‘Staying Alive’ Probably Deserves Its 0% Rotten Tomatoes Rating — But It’s Also An Endlessly Fascinating Glimpse Into Sly Stallone’s Worldview

“You never get a second chance to make a first impression.” The ad wizards who wrote that copy were certainly onto something when they created this memorable tagline, but Decider’s “Take Two” series was specifically formulated in a laboratory by the world’s foremost pop culture scientists to provide a second chance for movies that made a less than stellar first impression upon their original release.

1983’s Staying Alive, the six-year-after sequel to Saturday Night Fever, is a movie not just worthy of a second look, but, in  this citizen’s book, a compulsively rewatchable movie. Now, that’s not because it’s anything like what we accept as “objectively good.” No, if any movie deserved its 0% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, this is definitely one of them. Nor does its fascination lie in the “so bad it’s good” category. Yes, the movie has its share of howlers, both in the concept and dialogue department, but its lapses in competence are of a different order than what you find in the likes of The Room or Plan 9 From Outer Space. No, Staying Alive is special because it is, in a sense, the ne plus ultra of auteurist films, an almost shockingly transparent glimpse into the mind and worldview of its co-writer and director Sylvester Stallone. And why wouldn’t such a document be of interest?

When he was tapped to direct Staying Alive — the idea came when star John Travolta told the producers that he wanted this long-gestating sequel to have the same energy that he saw in the then-just-released Rocky III, and the producers noticed that, hey, that film’s director, Stallone himself, was available. In the aftermath of Staying Alive’s poor showing with audiences, Stallone himself allowed that he might have been better served by learning a little more about dancing than he had, but the movie nonetheless teems with autobiographical elements for Sly. The Tony Manero in this film of course resembles the Tony Manero in Saturday Night Fever. But there’s much more Stallone in this character. (It helps that both the fictional Tony and real-life Sly had similar backgrounds, obviously.) 

In a little over half a decade, Stallone had gone from almost literally starving artist to phenomenally well-off megastar. With Staying Alive he clearly saw the opportunity to recount his own Bitter Years of Early Struggle. When, in this movie, Tony talks about how his mother is distrustful of his Broadway ambitions because he’s worried that he’ll do onstage nudity, it seems rather far-fetched. But then you remember when the starving Stallone played nude in the 1970 adult film Party at Kitty and Studs, and you imagine poor Jackie Stallone’s reaction to that, and it all makes sense. 

One reason Saturday Night Fever has such an enduring place in the pop culture firmament is that people tend to, when remembering it, think of the poster pose and the soundtrack — not the movie itself. The movie’s a good one, yes, but it’s more like a Kitchen Sink Drama than a dance musical. Tony Manero and his feral Bay Ridge crew are a bunch of racist, sexist mooks. The movie’s story centers around Tony’s eventual understanding —spurred by an epiphany that the dance contest he won with Karen Lynn Gorney’s Stephanie was rigged to squeeze two Puerto Rican contestants out of first place — that in his world, “Everybody’s gotta dump on someone else.” His subsequent rage compels him to try to force himself on Stephanie. Few movies would count a finale in which the couple we assumed would end up together resolve to move forward as “just friends,” but that’s the best hope the movie can offer. 

Tony is a real PROBLEMATIC here, and Travolta’s performance is exemplary in its discipline, he doesn’t let his natural charm undercut the character’s very rough edges. 

In Saturday Night Fever, Tony has to change his outlook on life, and has to change his whole way of life, just like in that Rilke poem. In Staying Alive, Tony is perfect — not just mentally and spiritually, but physically, with a newly chiseled body courtesy of the Stallone Fitness Program.  All he needs is a break. Walking the crowded streets of Manhattan, he jostles a shorter man wearing a smooth fur jacket — whaddya know, it’s the director himself, who turns and gives him a “who do you think you are” look. But Sly can’t quite suppress his admiration for the figure he’s molded as his past self. 

There are two plot threads in the movie: One, how Tony gets a rung up on the ladder of Broadway stardom, and two, how he juggles his love life. Upon meeting Broadway dancing star Laura, Tony already has a steady, the Certifiably Nice Jackie (Cynthia Rhodes), also a dancer and also a singer, in a band fronted by Sly’s real-life brother Frank, and that plays regularly at CBGB despite not being in the least bit punk and only kind of being a little bit rock. (Frank’s own soundtrack songs here, beginning with the title theme, “Far From Over,” are very “BAH DUMP DUMP DUMP DUMP” motivational operettas.) Finola Hughes’ Laura, on the other hand, is British, snooty, has a lot of money, and leads Tony into bed strictly for her own personal pleasure, which rubs Tony the wrong way.

And why not? Before hitting the sack, the pair has a Getting To Know You In Central Park Montage scored to the song “I Love You Too Much,” which, despite being an actual Bee Gees tune, sounds like a B-team iteration of “How Deep Is Your Love.” This is supposed to be a romance, obviously, so Tony chafes when told “Look. We had a good time…” There’s also the question as to whether Laura pulled some strings to get Tony the gig in her next show.

One thing that makes Staying Alive so special is that it stretches about forty-five minutes worth of narrative into a 93 minute movie. The scene in which Tony is struck by the Sicilian Thunderbolt driven by Finola Hughes’ Laura is an endless shot-reverse-shot of Travolta making slack-jawed puppy eyes while Hughes, who is trained in dance — but as choreographed here isn’t going to give Moira Shearer any sleepless nights — does a lot of pirouetting. 

Despite wanting Laura for more than a good time, or whatever, Tony shows no signs of wanting to give Jackie up. In fact, he actually calls her from a phone booth in the rain right after leaving Laura’s bed. You get the idea that he’s going to brag to her that he just bagged a more successful colleague. Or that maybe he’s going for a 24-hour-twofer, as some guys of a certain age and inclination like to do. Aside from a couple of “poor Jackie” shots, the movie itself in no way indicates that Tony’s being a meathead here. In its world view, he’s entitled, damn it. 

As for the Broadway stuff — when director Jesse, played by Steve Inwood, describes the show to the dance ensemble, it’s like he’s setting up a punchline. “You gotta feel what you’re doing here. For those who forgot, the show’s called ’Satan’s Alley,’ it’s a journey through hell.” Uh huh. During the endless rehearsal scenes, scored to a dreadful song in which the words “dance” and “fire” are exclaimed thousands of times, you really feel that journey through hell bit. And then the show’s opening night, in which Tony becomes a star by indulging in the most egotistical, unprofessional behavior possible and arguably committing assault on his dance partner, really has to be seen to be believed. 

“You know, you’re not the greatest dancer to hit Broadway,” Jesse tells Tony in one of the movie’s most inadvertently funny moments. “What you have is anger, and a certain intensity, and that’s what I need to make this show work.” Hell yeah. At one point, having gone to the trouble of taking out The White Suit to wear to a Laura soiree, and getting snubbed for his troubles, Tony walks all the way to Bay Ridge to unburden himself to his mom (Julie Bovasso, the only holdover from the Saturday Night Fever original cast), who proves more understanding than he’d anticipated.  “What you’re saying is I’ve always been this bastard, but it’s all right because it comes natural to me,” he says to her, and she nods wisely.

But, as Staying Alive more or less insists, the bastard is also a GREAT GUY and OUR HERO and you have to GET THAT, and get the fact that being that bastard is what it takes to make it not just in showbiz but in ‘MURICA ITSELF, no matter how that snooty British female dancer tries to bring you down, man. And Tony’s neanderthal sexism, his lying, his showboating, his egotism, they’re all part of what makes him great! It’s dizzying, I tell you. All this under the ostensible guise of Stallone telling us where he came from.

Promoting the movie on The Tonight Show, he said to guest host Joan Rivers, in setting up a clip, “One of the most anxious moments in an actor’s life is when someone is waiting for that phone call, did he get the part or didn’t he get the part, he’s been waiting literally for five years, and it finally comes through. And he’s living in this fleabag hotel where everybody looks at him like he’s this maniac, he’s this loser, and finally this moment…comes about.”

All of these moments combine to nail the movie’s argument that Tony Manero is a guy who has absolutely earned the right to strut. 

It’s true, too, that the movie’s other infelicities are tremendously entertaining. That unholy on-the-nose dialogue. The all-over-the-place pacing. And some stunning visuals. Laura’s high-end bedroom is a monstrosity of production design underscored by truly eccentric lighting: ceiling spots on her headboard, like airplane cabin reading lights, and similar illumination on the sofa in front of the bed. Damn. I don’t think it’s just me that considers this picture irresistible. Give it a shot. Or as one of the motivational songs on the movie’s soundtrack might put it, give it your BEST SHOT. 

Veteran critic Glenn Kenny reviews‎ new releases at RogerEbert.com, the New York Times, and, as befits someone of his advanced age, the AARP magazine. He blogs, very occasionally, at Some Came Running and tweets, mostly in jest, at @glenn__kenny. He is the author of the acclaimed 2020 book Made Men: The Story of Goodfellas, published by Hanover Square Press.