Comparisons are often inevitable between some films when they cover the same subject matter. The difference between Robert Klane's "Thank God, It's Friday," a dreadful disco musical with Donna Summer, and director John Badham's disco classic "Saturday Night Fever" is not only a difference in days but also star wattage. Alas, not even Travolta could have salvaged "Thank God, It's Friday." Indeed, nobody could have saved this dreck. INcredibly, Debra Winger got her start in this forgettable film. Furthermore, whatever "Saturday Night Fever" did to promote disco fever, "TGIF" could just as easily undo. The incredible thing is that the director, Robert Klane, is a talented writer who won an Emmy for comedy series "Tracey Takes On." The action of "TGIF" occurs in and around the Zoo, a lavish, mirror-plated, space-age discotheque located in Southern California. As the film opens, swirling with aerial shots of the city's night life, an assortment of characters, all played by a youthful cast of unknowns, flock to the Zoo for various reasons. They go to win a dance contest, debut as a vocalist, pick up guys and/or gals or enliven a dreary marriage.
The Armyan Bernstein screenplay is an overdone, episodic shambles that never really gets its act together. Whereas "Saturday Night Fever" used the disco scene to offer insights into its hero, "TGIF" exploits the disco scene as an excuse to bring together its more than 10 characters. Far too many characters populate this shoddy dance musical, and it doesn't help matters much that they're not on screen long enough for the audience to identify with them. "Saturday Night Fever" had one unifying character, while "TGIF" contains a number of one-dimensional shadows drifting into and off of the dance floor.
If this isn't bad enough, consider the cast and the acting. Yeech! Everybody here hams it up. To get their points across, the guys use sparring gestures. The gals stand around and look dazzling but do nothing short of wearing their warpath well. There is even a John Travolta imitator who looks like a Martian version of Count Dracula, yes, Jeff Goldblum! Goldblum is a womanizer who owns the Zoo.
Only a teenager mentality could appreciate the level of Bernstein's humor. One scene has a man dance wildly across the roofs of cars only to fall through the roof of a convertible. Another has a sawed-off, pot-bellied man using the same profane line every time that he runs into somebody. One of the film's running jokes is a sports car owned by Tony Di Marco (Goldblum). He parks it and with loving care wraps it up, then whenever anybody drives into the Zoo, they accidentally smash into it, reducing it to a heap. Hah! Hah! Hah! "Thank God, It's Friday" isn't a total loss. Emmy winning lenser James Crabe's color photography is nice to look at, as are the strobe light effects. Donna Summer provides momentary relief from the predictable plot when she sings "Last Dance for Love," and later when the Commodores appear on-stage.
Suffice to say, director Robert Klane directed this mess with his left foot. Even the choreography looks uninspired. If you really like to disco, let dis-movie-go.
The Armyan Bernstein screenplay is an overdone, episodic shambles that never really gets its act together. Whereas "Saturday Night Fever" used the disco scene to offer insights into its hero, "TGIF" exploits the disco scene as an excuse to bring together its more than 10 characters. Far too many characters populate this shoddy dance musical, and it doesn't help matters much that they're not on screen long enough for the audience to identify with them. "Saturday Night Fever" had one unifying character, while "TGIF" contains a number of one-dimensional shadows drifting into and off of the dance floor.
If this isn't bad enough, consider the cast and the acting. Yeech! Everybody here hams it up. To get their points across, the guys use sparring gestures. The gals stand around and look dazzling but do nothing short of wearing their warpath well. There is even a John Travolta imitator who looks like a Martian version of Count Dracula, yes, Jeff Goldblum! Goldblum is a womanizer who owns the Zoo.
Only a teenager mentality could appreciate the level of Bernstein's humor. One scene has a man dance wildly across the roofs of cars only to fall through the roof of a convertible. Another has a sawed-off, pot-bellied man using the same profane line every time that he runs into somebody. One of the film's running jokes is a sports car owned by Tony Di Marco (Goldblum). He parks it and with loving care wraps it up, then whenever anybody drives into the Zoo, they accidentally smash into it, reducing it to a heap. Hah! Hah! Hah! "Thank God, It's Friday" isn't a total loss. Emmy winning lenser James Crabe's color photography is nice to look at, as are the strobe light effects. Donna Summer provides momentary relief from the predictable plot when she sings "Last Dance for Love," and later when the Commodores appear on-stage.
Suffice to say, director Robert Klane directed this mess with his left foot. Even the choreography looks uninspired. If you really like to disco, let dis-movie-go.