The Apple

Infamous as one of the worst movies ever made, The Apple spirals from the wildest night club fantasies of Cannon Films co-owner Menahem Golan. Which should say a thing or two by itself: Cannon wasn’t exactly known for its distribution of good cinema, and this is one of the guys who called the shots. A spiritual parable set in the far-flung future year of 1994, it traces the steps of a folksy vocal duo who slip into the web of a powerful record executive and learn hard lessons about the business behind the music. Singing all the way, of course, in a bizarre smear of loosely imitated genres that prominently features disco, a full year after the famous “demolition night” at Comisky Park that heralded its public demise. Thus outdated before filming even commenced, it’s no wonder contemporary reviewers were so unkind. Which is *not* to say it’s worthy of a re-evaluation. This fruit is rotten straight through, from the blunt religious metaphors to the confounding plot developments, cheap wardrobe ensembles, shoddy sets, inept actors and a soundtrack that’s downright offensive. It’s bad in all-caps, but it’s not hard to watch, which I consider a prerequisite to entering the exclusive “worst of all time” club. Misguided? Sure. Pathetic? Most definitely. Entertaining? Yeah, it’s that too. I was most certainly laughing at The Apple’s expense, but I still enjoyed myself. That’s worth something. There’s just so much ironic fun to be had. The conniving evil producer that looks like General Zod’s kid brother. The inane holographic stickers glued to everybody’s forehead. The upbeat ode to orgasm that rubs your nose in the blatantly obvious single entendre. The late cut of an essential prologue number that renders the climactic scene (a doozy in and of itself which sees a Rolls-Royce gracefully descend from the clouds) completely random and indecipherable. It’s everything a writer, producer or director can possibly do wrong, all rolled up into one steaming package, but there’s also an energy and optimism and sheer, raw self-belief to it all that’s, honestly, maybe a little bit magical. I hated it on a critical level, but I loved the kind of night it gave me.