Saturday night I did something that I really never thought I'd do. What could it be, you ask? Did I go skydiving? Did I eat live roaches? Perhaps I did something so depraved and debauched that I can't possibly divulge the details lest your eyes burst into flame right there in yer wee head! Well, close. I watched Ishtar. On purpose. My friend Melissa has sworn for years that Ishtar is not only not the worst movie of all time, it is in fact one of the best movies of all time (in a strictly 'so bad it's good' kind of way, but still). I've often been known to roll my eyes at such declarations because a) she has a thing for Dustin Hoffman movies and b) her favorite director is David Lynch -- she might watch just about anything. (Case in point: She loves Eraserhead. Have you seen Eraserhead????) (Hi Missa! Love you, honey!!)
So, Ishtar had been on, she had Tivoed (Tivoed?) it, I was over, and she finally wore me down. Sure, I said, let's just watch the damned thing. I have to admit, though, that the first twenty minutes are funny. It's kind of a sad, head-shaking funny, but it's definitely funny. They're songwriters, they're awful at it, and you laugh. But. Then they go to Africa. And it's horrible. Horrible, people. Granted, Charles Grodin does a fine job of playing Charles Grodin playing a CIA agent (oh, c'mon, you know what I mean) and there's a cute little bit part for Max Headroom (Yay! Love Max Headroom!) but, suprisingly, that's not enough.
I'd watch the first twenty minutes over again, though. Which is more than I can say for Jurassic Park.