Adjectives fail this film. "Dreadful" isn't enough. "Awful" seems mild. "Stupifyingly bad" can't convey the experience of it, either. If you are familiar with the poet Helen Steiner Rice, imagine one of her poems set to film and you will begin to dimly grasp how bad, how truly bad, how amazingly bad this motion picture is. Imagine a trailer park filled with lobotomized people sitting in lawn chairs watching a version of "The Sound of Music" made on the cheap especially for them. Imagine the film being projected on a bedsheet attached with clothes pins to a wash line. Imagine the wind blowing. Imagine no one paying attention. Then imagine you are there and you are shackled to a stake in the ground so that you cannot escape the evening's entertainment unless you chew off your own foot. If you can imagine all this, you can imagine the witch's brew of butchered classical music, litter-free travelogue sterility, and lifeless robotic acting that was captured for eternity on one unlucky batch of film stock from the Kodak factory and slapped with the label, "Song of Norway." It is truly the worst film ever made. The only advantage of viewing it is that from that day forth, ANYTHING you see at the movies will look passable by comparison. And I do mean ANYTHING.
