Well, if you managed to avoid Footloose in ‘84, surely you were smart (and cool) enough to steer clear of another dance extravaganza from that same year… Staying Alive. I somehow found myself involved in attempting to polish that cinematic turd, getting dicked around by meddling, megalomaniacal writer/director Sylvester Stallone. A true nightmare from start to finish.

At least I got a Grammy nomination and platinum plaques out of it. Footloose beat us for the Grammy. It was only fair.