Few films embody the strange, glittery spirit of 1980 quite like Xanadu. Directed by Robert Greenwald and starring Olivia Newton-John, Michael Beck, and screen legend Gene Kelly in his final film role, Xanadu is an oddball hybrid: part musical, part roller-disco fantasy, part mythological romance. On release, it was dismissed by critics and struggled at the box office, but in the years since it has transformed into something of a cult phenomenon. It’s both a dazzling relic of its time and a strangely sincere love letter to imagination, art, and the dream of reinvention.
The story is almost childlike in its simplicity. Sonny Malone (Michael Beck) is a frustrated commercial artist in Los Angeles, stuck replicating album covers when what he really wants is to create something original. His life is upended when he encounters Kira (Olivia Newton-John), a radiant young woman on roller skates who appears seemingly out of nowhere. What Sonny doesn’t know is that Kira is actually Terpsichore, one of the nine muses of Greek mythology, sent to inspire him. With her encouragement, Sonny joins forces with retired big-band musician Danny McGuire (Gene Kelly) to open a lavish roller-disco nightclub called Xanadu.
The narrative is undeniably thin, but this is precisely what gives the film its power. Rather than bogging itself down with intricate plotting or heavy-handed character arcs, Xanadu devotes itself to mood and emotion. It’s more concerned with sincerity than logic, more with the rush of inspiration than the mechanics of storytelling. The characters are archetypes, almost dream figures, designed to channel creative energy and emotional longing. In this way, Xanadu operates like a pop song: direct, immediate, and resonant not because of complexity, but because of its honesty.
Olivia Newton-John, fresh from the phenomenal success of Grease (1978), brings a luminous warmth to Kira. While the role doesn’t demand deep psychological range, her natural charm, voice, and ethereal presence are more than enough. She convinces as both an untouchable goddess and a down-to-earth romantic partner, and her musical numbers—particularly “Magic” and the title track “Xanadu”—remain some of her most beloved performances.
Michael Beck, better known at the time for the gritty cult hit The Warriors (1979), is stiffer. His Sonny often feels like a blank slate, but this oddly works to the film’s advantage. He becomes less a fully rounded person than a stand-in for any dreamer waiting for inspiration. His occasional woodenness underscores the film’s dreamy unreality; Sonny is not meant to be a character we analyze, but one we project ourselves onto.
The most delightful surprise is Gene Kelly. At 68, in his final film role, he radiates joy and grace. As Danny, he bridges eras, representing both the romantic glamour of old Hollywood musicals and the neon optimism of the 1980s. Watching him dance—yes, even on roller skates—is both moving and magical. He embodies the film’s core idea: that past and present can fuse into something vibrant and new.
If the narrative provides only the skeleton, the music is the beating heart. The soundtrack, a collaboration between Newton-John and the Electric Light Orchestra (ELO), has far outlasted the film’s initial reception. Songs like “I’m Alive,” “All Over the World,” and “Xanadu” became radio staples, and the album itself was a commercial hit. ELO’s lush, symphonic rock balances Newton-John’s melodic lightness, creating a soundscape that feels simultaneously retro and futuristic.
The musical sequences themselves are wildly uneven, but this unpredictability is part of their charm. The number “Dancin’,” which begins as a 1940s swing showcase for Gene Kelly and then collides with ELO’s rock theatrics, is both absurd and exhilarating. What should feel jarring instead becomes a thrilling metaphor for artistic fusion, a reminder that creative expression thrives in the tension between eras and styles. The climactic “Xanadu” sequence is pure spectacle—neon lights, roller choreography, extravagant costumes—and while it may border on kitsch, it radiates a sincerity that elevates it into something oddly transcendent.
Visually, Xanadu is extravagant in ways only 1980 could deliver. Sets glow with neon and pastel hues, costumes shimmer with sequins and flowing fabrics, and special effects—including a charming animated sequence by Don Bluth—lean into unabashed fantasy. None of it strives for realism; instead, it creates a heightened dream world where imagination is the only logic. The excess, far from being a weakness, is a strength: it dares to be maximalist in service of joy.
Critics at the time were unkind, dismissing the film as incoherent and saccharine. Its box office performance was underwhelming, and its reputation even helped inspire the Golden Raspberry Awards. Yet while reviewers mocked, audiences held on to the music, and eventually the film itself. Home video and cable airings allowed Xanadu to find new life, and its unabashed camp has since been embraced by cult audiences. The 2007 Broadway adaptation leaned into the humor of the film’s excesses, but never lost sight of its heart, turning Xanadu into a self-aware celebration of exactly what made it so singular.
Today, Xanadu survives not in spite of its thin story and over-the-top style, but because of them. Its lack of cynicism, its willingness to embrace joy without irony, and its emphasis on feeling over narrative make it stand out in a landscape where musicals often struggle to justify themselves. It is not a perfect film, but it is an honest one, committed to its vision no matter how eccentric.
Ultimately, Xanadu is less a movie to be dissected than an experience to be surrendered to. It is camp and kitsch, yes, but also wonder and heart. Its sincerity shields it from mockery; for all its roller-disco excess, it genuinely believes in the transformative power of art and love. Few films have failed so spectacularly on traditional terms while succeeding so gloriously in spirit.
It may not be the musical masterpiece it aspired to be, but in its imperfections lies its beauty. Xanadu endures not as a failed experiment, but as a reminder that sometimes emotional honesty, no matter how glitter-covered or awkwardly staged, is the truest form of magic.
The new 4K Ultra HD release of Xanadu offers a wealth of extras designed to reintroduce the film in its best possible light. The centerpiece is a brand-new HDR/Dolby Vision master created from a 4K scan of the original 35mm negative, ensuring the movie’s neon glow and glittering visuals shine brighter than ever. Viewers can choose between multiple audio formats—including original 4.0 stereo, 5.1 surround, and lossless 2.0
What truly sets this release apart, however, are the extensive new commentary tracks. Director Robert Greenwald provides insight into the film’s creation in a session moderated by filmmaker Douglas Hosdale, while Jennifer Clymer and Nathaniel Thompson bring a blend of industry and historical perspective. Additional tracks from David Del Valle and Krystov Charles, as well as historian Samm Deighan, dig deeper into the film’s legacy, cultural impact, and camp appeal. Together, these extras transform the release into not just a restoration, but a thorough exploration of Xanadu’s enduring, if unconventional, place in film history.
Xanadu is available to own on 4K UHD and you can save 33% off the retail price if you order from Kino Lorber.
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