

3 of 10 stars

So sayeth the Hound.

A legendary flop and a legendarily bad movie, this mess is part three in a career-killing trilogy of Travolta's that also includes "Staying Alive" and "Two of a Kind". It took him a long time to bounce back. It also stalled Curtis's career for a while until "A Fish Called Wanda" rescued her. The story, such as it is, concerns Travolta, a Rolling Stone magazine reporter, looking for a story angle within a huge gymnasium at the height of the aerobics and fitness craze. He's already working on another more important story, but wants this as a back-up in case an all-important interview falls through. He zeroes in on high-profile aerobics instructor Curtis who has a huge following (which often kisses her on the mouth following one of her workouts!) Unfortunately, she's had a major disaster with a reporter in the past and resists being interviewed for his story. In order for there to be a movie, he must wear her down and get her assistance even though there are 90 other instructors at this mega-gym. The film is very unfocused and disjointed throughout. It tries to be too many things: a reflection of investigative journalism, an ethics drama, an examination of self-esteem issues, a music video crash-course in Jazzercise and, most obviously, a jiggle movie with emphasis on lycra-clad spread legs and tight behinds. The script is so crass and stupid with ludicrous lines like, "You're a sphincter muscle..." (this one is repeated often!) and unnecessary subplots which lead nowhere. Travolta is awful. He speaks his lines with his mouth almost open, stares blankly with no skill at conveying what's on his mind and, in the films most celebratedly horrendous scene, gyrates his bulging crotch at the camera ad nauseam while sweat trickles down his pale, clammy face and body. Curtis looks very fresh and attractive most of the film (if a bit sexually ambiguous) eschewing the huge hair and heavy make-up of the times. Her character is a little too self-righteous, but her acting is better than anyone else around. Wenner, a non-actor, provides a jarring presence whenever he appears because he (along with several other "real" people cast in the film) hasn't got the polish to really sell his role even though it reflects his position in real life (as the founder of Rolling Stone!) Most of the other actors in the film either overact horrendously or flat-line. More importantly, the audience does not care about anyone in the film and so does not care when various events and revelations come about. There is some inherent camp value in revisiting the hilarious workout clothes of the 80's and in hearing the bouncy, tacky music of the era, but the movie is way too long for it's subject matter and the music montages wear out their welcome very quickly. And for all the sweating and gyration, there are no sex scenes in the film. Look out for pansexual Burt Reynolds look-alike (and alleged Travolta bed partner) Barresi in the cast as a gym rat eager to show off his body.

PERFECT reminds you of precisely what you wanted to forget about the mid-80s, including the movie, itself. That's why so many are uncomfortable with it, myself included.

Yes, Jamie Lee looks lovely (though she'd go on to look much better -- and much healthier -- in subsequent films), and it's fun to grin along with Travolta and the Tent in His Shorts in that entirely-too-long "hot aerobics moves" sequence.. But PERFECT is useful for one thing and one thing only, being an send up of East coast pretentiousness and presumptions about the "Los Angeles"/airhead image. Oh yes, and it's probably the only film on earth to mention the ABSCAM scandal of 1980. Give it two stars for that, alone.

There's a not-so-subtle gay undercurrent running through PERFECT be it the impromptu Boy George Fandom conference at the hotel, the pretty blonde fruits prancing around Sport Connection and incredulous "Chippendale (i.e. homosexual) boyfriend" of the aggressively heterosexual Sally; or the purposely genderless introduction of Jessie's "swim coach" rumor. Be honest: you wait with bated breath until the movie provides you with the sigh of relief that the swim coach was indeed male. It could have been worse: all that memory trauma could have been over an allegation of...lecherous PE teacher LESBIANISM...(gasp, the horror!)

Before you tell me I'm imposing today's standards on yesterday's film, consider that these were pertinent issues, particularly for gays and gays-to-be, even (perhaps even "especially") in 1985.

But I found myself actually agreeing with the central message of the film, as articulated by that hokey Travolta analogy on pop culture and individual dreams.

Diagnosis: if PERFECT is any indicator, the "California"/LA image is the fantastic, mass-marketed product of the very people claiming to critique it from such an "objective" distance. Whatever it's funny-ha-ha flaws, anyone over age 35 is acutely aware that we're really only laughing at ourselves, our active denial of blatant, obvious 1980s in your fact homosexuality; our long-spent cans of sparkly rouge, styling mousse, and L'Oreal; synth bass and gated snare dance lines, the wrong-then-and-wrong-now spandex, and pushbutton on-screen/zero-chemistry heterosexual promiscuity.

PERFECT is the warped mirror back in our face. That is precisely WHY it was such a monumental failure at the BO. Two stars for that part, too.

Watching him and Jamie Lee Curtis "workout" was quite entertaining. Aerobics really was the soft core porn of the 80s and there's a lot of it in the movie. They even threw in a Chippendales performance for good measure. The film itself is alright, acting isn't bad and the storyline is ok but the ending is rather cliche and predictable. The soundtrack might be the best part. Fun to watch for nostalgia and the Carly Simon cameo but other than that I don't think there's a lot here really.