My friend Rob and I made a solemn oath to one another that I find myself on the precarious threshold of breaking, but I feel I owe some honesty to those who, on occasion and sometimes against their better judgment, visit this website. This oath, this bond between men as tightly connected as brothers, nay even beyond that of mere kinship of the womb, was deliberated upon as we walked out of the theatre in which we had spent the proceeding two hours watching a film called Battlefield Earth.

We vowed to one another that if questioned by friends, loved ones, and even strangers, about our whereabouts for that duration of time, we were to say that we were, in fact, not anywhere near this or any other theatre showing this movie, we were - as the story was concocted- in an abandoned park on the out skirts of town generally reserved for kiddy porn traders and teens that inhale fuel injector cleaner, having a bout of very rough and tumble Man-sex. Realizing that this might come as a shock to many people, we took consolation that once word got out about this movie our reputations would be better off with the Man-sex story. Though thoughts about the strong embrace of a man sicken me, it is but the sweet nectar of goodness compared to the excruciating experience of the latest John Travolta offering.

Historically Dear John letters have been heartfelt outpours signifying the end of something cherished. Were I to sit down and compose such a letter to Mr. Travolta, the object who’s passing I would mourn would be that of his future credibility in making motion pictures and the $7 I spent to gain admittance. It will not be long until John is left with no other options but to either track down has-been directors in whatever bar they flock to- and whatever tables they are drinking themselves under- begging to re-capture that “pulp fiction magic”, or the often rumored and dreadfully campy “Welcome Back Kotter” Reunion Special.

Of this movie I can say only this: When you make a movie based on a book written by a man so terrible at the authoring of Science Fiction he decides to become God and start his own religion, you will find the results dubious at best.

Quick Jabs:

* The aliens, The Psychos or something belabored to that effect, are nothing more than the pathetic blend of the Coneheads (albeit dirty ones), Klingons from Star Trek, and Bob Marley.

* If plot holes were candy I could have saved 3 bucks on Whoppers.

* Stealing scene sequences from movies like Blade Runner is only a compliment when you do them as good if not better; anything else is tasteless imitation.

* The effects budget for this film was obviously sacrificed so that donations could be made to the Church of Scientology in the name of all those working on this project. L. Ron…I mean God... knows they didn’t spend it on anything as passé as digital effects sequences. Why use computers when the back lot at the studio and some Matte backgrounds drawn by the local high school fit the bill just as good.

* Many parts were so cheesy, I thought the street wandering "man-animals" were at any moment going to break out in an elaborately choreographed routine of "Earth is a Battlefield" mimicking Pat Benetar's song of a similar name- dance moves and all.

To my friend Rob I apologize for putting his integrity on the line by coming forward to speak out against this movie, but I could not resist. I thought I would go the rest of my life and not have Water World knocked from #1 spot of the worst movies I have ever seen but just five years later it rests at a respectable, but still very subservient, #2.

To read Rob's take click here.