The Worst Film Ever

Memorable, crazy movie

It really made me laugh, but for some moments I was tearing up because I could relate so much.

The film never slows down or bores, plunging from one harrowing sequence to the next.

"Welcome To LA" is a dated film involving ten characters whose only shared trait seems to be loneliness. The movie plays like a moody tone poem, and there are no comedic, dramatic, or action-filled sequences... just a bunch of urban sun-bums looking lost and hopelessly mellow.Keith Carradine redefines the term "slacker" for the Me Generation, as he wanders around LA with a soul patch having intercourse with a score of women while never once changing his expression. He's supposedly an artist, with troubles in his romantic life and familial relationships, but he is so centered, so serene, so placid, that he comes off more as a Buddhist monk or Jedi Knight.He has occasional flashbacks to his former lover played by Diahnne Abbott, and I have to believe that no man would ever forget this woman. In her wordless seconds of screen time here, just like her tiny roles in "Taxi Driver" and "New York, New York," you can see that this is one of the most gorgeous, sexual women ever to walk the Earth... she's got the jungle in her, and this is the type of woman men kill other men to be with. She was my favorite part of the movie.Between stories involving the grating Geraldine Chaplin and the sexy Sally Kellerman we keep cutting back to Richard Baskin as a singer/songwriter recording his album in a studio. These songs and the montages cut around them- which were presumably meant to be the heart of the film- are rendered unlistenable by the foul, nails-on-blackboard voice of Baskin. The fact that this man was ever allowed behind a microphone is a crime against the eardrum. Instead of the soulful, contemplative center of the story, we get a talentless drone warbling clichéd lyrics while the leads bemoan their fate. Nothing makes the heart ache like sunshine.The only other bright spot is Sissy Spacek, a woman of unbelievable beauty and depth, who effortlessly steals the show whenever she's on screen. Ms. Spacek can be a naive little girl one minute, an intellectual adult the next, and a lusty sexpot only seconds later. If you love her like I do check out "Violets Are Blue" in which she plays a woman so irresistible you cannot help but fall in love."Welcome To LA" is supposed to show the isolation and loneliness that exists even in the hedonistic, superficial world of La-La Land... the trouble is we wind up with a movie that confirms our worst beliefs about the place: These characters have no right to be this bummed... it's shallow, narcissistic self-pity. But it makes for a great late-night movie. Grade: C

I cannot begin to explain how terrible this movie is. The characters are all to a person lobotomized caricatures of some race of extinct humans no museum will ever display, and the sordid storylines weren't any of them, worth telling. Among its many plain vanilla amateurish mistakes and misfires, there is in this film, a classic example of cinematic badness. I believe it would be considered the climax? Maybe I'm wrong. Anyway, music and musicians are sort of important to the `plot'. Carradine is frustrated, over luded songwriter. Of course the soundtrack and incidental music is so unbelievably bad, and inappropriate, that it was slowly grating my nerves to Romano cheese. Here's the bad part, roughly 3/4 of the way through, a bunch of the characters who are sort of interrelated, come together at a recording session, to hear this guy who aint really in the movie other than this scene, record a tune. You are then assaulted with this incredibly bad, I mean like Gong show bad singer, who belts out a 10 minute tune that Joni Mitchell might throw together if you struck her in the head with a leaded croquet mallet. But just the whole scene, the director doing these montages, spliced with the people grooving away to this sad example of musical mediocrity, in the studio really made me want to break something. In fact, I have to see it again, just to relive that intense emotion. The 70s have always seemed to me in many ways just a huge embarrassment for humanity, especially this nation. I watch a movie like this and those thoughts are totally reinforced. You like Sissy Spacek? I never really did, but she walks through a scene topless, and its pretty doggone good.

This is a bad movie. It wouldn't be worth saying so, except that Alan Rudolph is capable of making moderately entertaining movies (The Moderns, Mrs. Parker, Equinox), and even one very good movie (Choose Me). For a movie about people to work, the characters must either be nice or interesting--an ordinary person may charm us, and even a villain may fascinate us. But this movie has about a dozen characters, none of whom give us any reason either to like them or hate them or be interested in them. A few are given artificial eccentricities, but we can see through the false effort. They wander aimlessly through random meaningless sexual couplings in suburban Los Angeles, accompanied by an unremittingly dreary soundtrack. This is a one-note movie, in which the one note is a sour one.

You can't help but compare it to the other big L.A. Statement Movies--Altman's SHORT CUTS, and P.T. Anderson's MAGNOLIA. I like Rudolph's way better than either of those: it's gentler, humbler, more observant, truer. Limiting himself to a dozen or so L.A. habitues, Rudolph starts with one funny, correct move: no movie people. The dances of disconnection, attempted connection, failed connection, and--stunning!--connection accomplished are as tender and as finely, thinly observed as Rudolph has ever pulled off. So many beautiful moments here: the best comes when Keith Carradine, as a dupe of his sleepy-stud character from NASHVILLE, breaks up a romance to go on a healing mission with a half-crazy housewife (Geraldine Chaplin). When his philandering with her rescues her marriage during a tense phone call in his apartment, Carradine's face spreads with gladness and relief. The rightness and the unexpectedness of the moment is fantastic. Even more than the goofy, enjoyably romantic CHOOSE ME, this is the one where Rudolph got it all right. And no other movie captures L.A.'s peculiar loneliness like this one: he doesn't hype anything or play to the tourist mentality--something that could not always be said for his mentor, and the movie's producer, Robert Altman.