The moment the opening credits begin, featuring clumsy choreography and awkward editing set to the strains of a song that is not remotely danceable, there's something immediately 'off' about the tone, and nothing about the next 90 minutes is going to get much better. From the first moments of this misbegotten sequel, the viewer is struck by the fact that for all his successes in front of the camera, Sylvester Stallone is absolutely the worst choice to direct a dance musical: he treats this like it's a music video, and has zero feel for the visual flow of dance, and while he may have won an Oscar for 'Rocky', no such characterization exists in this film; instead, we're left with stock characters from any number of films: the faithful, saintly girlfriend, the icy-cold bitch who at no time really displays any talents more impressive than anyone else on screen (shades of 'Showgirls'!), the finale that is supposed to be spectacular...And at its center lies John Travolta, already into his 1980s slump, and who here exhibits little of the rough charm that helped make he, and his character Tony Manero, a sensation in 'Saturday Night Fever'; instead, there's just boundless 'attitude' and glaring angrily in an effort to display 'determination'. The script, of course, calls for Tony Manero to fall helplessly for the queen of this latest Broadway show he's joined, the aforementioned cold bitch, whom you KNOW is chilly because she's British (soap opera actress Finola Hughes doing her low-rent take on Joan Collins), even though nothing about her is remotely hypnotizing, and, of course, his relationship with his faithful girlfriend (a likeable Cynthia Rhodes, far better than the film deserves) suffers, though at bi time does his character show Amy warmth or love towards her. And then there's the music: though the Bee Gees are touted as having been featured on six songs throughout the film, their music here - with the exception of a reprise of the title track - is their most inconsequential, and none of it - like all the other music contained in this misfire - is music anybody can seriously dance to, and that's because gone is the disco in favor of early-80's rock with a driving tempo. Of course, the finest dance tunes couldn't bring life to choreography that belongs on 'Solid Gold' or a cruise ship (the finale is especially guilty of this, and I now truly believe it inspired the main show in 'Showgirls', pure camp). Any of the gritty realism the original had has been jettisoned and replaced by the glossy sheen of a workout video. (That director Stallone makes a cameo in full fur coat and huge sunglasses says all you need to know about the movie in general.)
Review of Staying Alive
