Director Sylvester Stallone proves you really can't go home again in Staying Alive, the absurd sequel to Saturday Night Fever. The story finds Tony Manero (Travolta) six years later working as a waiter in a nightclub while he tries to realize his dreams of dancing on Broadway (what tough street kid from Brooklyn doesn't?) He eventually makes the cut as an extra for "Satan's Alley" (billed as "a musical trip through Hell") and immediately sets his sights on the show's snooty prima-donna star (Finola Hughes, decidedly unsuited for such dancing as her role requires). Meanwhile, the nice girl he's been seeing (Cynthia Rhodes) stands by her man, waiting patiently for him to come around. When the male lead can't cut it, Tony is offered the part, and tensions rise. The action culminates in the show itself and Tony's ultimate realization that he needs to please only himself. Indeed, the horrific dancing combined with Frank Stallone's inane musical score makes one wonder just how accurate the show's billing of "a musical trip through Hell" actually is. As long as one disassociates this film from its predecessor, Staying Alive is highly enjoyable for its schlock value; it may well be an inadvertent camp classic for Travolta's sweaty thongs alone. As for Stallone's direction and screenwriting abilities, he proves he is better off to remain an underdog prize-fighter/ commie-killer/mercenary cop/ double-fisted union leader/etc...