Frank Zappa was an absolute teetotaler in his life, apparently never once drinking alcohol or taking drugs. After viewing 200 Motels, his surrealist document of life on the road, it’s hard to believe that. Of course, as someone who never does those things either, maybe I would say that?

The portly Theodore Bikel is a mischievous master of ceremonies who narrates the story from inside an obvious sound studio while Ringo Starr, portraying Larry the Dwarf portraying Zappa himself, runs around creating all kinds of irritable mischief for the scraggly band, the Mothers of Invention.

Once the group lands in the fake (as it’s often referred to) town of Centerville, they get beaten up in a redneck bar, become part of an animated dental hygiene films, sexually harass topless groupies (who, honestly, seem to like the attention) and deal with Who drummer Keith Moon as a sexually aroused nun, true to form.

Of course, what’s really remembered about this film — if it is truly remembered — is possibly for the many musical interludes, often performed by Turtles founders Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan. They’re more than happy to take part in the cinematic debauchery, performing tunes like “Mystery Roach,” “Magic Fingers” and “Strictly Genteel,” backed by an obviously embarrassed London Philharmonic Orchestra.

Zappa’s music — and filmmaking, apparently — is a mishmash of genius-level idiocy, perfectly trolling the music world for, mostly, the 1970s. 200 Motels definitely reaches those somewhat lofty ambitions and then artistically smashes them with a mallet, probably for a song about pubic hair or something. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

Spring is here, and with the sights and sounds of rebirth — flowers blooming, birds chirping, anxious masses clamoring for vaccinations — come thoughts of baseball … well, at least if you happen to be a baseball fan. Any buff of the once-upon-a-time national pastime can rattle off their favorite baseball pictures, but how many know 1953’s Big Leaguer?

As light as a Wiffle ball and as pleasantly bland as a box of Cracker Jack, Big Leaguer marks a curious debut for director Robert Aldrich, who would go on to make some of the cruelest pictures of the 1950s and ’60s, including Kiss Me Deadly, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? and The Dirty Dozen. But constrained by a modest budget and cliché-riddled screenplay, Aldrich let his decidedly less misanthropic side out to play.

To play ball, specifically. The setting is a Florida training camp for the New York Giants, where former third baseman John “Hans” Lobert, played by Edward G. Robinson, has the task of shepherding through a crop of 17- to 22-year-olds – none of whom, by the way, look younger than 28 — harboring big-league dreams.

But it feels petty to quibble about a dearth of age-appropriate actors — or a notable lack of Black baseballers, for that matter — when there is a bounty of stock characters. The prospects include wisecracking Julie (William Campbell), cocky pitcher Bobby (Richard Jaeckel) and gangly nice guy Tippy (Bill Crandall), who is living in the shadow of his ex-first baseman father. Vaguely patronizing comic relief is provided by Chuy (Lalo Rios), a friendly Cuban forever consulting his trusty book of English translation.

The most promising athlete of all is handsome Adam Polachuk (minor leaguer-turned-actor Jeff Richards), but the West Virginian’s near-constant brooding hints at deeper secrets. “From the moment he hit camp with the other kids,” says our sports reporter narrator (Paul Langton), “he was what the folks in baseball call a loner.” As coincidence would have it, even us laypeople know what a loner is. Hans’ pretty niece, Christy (Vera-Ellen), strikes up a romance with Adam and offers tough love to her beau.

Will Hans find that talented rookie who will have them cheering at the Polo Grounds? Will Tippy step out from the shadow of his dad? Will Adam cheer the eff up? Big Leaguer breaks no new ground, but its breezy disposition and hokey-but-agreeable tropes feel as warm and snug as a favorite catcher’s mitt. Robinson gets a chance to swing a bat and wax philosophically, stopping a card game to muse on what it means to be 18. “When you’re 18, you’re tomorrow morning,” Hans muses, gazing off into the distance. “You’re the world giving yourself another chance.”

Even Baseball Hall of Fame pitcher Carl Hubbell pops up for a cameo. Keep your expectations at double-A level and Big Leaguer is a ground rule double. —Phil Bacharach

Get it at Amazon.