It’s for kids, but I’m not sure kids enjoy it anymore. Francis Ford Coppola! George Lucas! Michael Jackson! Er. Hmm. The first was lost and coasting, the second had not yet been unmasked as something less than the Greatest Visual Genius of His Era, and Michael Jackson was still black and popular and charismatic, but you know how the story ends: with a snootful of rhino trank and a paralyzing fear of the outside world. From the beginning the Dismay you feel is enormous: it’s a two-headed chicken Muppet-thing running a spaceship with Comic Relief Alien Elephant and a cat with butterfly wings. Also a robot with a monocle. I repeat: a robot. With a monocle. They have to save a planet through dance; this is accomplished by shooting light beams at minions who turn into Fiercely Dressed professional prancers with 1985 hairstyles who make serious faces while executing certain steps. The evil queen, who is sort of a proto-Borg suspended by wires and tubes – the only thing in the piece that still holds up – is turned into Anjelica Huston, and then it’s over.
Oh, it’s 3-D and interactive; must have been quite novel back then, but at the end when the spaceship takes off into the vacuum and you feel wind on your face, well.
“That. Was. Bizarre,” said daughter.
“That was the 80s,” I said. I didn’t tell her that her mom once sported the ‘do the lead dancer had, a modified Sheena Easton, and it was hot.
Eighties hairstyles look very eighties now (think girlfriends in Back To The Future), but they didn’t seem so bad at the time.
Also, a bonus disquisition on how twelve is hard.