Call me a glutton for punishment. I've now seen this wretched rock fantasy three times, and think I can safely call it a day after this. Bluntly, there is nothing remotely believable about Satisfaction. For starters, why would a group of rockin', freshly graduated from high school in 1988 girls spend their day playing old R&B numbers? I can buy them performing the titular Stones number, and C'mon Everybody is virtually impossible to ruin, but the cowbell-driven take on Knock on Wood is awful and the reggae-rific version of Mr. Big Stuff is a joke (and that joke just isn't funny anymore). Only some very powerful psychotropics could possibly convince anyone that Justine Bateman's Liam Neeson accompanied rendition of Dedicated to the One I Love is the future of rock and roll. And please--when was the last time an all-covers band was mooted for a European tour? Has that ever happened? I guess it's nice that Elvis Costello collects a royalty check every time Satisfaction plays on TV (the girls butcher Mystery Dance mid-movie), but that's not much compensation for what is otherwise a thoroughly awful film. Awful, awful, awful!