Not as in "Grade D, but edible" or "Where's the...?" but as in the glitter rock joy boy of Brian De Palma's midnight movie version of The Phantom of the Opera, The Phantom of the Paradise. As in the most recent addition to my drawer of cinematic chatharses (and yes, I just had to look up the plural form of catharsis). Such illustrious titles as West Side Story, Ghostbusters, The Money Pit, and Muppets from Space already inhabit this drawer and after much prodding from AssRay, I finally settled down with this 1974 gem.

And let me tell you, I was a tough audience today, it being that one day in the month where a spoonful of nutella is necessary to make the Midol go down. But this movie was better than a whole jar of nutella, mostly because of Gerrit Graham's portrayal of Beef, the glam shock rocker who gets zapped pretty early on by the composer who should've read up on intellectual property law before he handed over his songs to the evil record producer Swan (and was subsequently squashed by a record press.)

My favorite Beef quote: "I know drug real from real real!"