Twenty years after the release of a bad movie, the spectacle takes on some sort of other usefulness. No sub-par flick is ever going to come off as a gem a few decades on, but there’s a great deal to be said for reminiscing when prompted by a poorly constructed filmic endeavor.

By 1991 John Goodman was a rather well known actor having landed a spot as Dan Connor on the (somehow) omni-popular Roseanne. The show’s first few years were met with an odd cultural urgency. Roseanne Barr, the show’s namesake, worked to adroitly represent the lower-middle class of American society while injecting some of these travails with comedy. It worked.

As a result, Goodman (at about the same time that Chris Farley was figured for a fat funny man) became an in demand commodity. And while later – in films like Barton Fink, The Big Lebowski and O Brother, Where Art Thou? – Goodman was met with critical success, one of his earlier features was an unmitigated failure upon its release.

King Ralph, loosely based upon the book Headlong by Emlyn Williams, was funnied up and set out there to capitalize on not just Goodman’s television stardom, but on the odd cultural space that he occupied by playing a working class guy on the small screen while raking in the dollars.

Here, though, the film begins with the British Royal Family posing for a photograph. And with one click of the shutter, the entire cohort is wiped out by virtue of electrocution. It’s a ridiculous premise, but one that eventually finds Ralph Jones, an American, being located as the next in line for the throne.

There’s only a bit of back story for Goodman’s character, which comes off as a down-on-his-luck Dan Connor, but enough to make Ralph’s move to the UK an interesting one. Pretty immediately, the cultural comparisons begin. And in an attempt at a running gag, a dessert called ‘spotted dick’ is introduced with Ralph being curious as to the origins of the name.

Bored by the forced book learning his new British keepers are levying upon him, the newly crowned Ralph heads out to the strip club. Oddly enough, a bodyguard accompanies the rotund gentleman. Regardless, though, Ralph soon falls for a stripper who just doesn’t have enough guts to bare it all.

The two eventually set up a date – much to the dismay of Ralph’s keepers. But between the new king’s clandestine meetings and tutoring, his attire is the only aspect of the film that’s going to appeal to anyone. Goodman’s character is endlessly dressed in a slew of pinks, sky blues and the like, all printed on velour or some other mock silk fabric. The ties that Ralph sports – comically short and only making it half way down his engorged belly – serve as one of the only real amusing gags throughout the film.

If viewers didn’t catch King Ralph during its initial release, visiting the flick anew might not be too rewarding. Looking back at it, though, is just about worth the hour and half that you’ll waste.