The Five Worst Music Movies Ever*

* That aren't actual musicals

*eye roll*

It would be easy to pick out a bunch of terrible musicals to make fun of. First off, most musicals seem stuck in the 1930s, when every song everywhere sounded like a show tune, and therefore stank.

Second, we're afraid of polarizing our audience. You either like musicals or you don't, and we really don't want to wade through a bunch of comments letting us know in excruciating detail why the musical genre is a moving and intelligent art form and who the hell are we to blah blah blah and so forth. So instead, we've chosen to take a look at some of the worst films of all time that deal with music but are not, in fact, musicals.

This caveat is all that kept the abominable Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band movie off of this list, and thank God for that. We may have had to rewatch it, and no frickin' thank you. Of course, rewatching scenes from the following turd-o-ramas was no picnic either. Hopefully you'll gain some enjoyment from our evisceration of these atrocities so that our efforts were not in vain.

5. Rhinestone

In this 1984 attempt at comedy, Dolly Parton plays a club singer who bets the club owner that she can turn any random schmuck into a country music star. The stakes don't matter; what matters is, the random schmuck the club owner selects is Sylvester Stallone, a New York cabbie who hates country music, and therefore sings it as if he is trying to deeply, personally hurt it.

Rocks Off had to track down three different versions of this clip, so certain were we that this was some kind of fake voice-over dub perpetrated by YouTube pranksters of the Bad Lip Reading variety, but no, it's an actual segment from an actual film that was actually released in honest-to-God actual theaters.

Here's the best transcription we can muster of the opening line: "Bud-WHYYYZER yew've cree-ated a MAAAWWN-sturrr, and they cawllll hiyum... DrinkinSTEIN." Stallone fails so badly at a Southern accent, and so harshly chops the end off of every line of lyrics, that we're pretty sure he accidentally invents Rammstein with this performance. (Listen to this back to back with "Fire Frei" if you don't believe us.)

His horrendous singing - not to mention his epic male cameltoe - is good for a few easy laughs in the beginning of the film when he's supposed to be terrible, but later the film expects you to take him seriously as a singer, as if there has been some kind of improvement thanks to Parton's teachings, and of course there hasn't. Parton is charming as always, and Stallone is likable enough when he isn't singing, but unfortunately the film centers around him doing exactly that.

It would have been a much better idea to have Stallone's character try to teach Parton's character the fine art of foxy boxing. We don't know about you, but watching mid-80's-era Dolly Parton bounce around the ring in a sports bra would have been a lot easier to watch than John Rambo in a bedazzled, paisley jumpsuit belting out a song called "Stay Out of My Bedroom (If You Can't Take the Heat)" while an audience pretends to portray emotions other than shocked, silent horror.