Xanadu (1980) – Review

With financial musical flops like Doctor Doolittle, Camelot and Hello, Dolly! losing millions at the box office, studios became wary of green-lighting more of the same, but then along came a smash hit called Grease, starring Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta. It must have seemed like a great idea to cast Olivia in another musical, and as soon as possible, and hey, why not throw in Gene Kelly to sweeten the pot? How could it possibly fail?

The story—what little of it exists—follows Sonny (Michael Beck), a disenchanted artist who is stuck painting album covers rather than creating his own original art, but he gets inspired when a literal Greek muse named Kira (Olivia Newton-John) glides out of a mural to help him… open a roller disco. That’s right: a roller disco. Not to save the world. Not fall in love convincingly. Just… open a venue with light-up floors and jam sessions that feel like rejected Solid Gold routines. The plot kicks off when Sonny meets Danny McGuire (Gene Kelly), a clarinet-playing, fedora-wearing ex-nightclub owner with a heart full of nostalgia and a closet full of 1940s charm. Sonny and Danny bond over their love of music, dreams, and the fact that Olivia Newton-John has also mysteriously inspired them both—though Danny met her decades ago and didn’t notice she hadn’t aged a day.

Red flag? Nah. She’s just that magical.

With her twinkly-eyed encouragement, Sonny and Danny decide to open a nightclub—a roller-disco-palace-of-dreams hybrid that only makes sense if you’re high on cotton candy and synthesizer solos. It’s called Xanadu, because why name a nightclub after anything other than a Samuel Taylor Coleridge poem that reads like it was written on mushrooms? Sonny falls in love with Kira, because how could he not? She’s beautiful, mysterious, and communicates primarily in soft-focus montages. But uh-oh! Kira reveals she’s not a regular girl; she’s a muse—immortal, divine, and bound by cosmic rules that definitely weren’t explained earlier. Her dad is Zeus (Wilfrid Hyde-White), who’s apparently cool with disco but not with inter-dimensional dating. Can true love overcome such an obstacle? Could these two mine even more musical nostalgia than ever thought possible?

“Is it okay if we reference Singin’ in the Rain?”

The club opens! There’s a massive roller disco, people in spandex and feathers, Gene Kelly roller-skates like it’s 1942, and Olivia Newton-John performs a musical number that bends time and fashion. Then Kira vanishes into the cosmic void… or does she?! Because a waitress who looks exactly like her appears at the end, suggesting maybe she gave up Olympus to hang out with Sonny in Los Angeles and help him paint more record covers. Confused? Don’t worry, it’s not supposed to make sense, but that’s part of the charm. This is a film that dared to ask: “What if Greek muses wore roller skates, disco never died, and Gene Kelly agreed to do one more musical purely out of confusion?”

As bad as things get, Gene Kelly can still dance.

It should be noted that Kira’s character is based on an actual mythological character, Terpsichore, the Muse of Dance. But comparing Xanadu to Greek mythology is like comparing a glitter roller disco to Mount Olympus — both are magical in their own way, but this film swaps togas for leg warmers and adds a whole lot more synth. It’s less concerned with mythological accuracy and more about creating a dreamy, surreal vibe where art, love, and disco intertwine. So it’s safe to say that the writers of Xanadu took a few creative liberties with Greek mythology—more disco ball than dusty scroll. Here are a few things the film gets wrong (or at least wildly reimagines).

1. Romance with a Mortal

In the movie, Kira (Terpsichore) falls in love with Sonny, a mortal, and wants to stay with him.

In mythology:

• The muses are usually aloof and divine, not romantic leads, and they don’t typically leave Mount Helicon or Olympus to hang out with struggling L.A. artists.
• Terpsichore herself is never romantically linked to mortals—she’s busy inspiring dance, not dating skaters or big band leaders.

Mythology mismatch: Muses don’t typically date mortals, and if they do, there are consequences. Think tragic endings, not happily-ever-after nightclubs.

2. Roller Disco as Divine Inspiration

The entire plot of Xanadu hinges on building a roller disco as some kind of inspired act of art.

In mythology:

• Artistic inspiration means epics, tragedies, music, and poetry.
• A roller disco wouldn’t quite make the cut for divine praise in ancient Greece.

Mythology mismatch: This might be the only time the gods have facepalmed from Olympus.

3. Zeus and Hera as Cosmic Parents

Zeus and Hera appear as disembodied, bickering parents who allow Kira to visit Earth. It plays more like a magical sitcom than Mount Olympus.

In mythology:

• Zeus is often meddling and philandering, but not usually portrayed as a sitcom dad.
• Hera is more wrathful than understanding—especially when it comes to mortals and affairs.
• Mount Olympus has also rarely been depicted as something from the Disney film Tron.

Mythology mismatch: Zeus and Hera wouldn’t be calmly negotiating over a Muse’s curfew. Think lightning bolts or unpleasant transformations.

In Summary, Xanadu doesn’t get Greek mythology wrong so much as it reimagines it as a glitter-fuelled fantasy. It’s more roller boogie than Homeric epic, and that’s kind of the point—mythology as a launching pad for music, love, and neon-tinted escapism.

The neon budget must have been through the roof.

The film’s most glaring flaw is not its divergence from Greek mythology, but its indecisive tone. Xanadu wants to be everything: a tribute to the golden age of musicals, a vehicle for contemporary pop music, a fantasy romance, and a celebration of the roller-skating craze. But it never fully commits to any of these genres, resulting in a narrative that feels more like a sequence of disconnected music videos than a cohesive story.  If Xanadu has a soul, it’s in its style — a gaudy, kaleidoscopic fever dream of animated interludes, glowing costumes, and endlessly spinning roller skates. The production design is occasionally interesting in an abstract way, like an art deco theme park filtered through a lava lamp. Not to mention a few fashion crimes along the way.

The 80s were certainly something.

Things aren’t much better on the acting side of things. Olivia Newton-John brings a glowing presence to Xanadu — she’s sweet, luminous, and effortlessly likeable. But charisma alone can only go so far. As Kira, a Greek Muse come to Earth, Newton-John’s performance is airy and soft-spoken, but the role lacks depth. Her line delivery is often flat, and the romantic moments feel forced rather than heartfelt. That said, she excels in the musical sequences, where her warmth and stage presence shine. When she sings or dances, she lights up the screen.

When she speaks? Less so. 

Michael Beck was perhaps an unusual choice for a romantic lead in a musical fantasy, mostly known for his starring role in Walter Hill’s The Warriors. His performance here is stiff and wooden, particularly in the more romantic or comedic scenes. Beck struggles to convey the starry-eyed wonder the role demands, and his chemistry with Newton-John is lukewarm at best. He often looks bewildered — which, to be fair, might have been an honest reaction to the film’s increasingly surreal plot. He has leading-man looks, but no magnetism or warmth to carry the film’s romantic arc. He’s a blank canvas — which might be appropriate for a character who needs a Muse — but not an engaging protagonist.

I barely buy Sonny as an artist, let alone a love interest.

Gene Kelly, a screen legend in his final film role, brings a touch of old-Hollywood magic — and a palpable sense of professionalism — to Xanadu. His performance is easily the most grounded and genuine in the film. He’s charming and relaxed, and his brief dance numbers are a bittersweet reminder of his once-electrifying screen presence. But even he can’t elevate the weak material much. One gets the sense he agreed to this movie out of curiosity or nostalgia rather than inspiration. In fact, sources claim that Gene Kelly took this one last spin (literally, on roller skates) in Xanadu partly because the filming location was close to his house.

Gene Kelly was the quintessential triple threat.

Stray Observations:

• The movie opens with Sonny tearing up one of his sketches and throwing it into the wind, and the pieces find their way to the muses. This is similar to how Mary Poppins got her job notification. Wait a minute, was Mary Poppins a Greek muse?
• The plot of this film borrowed heavily from 1947’s Down to Earth, where Rita Hayworth also played the Greek muse Terpsichore.
• Gene Kelly’s character, Danny McGuire, also appeared in the 1944 film Cover Girl—played by Kelly himself. So, Xanadu is technically a sequel… just with more spandex.
• The film’s nightclub setting was actually the Pan-Pacific Auditorium in Los Angeles—a beautiful Art Deco landmark that had fallen into disrepair. Sadly, it was destroyed by fire in 1989.
• We get a “Battle of the Bands” number between a 1940s big band and an 1980s glam rock band, sadly, we are the losers.
• Michael Beck is not a singer, but instead of having him dubbed by somebody who can sing, his character simply doesn’t sing at all. Which is definitely a choice, just a strange one for a musical.
• While reading the definition of “Muses” in the dictionary, the description ends with “Do you believe me now, Sonny?” This gag is a complete lift from the Jimmy Stewart comedy, Harvey.
• The rotating star stage used in the final musical sequence was originally featured in the carousel sequence of the movie Logan’s Run. 

I’m betting no one was screaming “Renew!” after this film came out.

Directed by Robert Greenwald, Xanadu was the cinematic equivalent of licking a glittery glow stick while roller-skating through a lava lamp. It wasn’t just a movie—it was an out-of-body experience where plot, logic, and fashion went out for cigarettes and never came back, and despite the shortcomings in plot and character, Xanadu does boast a few notable strengths. The soundtrack, largely composed by Jeff Lynne of Electric Light Orchestra, is undeniably catchy. Songs like “Magic,” “Suddenly,” and “All Over the World” became hits, even as the film floundered. Visually, the movie is often striking, with bold colours, elaborate costumes, and over-the-top production design that captures the flamboyant spirit of late-70s/early-80s entertainment. The film’s commitment to its aesthetic—however misguided—gives it a surreal charm that’s hard to replicate.

Note: There is an excellent Don Bluth animated sequence, which is one of the best things in the movie, but it exists solely because they couldn’t organically work another song into the plot.

Released in the summer of 1980, Xanadu was intended to be a sparkling cinematic spectacle—a joyous collision of classic Hollywood musicals and modern pop culture. Instead, it was met with critical derision, commercial disappointment – Esquire magazine famously summed up the movie in a single sentence: “In a word, Xana-don’t” – and not to mention the confusion audiences who weren’t sure if they had witnessed a movie, a dream, or a very expensive roller-disco hallucination. But despite flopping hard on release—and earning a reputation bad enough to help inspire the creation of the Golden Raspberry Awards, Xanadu has developed a cult following. It’s a glittery time capsule of a moment when Hollywood tried desperately to ride the disco wave… just as it was crashing. So, that’s something.

Who knows when inspiration will strike again?

In conclusion, Xanadu is what happens when you give a fog machine a film budget and tell it to follow its heart. It’s a beautiful disaster—completely incoherent and wildly excessive. Xanadu may not be a good movie, but it’s a memorable one. A neon-lit, roller-skating, synth-pop spectacle of ambition gone awry. A musical misfire so bold in its weirdness, you can’t help but admire the audacity.