I go to the movies about once a year, whether I need to or not. Usually not, as it turns out. By the time movies come out on video, long after the solid-fuel hype boosters have flamed out, that ''hot new film'' nearly always crashes in an explosion of cars and profanity and I'm glad I didn't buy a ticket.
So last weekend, I wanted to know why I was about to spend a valuable Sunday afternoon making my annual visit to the multiplex to see someone I never much liked, Michael Jordan, in something that sounds like a mall parking lot near Christmas: Space Jam.
''Because he can slam dunk better than anyone,'' my 7-year-old son told me.
''But how do you know that makes a good movie?'' I asked.
''Because I saw the commercials on TV so I know it's pretty spectacular.''
''What channel were the ads on?''
''Every channel.''
Case closed. There's no way to argue with that. Besides, he added the sound effects of a Michael Jordan slam dunk: ''Wham-BOOM-ah.''
Or sometimes, ''Ka-ping-FOOSH!''
OK, I thought. His Airness, Mr. Jordan, has an income bigger than the national debt. Jordan Inc. - basketball, commercials, endorsements, personal appearances, restaurants and so on - dribbles out more cash than a broken ATM. In exact numbers, I figure he makes about a gazillion dollars. An hour.
But that's not enough. Nooooo. Now he was about to collect another $9 from me, plus $3.50 for Pepsi and Goobers, plus who-knows-how-many Happy Meals to get a complete collection of all those Space Jam toys that are also being sold on every channel, to make sure every kid in America drags Dad to the movie when Dad would rather be at home rearranging his socket wrenches.
No wonder everyone wants to Be Like Mike.
So I settled in at screen No. 4, expecting something as sticky-sweet as the spilled soda-pop that glued my feet to the floor in front of my seat. I expected to spend an hour and change watching colorful cartoons and special effects like Jujubes for the eyes. Mental Milk Duds.
But - Ka-ping-FOOSH - I accidentally enjoyed it nearly as much as my son did. I even got something out of it.
The plot is no Citizen Kane. It's not even Citizen Fudd. It's more like a McDonald's commercial that can't lay off the Big Macs and swelled up into a flabby movie, starring all the characters from Looney Tunes, who will be kidnapped by aliens unless they can beat the scary ''Monstars'' in a basketball game - with the help of superheroic Michael Jordan.
(I will leave you in suspense as to which team wins.)
OK, so Michael Jordan is no Orson Wells. But he can act better than Orson could dunk. And he's my Oscar nominee for Best Actor in this movie, even compared to Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Foghorn Leghorn and Charles Barkley.
It's a modest movie, with a lot to be modest about. But it's awesome if you are about age 7.
Here's what I learned:
- Even a bad movie can be fun if you take along a good kid.
- It's actually possible to find a movie with less profanity than prime-time TV - and far less obscenity than a UC basketball game.
- And Michael Jordan is the most admired man in America.
He's handsome, charming, talented, athletic - he's just about perfect. He is the American Dream in Nikes, a guy who has everything and seems to excel at almost anything he does.
Put Michael Jordan against anyone - slam dunk for Mike.
Even against the president, it's no contest. The previews before Space Jam proved that, with a movie about ''somebody trying to kill our presidents.'' It's a comedy. (Dan Ackroyd plays the fat Southern president; James Garner plays the bed-hopping president; Jack Lemmon plays the motor-mouth whiner president. Sound familiar?)
So, if our children can't look up to our president, they could do worse than a classy guy like Michael Jordan.
And here's a detail that does not fit the distorted picture of ''racist America'' you see on TV reports about the O.J. trial or the Texaco Tapes: The most successful, most popular, most admired man in America is not a white guy. Not James Dean. Not Robert Redford. Not John Travolta. He's a black guy.
And all those kids I saw at the Eastgate multiplex, who dragged their parents out to see Space Jam, were white.
It's one of those things that goes without comment. We're too busy picking at the scabs of our wounds, urging people to ''talk about race'' so we can nuke anyone who says something wrong.
But there it is: The coolest man in America, the one most boys want to be when they grow up, is Michael Jordan - who transcends race bickering as gracefully as he floats above the rim.
I guess the kids are right: It's pretty spectacular.
Peter Bronson is editorial page editor of The Enquirer. If you have questions or comments, call 768-
8301, or write to 312 Elm Street, Cincinnati, Ohio 45202.
Published Dec. 1, 1996.
