Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band – CliqueClack Flashback

“A film with a dangerous resemblance to wallpaper.”
— David Ansen, Newsweek

It was a lazy Saturday night.

No one was really “feeling” anything and no one could really agree on anything to watch. There was no motivation at all. A general apathy hovered in the air that couldn’t even be remedied with a quick jaunt to the local Redbox to pick something relevant up. So … it was a virtual cruise through the DVR to see what we could see. (Stuff needed to be gone through and cleaned up there anyway.)

And, all of a sudden, there it was. Those (mostly) 6 words, staring back at you: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. A little bit of dread filled my mind. I felt a slight chill run down my spine and I thought I caught a hint of hackle rising at the nape of my neck. It was nothing more than my imagination of course … until I found myself moving my lips and words coming out from between them, words I thought I would never hear myself utter.

But … I did: “Sure. Why not?”

Then, just as quickly as they’d been uttered, I wondered to myself if it was possible to take them back. I couldn’t, of course. They just lingered out there for a moment on that fog of apathy I mentioned, cutting through it, then quickly dispersing to be lost somewhere where no one could find them. But they were spoken. They had been heard. And there was no turning back from them.

The program was accessed and, arguably, the worst film ever made began issuing out the television screen.

Now, really: How bad could it be? Had folks simply vilified this film to the point there was more rumor to it than actual truth about it being so terrible? I mean come on … Beatles’ tunes, George Burns, Peter Frampton and The Bee Gees. I asked myself again: How bad could it be? Plus, toss in the fact there were some pretty nifty cameos within it (Steve Martin, Alice Cooper, Aerosmith, Mr. Homn of Star Trek: TNG among others) and you have a night’s worth of entertainment so long as there’s a Coca Cola and popcorn at the ready. Maybe some Jujubes, just in case.

Well … let me tell you something: Excusing yourself to get up and go get a Coke or three and pop some popcorn (or burn some popcorn several times over so you don’t have to go sit back down to watch the thing, instead needing to air out the cloud of burnt popcorn smoke hovering in the kitchen, waving fresh air at the the smoke alarm with a dish towel to get it to stop blaring or pumping the outside door back and forth in an effort to air out the place of acrid corn kernel scorchery) isn’t such a bad alternative to forcing yourself to pay attention to this 1978 musical.

It was tedious. It was horrible. It was campy beyond the point of campiness. You realize that George Burns is the only one who has any real dialog in the film? Do you have any idea how many continuity errors there are in this piece of work? (Case in point: When Steven Tyler takes the microphone to sing, you can see there is no cord attached to it, only the prongs of the mike connection staring back at you.) I witnessed a funeral bouquet begin to slide down Strawberry Field’s glass coffin as the cast carried her. Cheesecake ’70’s electronic noises filled my ears. Even worse hokey special effects worthy of a Z-grade science fiction flick glared across the screen. I saw Maurice Gibb give me the “auh-how-HOW” look during the dinner scene with Donald Pleasence when he realized he was going to “get lucky.” *shiver*

Honestly? The video below of “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” was one of only two tolerable parts of the film. Just watching Steve Martin yuck it up is worth the price of admission. (Since there was no admission paid other than the time it took to get through this epic disaster no harm, no foul I guess.) It’s very indicative of his “King Tut” performance on Saturday Night Live back in the day:

The only other redeeming quality to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was the ending. The cast was joined by their “Guests at Heartland,” a cornucopia of ’70’s singers and musicians and icons and stars and more who, supposedly, were connected to The Beatles in some way, shape or form and who “recreated” The Beatles famous Sgt. Pepper’s album cover. The fun I had was in trying to identify who all the members were in the ensemble. (Note: I was able to identify almost 75% of them with the aid of the trusty DVR.)

Honestly, there is a bevy of camp, comedic or otherwise dreadful films floating around out there which would much better suit your purposes if you just don’t care what to watch on a lethargic Saturday night.

My suggestion? If you respect the person who stares back in the mirror at you, your friends and the ones you love, do yourself a favor and seek any of those other films out. (Look: Here’s one for you.)

Just leave Sgt. Pepper’s out of the mix. You’ll thank me later.

“… [he] would seem to need direction merely to find the set, let alone the camera.”
– Paul Nelson of Rolling Stone on the film’s director Michael Schultz

Clacked by Michael Noble
on May 22, 2012 @ 09:00 EST5EDT