So bad it could almost have been deliberate. The faults are many, but the casting of Hoffman and Beatty as a talentless and tacky cabaret duo is fatal: perverse logic makes Hoffman the smooth-talking womaniser and Beatty the bozo. The complex plot takes far too long to establish that they are to Simon and Garfunkel what McGonagall is to Burns before they are whisked off on a tour of the mythical Sahara republic of Ishtar, where they are lured into spying for opposing sides of a planned revolution, each tailing the other while trying to impress the same beautiful freedom fighter (Adjani). Of course the pair make worse spies than they do songwriters, and soon they're trekking into the desert with only a blind camel and CIA snipers for company. May's script is unfunny, and anything approximating a joke is wrung dry; but accept that you're watching one of the worst films ever made and you may find it hilarious.