This turd won't send many running to Thomas Berger's rich novel, which is a shame. The book is everything the film failed to be: a scathing satire on moronic American suburban life.
The problem is a director far out of his depth. Though armed with a script largely faithful to its subversive source material, director John Avildsen (Rocky, Karate Kid) is a maker of feel-good entertainment who hasn't a clue how to handle satire or absurdity. It's like asking John Ashcroft to rap.
While Belushi is serviceable and Akroyd is fun, we can only imagine how this last partnership might have turned out in competent hands. They're frequently misdirected by Avildsen who thinks he's doing Reagan-era Abbott and Costello. Painful; read the novel.
The problem is a director far out of his depth. Though armed with a script largely faithful to its subversive source material, director John Avildsen (Rocky, Karate Kid) is a maker of feel-good entertainment who hasn't a clue how to handle satire or absurdity. It's like asking John Ashcroft to rap.
While Belushi is serviceable and Akroyd is fun, we can only imagine how this last partnership might have turned out in competent hands. They're frequently misdirected by Avildsen who thinks he's doing Reagan-era Abbott and Costello. Painful; read the novel.