Yes, let’s be upfront: “Perfect” starring Jamie Lee Curtis And John Travolta is not a cinematic masterpiece. It’s not a hidden gem waiting to be rediscovered for its profound artistry. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. But despite its flaws, or perhaps because of them, this movie possesses a strange, irresistible charm that makes it endlessly watchable, especially when you stumble upon it on late-night television.
What is it about “Perfect” that keeps viewers coming back for more, even while acknowledging its profound imperfections? Perhaps it’s the time capsule it offers into the gloriously dated 1980s. The film is brimming with quintessential 80s aesthetics, from the fashion choices to the workout culture. Even the “studly” male characters, with their carefully sculpted physiques, now project an unintended, almost comical, homoerotic undertone to modern eyes.
Then there’s the dialogue – lines so cringe-worthy they circle back to being iconic in their badness. Consider Anne De Salvo’s direct-to-camera plea, “C’mon, guys, make me suffer,” a moment of pure, unadulterated 80s cheese. Or Matthew Reed’s unforgettable declaration of “love at first sight,” based on purely anatomical appreciation. These lines, delivered with complete sincerity, contribute significantly to the film’s unintentional comedic value.
The scenes themselves often veer into the absurd. John Travolta, in a moment that has become legendary for all the wrong reasons, performs his aerobics routine, complete with a strategically placed sock. Larraine Newman’s attempt to embody 80s sex appeal on a leg-spreader serves as a stark reminder that not every fashion trend translates into universal allure. And who can forget Jamie Lee Curtis’s repeated, and somewhat bizarre, insult of calling Travolta a “sphincter muscle”?
Even the plot points defy logic. The notion that Rolling Stone magazine, a publication known for its music and cultural coverage, is portrayed as a hard-hitting news outlet is inherently laughable. The scene where hordes of Boy George fans inexplicably descend upon a hotel adds a layer of surreal randomness. And the depiction of Curtis “deleting” Travolta’s article with a single backspace on what must be the most primitive word processor imaginable further solidifies the film’s commitment to cinematic absurdity.
While “Perfect” is undoubtedly a low point in John Travolta’s filmography – arguably surpassed only by the infamous “Battlefield Earth” – it’s precisely this level of “badness” that makes it strangely compelling. It’s a film that doesn’t take itself seriously, even when it probably should. So, while a paid viewing is certainly not recommended, if you happen to catch “Perfect” starring Jamie Lee Curtis and John Travolta on a local channel, give it a watch. Embrace the sheer, unadulterated awfulness, and you might just find yourself entertained in the most unexpected way.
