Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, or WTF Were They Thinking?

So, having nothing better to do on a Wednesday night, I cued up the old Netflix queue and decided to try out this film I had heard about but had never experienced: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Have. Left. The. Words. Me.

What an utterly bizarre mishmash. Covers that (with one definite, and one possible, exception) should never have been attempted. A rambling pseudo-plot that doesn’t make enough sense to be called surrealist.

I could go on and on. So, let’s just do a “WTF” list of the top weird things in this…this…I don’t even know what to call it…

Peter Frampton‘s acting: When was he going to “come alive”?
Barry Gibb‘s hair: That magnificent mane, that glorious coiffure; it needed its own acting credit. I haven’t seen a head of hair steal a movie like that since The DaVinci Code.
Really, George Burns? Really? Had the “Oh, God!” money run out?
Steve Martin channeling Boris Karloff for “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer”. I can’t get it out of my head. Short of using a hammer. Oh the irony.
Billy Preston raising the dead with laser beams. Laser beams! And they gave him a trumpet to do it? If he had used a keyboard, I could have bought that…
You have singing robots with electronic voices and you don’t think to just have Pete Frampton “talk box” the part? Wasted opportunities…
Okay…so the town everybody wants to save is Heartland, America. But all the good guys are British and the bad guys are American. Weird, huh?
Donald Pleasence or Ringo Starr? I’m still not sure…
I totally don’t buy that the Bee Gees and Peter Frampton beat Aerosmith up. That just can’t happen in this universe.
Okay, I admit it. At first I thought Donald Pleasence actually was Ringo Starr.
What the hell ever happened to Lovely Rita, the Meter Maid? Huh? What has Mean Mr. Mustard done with her? Seriously–you manage to work in a guy named “Sunk” who dropped the ‘k’ to become the Sun King but you couldn’t work in a lousy traffic enforcement officer?

So anyway, enough of that. I just had to get it off my chest. And then I cleansed my palate with some Humble Pie and Uriah Heep.

Because I don’t have any silver hammers laying around and I’ve punished myself enough.

About Shedrick

I am a professional librarian and a part-time writer that's working to do that the other way around. I currently live in North Texas in the lovely city of Denton (“The Home of Happiness“) with my lovely wife and the obligatory demon-spawn cats. When not writing, gaming, or watching cheezy kung-fu flicks, I can sometimes be found in a pub (or the American equivalent) enjoying a fine brew.

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