The Concorde... Airport '79

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Everything you want in a cheesy disaster...disaster.

If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if a disaster movie inhaled a gallon of jet fuel, ignored every known law of physics, and then sprinted straight into absurdity with a grin, The Concorde... Airport '79 is your answer. This is high “so bad it’s good” cinema - a movie so committed to escalating nonsense that it becomes a kind of accidental masterpiece. It doesn’t just jump the shark; it straps the shark to the Concorde and fires it into international airspace.

The effects are gloriously, unapologetically cheesy. Miniatures wobble, explosions bloom like overcooked popcorn, and the Concorde itself seems to operate on a proprietary fuel source called “plot convenience.” Missiles zigzag like confused bottle rockets, fighter jets materialize only to be obliterated moments later, and physics as a concept is treated less like a rulebook and more like a vague suggestion. The sheer number of McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom IIs that get blown out of the sky “just because” is almost impressive - like the movie is trying to win a bulk discount on destruction.

Then there’s Robert Wagner as the villain, a man so dedicated to covering up his crimes that he creates exponentially worse problems at every turn. It’s like watching someone try to put out a grease fire with dynamite. His master plan hinges on an evil corporation deploying what may be the least effective missile system ever conceived - an instrument so catastrophically unreliable that it becomes the film’s secret comedic MVP. Every time it fires, you’re less worried about the Concorde and more curious about what unintended target it’ll embarrassingly fail to destroy next.

And presiding over this carnival of chaos is George Kennedy, reprising his role with the energy of a genial battering ram. He doesn’t so much act as he exists - a walking, talking, reassuringly friendly phallus of authority who blusters through scenes with unwavering confidence and zero concern for plausibility. It’s oddly comforting. In a movie where nothing makes sense and everything explodes, Kennedy is the human equivalent of a thumbs-up.

All told, The Concorde... Airport ’79 is less a film and more a spectacle of glorious incompetence. The stakes are absurd, the logic is nonexistent, and the execution is delightfully misguided. But that’s exactly why it works. It’s a beautiful disaster - loud, ridiculous, and endlessly entertaining for anyone who appreciates their cinema served with a heavy side of unintentional comedy.

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