Deal of the Century is one of only two movies William Friedkin gives no mention at all in his 2013 memoir, and seeing the movie illustrates why. The movie, designed to be a contemporary homage to Dr. Strangelove and the ever-present dangers of nuclear war, fails to be either demonstrably funny or serious about the subject. One of the many reasons why Stanley Kubrick’s black comic masterpiece works to this day is its ability to be genuinely funny (thanks largely to Peter Sellers’ trifecta of performances) while also insinuating the deeper reasons why powerful, high-ranking military officials play high stakes with others’ lives. Deal of the Century offers little humor and no other viewpoint than the old Hollywood cliches: money, power and prestige. Undoubtedly the tropes are true, but do not make for a compelling or meaningful story about selling military-grade weapons to South American dictators.

The movie opens with bright, emphatic music that is more reminiscent of a Warner Brothers cartoon short than a military comedy. Perhaps this was intentional on Friedkin’s part, but he then cuts to a weapons manufacturer (Luckup, haha) attempting to put together a viable commercial that markets arms to everyday American families. The humor that is allegedly apparent in this sequence does little to match the music’s madcap energy. From light to dark we swing, and the movie never stops swinging. It consistently feels manufactured, with no rhyme or reason as to why the characters behave the way they do.

Centering this strange brew of comedy and menace is Chevy Chase as Eddie Muntz, who is introduced through pointless voice-over narration playing as he attempts to persuade a corrupt South American dictator to buy weapons from him. This scene illustrates perhaps what is most off about this movie: Chase plays Muntz as a slightly more sophisticated Clark Griswold, which hits the wrong notes. Rather than coming across as intelligent and cool under fire, he switches between broad, flat comedy and the sly, verbal sarcasm at which he excels. Unfortunately, the lines he delivers are not particularly funny and the situations have potential for humor but often end without any payoff or purpose. Supporting him is Gregory Hines as Ray Kasternak, the great former fighter pilot who suddenly has a religious awakening and refuses to participate on moral grounds, and Sigourney Weaver as the widow of another arms dealer, who has no other obvious connection to the story. Trying to figure out her purpose in the movie is a real challenge.

The plot, for what it’s worth, is not seriously set up until nearly two-thirds of the way into the picture, at which point the movie consists of little more than a string of random, episodic sequences that don’t necessarily tie together, except for featuring the same characters. Hines gets a conscience but then seems to abandon it, only to regain it; Weaver is introduced as a femme fatale, then transitions into a mere sex symbol for the South American dictator; and Chase tries to keep everything together, only to suddenly have a change of heart at the end, giving audiences a conventional ending unbefitting of the film.

It is truly strange to see Friedkin’s name on this picture, and one cannot help but wonder why he took the assignment. Was it due to controversy over Cruising, an attempt to reclaim his reputation, or a favor to producer Bud Yorkin, who worked with Friedkin on The Night They Raided Minsky’s and remained a friend and mentor? Friedkin’s trademark documentary, gritty style is completely absent, and Deal of the Century seems to be the last kind of movie Friedkin would make. Little else can be said about the picture: it strains for reactions it cannot produce and puts out a message we cannot accept. No wonder Friedkin wouldn’t talk about it, or why the movie had such a small impact on the culture.