Roller Boogie (Mark L. Lester, 1979)

Just when I thought that I had consumed every last morsel of yummy goodness that the 1970s had to offer, along comes a cinematic master work so potent, so purifying, so funky, that I literally got down on my hands and knees and thanked the unseen overlords who inhabit the warm and gooey confines of my easily-impressed heart for allowing me to witness such an unequivocal work of art. In Roller Boogie (a.k.a. Roller Fever), a perfect amalgamation of pulsating disco beats and balletic roller skating if I ever saw one, acclaimed directer Mark L. Lester (Class of 1984 and Class of 1999) has made a bold and audacious statement. You see, by making a film that is predominantly made up of montages, the cagey filmmaker has created what I like to call: A silent movie with sound. Hurdling the story towards its gratifying, fist-pump-worthy, super-awesome conclusion, these montages helped flesh out the characters without the nagging hassles that come with reciting dialogue. However, when the characters do speak, it's a rich tapestry of sentences and words. The script writing person (Barry Schneider) could have easily had the actors just verbalize guttural noises and it wouldn't have taken anything away from the film's majestic splendour. But this movie ain't about cutting corners. Uh-uh, it's about romance, friendship, syntax, integrity and personal autonomy. That, and the finding of ones self while gliding around in crotch-confining short-shorts.

The story centres around Terry Barkley (Linda Blair), a bored flautist who is tired of her rich, ineffectual parents. So, one day, she grabs her skates, puts on her sexiest pair of light blue shorts–with matching leotard, three loopy bracelets and a red belt tie the ensemble together, hops into her Excalibur Phaeton, picks up her well-groomed gal pal (Kimberly Beck), and heads down to Venice Beach to skate her gorgeously aerobicizied butt off.

There she meets Bobby James (played by ultimate where-are-the-now candidate Jim Bray) and his motley band of boogie-woogie skating enthusiasts. The brash Bobby pursues her romantically–you know, because he's a sane man with a functioning set of eyeballs. While Terry wants Bobby to teach her to skate well enough so she can enter Jammer's Roller Boogie Contest.

Complicating matters is Terry's parents, who disapprove of her new lifestyle, and a shady land developer who wants to turn the roller rink into a shopping centre.

Will Terry and Bobby be able to stave off a gang of malignant crooks, appease her fuddy-duddy parents, and save their beloved roller rink from demolition in time for them to win boogie gold? I don't want to spoil the ending or anything like that, but let's just say my fist, and most of my arm was being thrust upwardly in a celebratory manner near the end.

The throbbing disco soundtrack was an amazing showcase for the much maligned style of music, and the limb-twisting agility displayed during roller antics were wonderfully realized. But who am I kidding? It's Linda Blair that makes Roller Boogie really soar.

You'd have to been born without genitals or a complete moron not to receive any enjoyment from the sight of Linda Blair skating around in tight-fitting outfits of every colour imaginable; her glimmering, deliciously substantive thighs basking in the warm California sun.

Far-fetched as it may sound, but Linda's acting is just as astounding as her first-class organic structure. The adolescent boozehound from Sarah T. - Portrait of a Teenage Alcoholic shows a new-found maturity as Terry. Playful, yet dead serious at times, she imbues her delusional drama queen with enough moxie to fill a travel-size tube of toothpaste.

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