The Apple

I’m having trouble getting a handle on THE APPLE.

It’s a rock opera telling of the end time story of the Book of Revelations. It was produced by Yorum Globus and Menachem Goldman (who later made a great deal of money producing cheesy ‘80s action films under their Cannon shingle) and directed by Goldman, with George Clinton helping out with musical duties. It equates David Bowie’s classic glam rock, gender-bending schtick with the Devil, and makes hippies the 144,000 (The same actor plays both the hippie leader and God, who manifests himself to the flower children as the driver of a pimped out Cadillac.). I can only assume that nearly everyone involved with the film was coked out of their minds during the entire production cycle.

Here’s your synopsis: a couple of really sappy ‘70s balladeers (basically The Carpenters, but with less talent. A lot less talent.), get noticed by the Devil, who owns a music company so powerful that it actually controls the government. Mr. Boogaloo (who would later go on to electrify the world of break dancing) tries to seduce the wholesome songsters into the evil world of glam rock, but only one of them bites the (literal and figurative) apple. You can guess which one. From there, it’s a short hop to everyone but the hippies wearing the Mark of the Beast, the fallen seeking forgiveness, God rolling in in that ghastly, tacky Cadillac.

That’s your story, but this is a rock opera. How are the songs? They’re horrible. Unlistenable. Ghastly. Um, really, really bad. The folkies suck. The glammers embarrass themselves. There isn’t a single hummable tune in the whole thing. In fact, the production numbers are so bad that even though they’re the reason for the film’s existence, they feel like interruptions.

But what is THE APPLE trying to tell us? Here’s a movie about Revelation, made by a couple of Jewish guys, that feels like an unholy alliance between the Christian Coalition and the Chicago Seven. It’s the product of a metropolitan film and music industry that feels more at home in Early-‘70s Middle American sexual discomfiture than the free love ethos of the hippies it sanctifies. It stands for nothing that I can see, leaving it a weird mishmash of messages, images, and bad music.

THE APPLE has absolutely nothing to recommend it, whatsoever. Nevertheless, I respect a movie like this more than EVAN ALMIGHTY, my current example of the archetypical mass market product. Golan and Globus failed, but they failed greatly.
There’s some honor in that, at least.