In the realm of bad musicals, most know about Can’t Stop the Music and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. But Train Ride to Hollywood is so bad, I’m told it was barely released. Before the Village People and Bee Gees made their ill-fated attempts at box-office glory, the four-man R&B group Bloodstone — perhaps best-known for the hit “Natural High,” which you heard in Jackie Brown — gave it a try.

I’m thinking they shouldn’t. Playing themselves, Bloodstone is about to go onstage for a concert when one of the members slips and conks his noggin, forcing him into an unconscious world that we must endure along with him for 80-some-odd minutes. When Martin Luther King Jr. said he had a dream, certainly he meant the opposite of this, which casts the guys as train conductors only a step or two above the demeaning level of Stepin Fetchit.

Said choo-choo is headed to Tinseltown, and the passengers are impersonations of movie legends Humphrey Bogart, W.C. Fields, Dracula and Clark Gable, who uses the “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn” joke more than once. Also aboard are a sheik with seven whores, Caged Heat’s Roberta Collins as Jean Harlow, and most notably, Terminal Island’s Phyllis Davis squeezed into Scarlett O’Hara’s corset. Marlon Brando kills some of the passengers by having them smell his armpits. Oh, sorry: spoiler alert. And one of the guys boxes a gorilla.

Yes, it sure sounds wacky, but it’s a groaner without a clue, much less a successful gag. Admittedly, the songs Bloodstone wrote for the film aren’t bad — a couple of them are even as catchy as herpes — but it’s like wrapping a pizza not in a cardboard box, but a discarded diaper. Would you want to eat that? —Rod Lott

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As an actor, Sidney Poitier is an icon, a living legend, and one of the most important performers in the history of cinema, but as a director, he left a lot to be desired. The success of his biggest hit, Stir Crazy, had far more to do with the chemistry of stars Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor than anything he brought to the table, while Ghost Dad, his fourth collaboration with fellow icon, living legend, etc., Bill Cosby, is remembered only as one of the worst movies of the early ’90s (although such is Poitier’s bulletproof pop-culture status, few are aware he had anything to do with it).

Poitier’s third go-round with Cosby, A Piece of the Action (it followed 1974’s Uptown Saturday Night and 1975’s Let’s Do It Again) is about a million times better than Ghost Dad, but that doesn’t stop it from being a bizarre amalgamation of blaxploitation crime comedy and serious social-message movie. The first and best part is a comedic thriller about a thief (Cosby) and con man (Poitier) whose past crimes cause them to be at the mercy of both a retired police detective (James Earl Jones) and the local mobsters whom Poitier once ripped off to the tune of $400,000.

The second part, which bears the clear mark of Poitier collaborator Stanley Kramer (Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner and The Defiant Ones) deals with Poitier’s To Sir, with Love-esque attempts to teach a group of “Afro-American” teenagers how to become desirable job candidates, when he and Cosby are blackmailed by Jones to perform community service for a local charity organization. While this portion is a tad earnest and preachy, it’s far from unbearable. The problem is that for all of the time we spend with it, it never connects with the events from the first half, thereby feeling tacked-on and unnecessary. Add romantic subplots for both protagonists, and it’s amazing the film isn’t longer than its already overstuffed 135 minutes.

Despite this, A Piece of the Action is worth seeking out. The only frustration that comes from watching it is the knowledge that if someone at Warner Bros. had the balls to tell its director to cut 40 minutes from the running time, a good film might have become great one. But then again, who among us would have the balls to tell Sidney Fucking Poitier to do anything he didn’t want to do? —Allan Mott

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