When the sci-fi epic Battlefield Earth (2000) premiered, John Travolta's wife went on her own publicity blitz to try and create positive buzz. While it was impossible for her to assert that the film was anything but god-awful, she still suggested that it could be viewed as a success. For years Travolta had dreamed of bringing the L. Ron Hubbard novel to the big screen. Using his box-office clout, Travolta was finally able to get the picture made and share his passion with the rest of the world. It's too bad his passion turned out to be a film that would've even embarrassed Ed Wood.

In the same vein, there are some who believe that the film version of The Fountainhead (1949) is successful simply because it brings Ayn Rand's extreme philosophies to a wider audience. The author was given the rare opportunity of adapting her own incredibly dense novel for the big screen. The end result is 100% Rand and 100% utterly ridiculous. No amount of revisionist posturing can change the fact that The Fountainhead was a flop when it was released and has since become an over-the-top favorite among connoisseurs of cult cinema.

"There's no room for originality in architecture," a university dean tells Howard Roark, the idealistic architect played with stony-faced sincerity by Gary Cooper. Roark eventually lands a job with scenery chewing Henry Hull. The pages of a calendar turn (literally) and Roark takes over for the man who gave him his start.

Apparently, the life of an architect is fulled with nothing but heartache. On his deathbed, Hull warns Roark not to follow in his footsteps. "Give in, compromise," he pleads with his protégé, "May God bless you Howard. You're on your way into hell."

Howard's professional future hangs on a single job. A financial institution happily commissions him for their new bank building, just as long as he agrees to their suggested changes. "Originality is fine," they reason, "but why go to extremes?" As a hilarious example of how to "soften" his design, they place roman edifices over the scale model of his modern skyscraper. "It's sure to please everybody… the middle of the road. Why take chances when you can stay in the middle."

One guess as to whether our hero compromises his artistic integrity.

In an art deco office the size of an aircraft hanger, Hearst-like newspaper baron Gail Wynand (Raymond Massey) runs The Banner, which one character charitably describes as "the foulest newspaper on earth". Wynand discusses the future of the bank project with the newspapers fussy architectural columnist Ellsworth Toohey (Robert Douglas). Before making a final decision on the building, Wynand wants the opinion of Dominique Francon, The Banner's other architectural critic. Exactly what kind of newspaper needs two architectural critics?

The Fountainhead truly kicks into high gear once Dominique, played by Patricia Neal, is introduced. When Wynand pays her an unexpected visit, he finds her tossing a statue out the window. In a monologue with prose so purple that it practically sucks all the oxygen out of the air, Neal delves into her characters wacky motivations.

"Do you know what I was doing when you came in? I had a statue, which I found in Europe—a statue of a god. I think I was in love with it. But I broke it. I threw it down the airshaft so that I wouldn't have to love it. I don't want to be tied to anything. I wanted to destroy it rather than let it be part of a world where beauty and genius and greatness have no chance. The world of the mob—and of The Banner."

Dominique is obviously his kind of woman. At dinner, Wynand offers her fiancé the chance to design the bank building, just as long as he breaks off his engagement with Dominique. He's certainly no Howard Roark and takes the offer.

Wynand proposes to the irresistibly icy Dominique. "If I ever decide to punish myself for some terrible guilt," she answers, "I'll marry you."

At her family estate, Dominique awakens to the sound of blasting from a nearby rock quarry. Amid the slabs of granite she spies the ruggedly handsome Howard Roark, who now works as a day laborer. Dominique practically swoons at the sight of Howard using his big tool to pound the impenetrable rock.

She lures him into her bedroom on the pretense of fixing her fireplace. When he rebuffs her, she goes on a frenzied horseback ride and strikes him across the face with her riding crop. With a melodramatic fervor that only director King Vidor could concoct, he roughs her up before they both release their hysterically pent up passions.

Howard high-tails it to New York when he is given the opportunity to design the Enright House, an experimental luxury apartment building. In an effort to drum up circulation, The Banner decides to lead a public crusade against Enright House. Without knowing who designed the building, Dominique begs Wynand to call off his smear campaign, "There's so little in life that's noble and beautiful. I'm pleading for greatness."

The project is completed despite the public outcry. When Dominique attends the gala opening in a gown with white Santa Claus trim, she is shocked to discover that the laborer she lusted after and the architect she staunchly defended are one and the same. "It's the things that we admire or want that enslave us—and I'm not easy to bring into submission." Just when you think she's about to launch into that ridiculous Greek statue speech, she deadpans, "I love you Roark."

Cooper and Neal fling platitudes of love and devotion at one another while nothing remotely close to an expression crosses either of their faces. In all fairness, no actor, no matter how accomplished, could manage the dialog that Rand forces upon them. One of the great joys of The Fountainhead is that no matter how turgid or preachy the screenplay gets, Cooper and Neal have a tendency to underplay even their most passionate scenes. It's a compellingly weird dichotomy that makes The Fountainhead a bad movie unlike any other.

"They hate you for the greatness of your achievement," Dominique sermonizes, "They hate you for your integrity. They hate you because they know they can neither corrupt you, nor ruin you." The career path ahead of him will be a constant battle against popular taste. She suggests that they marry, move to the suburbs and leave the heartache of architecture behind. One guess to what his answer is.

Dominique immediately marries Wynand.

Meanwhile, Roark continues to design less prestigious projects (a gas station, a factory, even a farm!) but is able to build them according to his unique vision. Roark's extreme designs, which are clearly based on the work of Frank Lloyd Wright, are brought to life with a series of effects miniatures and matte paintings from the Warner Bros. art department. Roark buries the proverbial hatchet when Wynand asks him to build a unique country home as a "temple to Dominique Wynand."

Incompetent (but popular) architect Peter Keating (Kent Smith) is commissioned to design the prestigious Cortland Homes project. He is unable to come up with anything suitable and turns to his old school chum. After a secret meeting where Roark drones on and on about his work ethic and individualistic worldview, it is agreed that he'll design the project and Keating will take the credit. Roark's only stipulation is that the project be completed exactly as he envisions it. ABSOLUTLEY NO CHANGES.

Keating proves to be a poor champion of architectural integrity and allows the design to be compromised. As the hideous project moves ahead, Roark enlists Dominique's help to remedy the situation. Late one night they go to the work site. While she distracts the night watchman, he blows up the development!

Toohey lectures to the masses against Roark, "The man who refuses to submit and to serve—Howard Roark, the supreme egoist—is a man who must be destroyed!" Though everyone seems to be against Roark, Wynand uses his newspaper to defend his friend. Soon, popular opinion turns against The Banner and sales plummet. Wynand is pushed to the brink of financial ruin and folds under the pressure. He denounces Roark.

At the sensational trial, the state prosecutor argues the "crucial issue of our age". Or at least the crucial issue according to Ayn Rand. "Has man any right to exist if he refuses to serve society?"

Roark acts as his own defense and delivers a complexly verbose monologue in which he argues that integrity, creativity and individuality are the true measures of a man. "It was believed that my work belonged to others to do with as they please. The world is perishing from an orgy of self sacrificing."

Max Steiner's score builds to a crescendo as the verdict is handed down. Apparently, if you talk a jury to death, you can get away with destroying a multi-million dollar construction project.

Wynand asks Roark to design a massive skyscraper. "Build it as a monument to that spirit which is yours and could've been mine." He then shoots himself, clearing the way for his wife to be with the world's most idealistic architect.

Months later, at the site of the nearly completed Wynand Building, Dominique gets on a construction elevator and travels up and up and up, to the tip of what might be cinema's most monumental phallic symbol. At the very top stands Howard Roark, rugged individualist, creative visionary and symbolic figurehead of what might be the most earnest bad movie ever made.

If ever there were an apt name, King Vidor would be it. The director could easily be dubbed the "King" of melodrama. His filmography includes such over-the-top classics as Beyond the Forest (1949) and Duel in the Sun (1946). The Fountainhead however, is his crowning achievement. The film is so completely sincere, yet utterly ridiculous, that it practically throbs with a heightened camp sensibility.

The odd chemistry between Patricia Neal and Gary Cooper isn't what you'd normally expect from a pair of actors who had an affair during filming. They don't generate much heat onscreen, but like a pair of magnets, they seem to be both repelled and attracted one another. It's fascinating to watch.

With a director, author and cast who're all at their over-the-top best, The Fountainhead is an intellectual exercise in just how terrifically bad movies can get. It's a must-see for any true fan of cinema trash.

CCT also recommends:

Back Street

The Last Time I Saw Paris

The Tarnished Angels

If renting movies is for you, try Netflix. They stock most of the movies CCT recommends.