Review of Good Times

Introduction

Made a few years before Sonny and Cher were the King and Queen of American TV (imagine a bohemian Richard and Judy, if you dare) with their long-running ‘Comedy Hour’ in the early 70s, Mr. & Mrs. Bono indulged in this shamelessly vain movie vehicle directed by a young and presumably dumb William Friedkin (yes, he of ‘The Exorcist’ and ‘The French Connection’). Playing themselves, Sonny and Cher waltz around a mere pretence of a plot doing what presumably their fan’s love to see them do. The fact that this was the first and last cinematic vehicle for their talents speaks volumes.

Video

Surprisingly colourful and well-defined non-anamorphic transfer that isn’t nearly as grainy or ridden with digital leprosy as we’ve come to expect from low-key releases such as this.

Audio

The packaging promises us that we only have to listen to Cher’s crooning in one mono channel, so what a fright I received when low and behold my surround sound system exploded with her incessant southern twang. Brrrrr.

Features

Profiles of Sonny Bono, Cher and director Friedkin, as well as a slide-show (a picture gallery with music) that ends with a staggering abruptness. There is also some animated menus and a chance to watch the in-movie songs with out the hindrances of a surrounding movie.

Conclusion

Unfazed by an insignificant war being waged in south-east Asia, or the start of the greatest social divide in the nation’s history, the variety show duo sing, dance, bicker, pun and generally flit their way through 90 minutes of incomprehensible flower-fun and some mild psychedelic razzmatazz not even your granny could find offensive. The story (keep up now) involves Sonny’s attempts to convince a reluctant Cher to sign on the dotted line to a movie deal with dubious grandpa movie honcho Mordicus (George Sanders) and the resulting abortive production. The obligatory Hollywood satire this results in is about as subtle and savage as being tickled by a feather.

Okay, so its not without very occasional breaths of disarmingly innocent humour (“You are now entering Mordicus Enterprises, please wipe your feet”) or Friedkin’s chaotic bravura (judged almost solely by some cracking opening judo, of all things). Any suspicions that this is actually a movie however are soon washed away with colourful production design, spunky song and dance numbers (mercilessly sparse) and hopeless acting.

Unsurprisingly, the appeal of the film rests squarely on Sonny & Cher’s ability to hold the screen. Well, Cher (if you can recognise the pre-op version) looks like she’d rather be in the ‘s***’ over ‘in country’ than making this film. Sonny’s performance is as wooden and incoherent as the film’s babbling collection of disassociated sketches masquerading as narrative. Presumably, Sonny’s innate immaturity and hippie innocence is supposed to charm the living daylights out of the baby boomers whom this is presumably aimed; a dopey appeal that is coincidentally completely lost on me. Nevertheless, even though she inhabits considerably less screen time than her irritating other half, Cher radiates a certain degree of natural charisma underneath the bored glances. But really, this is a glorified exercise in two burgeoning superstars playing dress-up. Quite why they even bothered pretending the film had a plot is anyone’s guess. For those fixated with the duo, this will be some sort of Heaven, for everyone else, its bordering on incitement to burn down another Woodstock.