I’ve been grappling with two filmic dilemmas this week, and in an exercise in column-ology, I have developed the two into one completely original idea — John Forbes Nash Jr. style. Yes, I have put my own beautiful mind to work and believe this to be a groundbreaking cinematic hypothesis.

First, the background research. This week, I have cultivated a new-found love for Elton John. Old School Elton. Flamboyant Elton. Depression, drugs, diva Elton. Specifically, “Your Song” and “Tiny Dancer,” two songs I would have quickly by-passed on the radio dial if it weren’t for my other obsessions — my love for “Moulin Rouge” and “Almost Famous” DVDs. Both E.J. songs are key to significant moments in each film — a profession of love from the lips of yummy Ewan and a healing, warm fuzzy scene on a ’70s tour bus.

My scientific conclusion? Great films make mediocre songs better.

Also causing me headaches this week is the deluge of suck-ass movies seeing release. “Kung Pow,” “Super Troopers,” “Big Fat Liar,” the list goes on.

And it’s just a fact of film life: Late winter and early spring do crappy movies bring. This year’s “Slacker” is last year’s “Tom Cats.” Easily ignorable, these excuses for comedy are practically un-review-able, providing no challenge and little insight.

So with these two concepts rolling around my head, along with which Road Ruler I’ll have to trade on my fantasy team, I have reached the hypothesis that if great films make middle music soar, a horrible film can make bad music even worse and consequently destroy both musician and movie — forever.

Think about it. What if Frankie “Malcom” Muniz, a boy who was once cute and respectable but who has since sold out like an *NSync (who we’ll get to later) tour, were to record a song for “Big Fat Liar?” Maybe a Sinatra cover? Hey, the kid does Doritos spots — anything is possible here, folks. The double negative of a flop film and sucky song could wipe the smarmy brat completely off the face of the earth.

Past examples have been explored to further the idea. What would the effect of a Gerardo montage be on “Krippendorf’s Tribe?” A Color Me Badd ballad in Ellen Degenres’ aptly titled “Mr. Wrong?” The marriage of the two catastrophes may have timely ended their otherwise painfully prolonged existence.

Like any good original concept, I have supporting evidence. *NSync’s film and corresponding soundtrack, along with their nerve-testing Chili’s endorsement, make them just steps away from public combustion.

And the mother of all examples: Mariah Carey. Her “Glitter”-less feature film and album not only mentally destroyed her, but left the self-esteem-challenged diva void of any respect when Virgin revoked her contract last month. It’s all strong evidence to suggest that a ridiculously awful film and its equally distasteful soundtrack can ruin and obliterate anyone and anything (I feel like I should be wearing rubber gloves and a nuclear waste protector suit with this stuff).
The true test of my theory will come next week when Britney Spears shimmies onto the big screen with her vehicle “Crossroads.” If the previews, shameless self-promotion campaign and new single are
any indication, I may be on my way to a Nobel Prize.