It is a rare and beautiful thing when a film perfectly captures a moment in time. When it allows the audience to live in that moment and wish they had been there themselves.

“Titanic” did this for many — gave them that feeling of having lived through the event. Afterward, they were so in love with the experience they wanted to repeat it over and over again.

Arguably, “Titanic” had the perfect script, excellent direction and inspired acting.

Unfortunately, “54” didn’t have any of these qualities.

When I see a movie like this one, I think it might just be time to completely give up on American films.

Technically, we have everyone beat. The world loves American movies, and they aren’t going away. But they are all like Salma Hayek: They look great, but the acting sucks.

“54” was a slice of late ’70s life for about the first five minutes, and that was due to period film clips showing the gas crisis and shots of Jimmy Carter talking about malaise.

After that, it was just the miserable, pathetic story of some disco dancin’ busboy named Shane who was lucky enough to get a job at Studio 54.

Shane is a simple New Jersey lad who always dreamed of living the glamorous life in far off (two miles far off) New York City. He reads news stories and clips articles about Studio 54, the famous nightclub which was the impetus of the disco phenomenon.

One night, instead of going to a local beer bust, Shane goes to 54 where Steve Roessell, the club’s quirky, game-playing owner and host, takes a fancy to his fresh look and lets him into the party.

The entire scene was one tired- out, stinky metaphor.

Shane appears with his two best friends who can’t get in because they aren’t fashionable enough. He goes in without them, symbolically leaving his old life behind. The club owner says, “Welcome to my party” like the spider to the fly.

Shane is immediately fondled and intrigued by this mystical party. There is a painful moment for the audience when Shane just isn’t quite sure if he wants to step on the dance floor or not.

It is the most contrived scene in the movie and pretty insulting for a modern audience to have to watch such strained symbolism.

Of course, Shane takes the fateful step and becomes a part of the twisted, drug-soaked family of “54.”

There he learns some important lessons about life: how to make extra money selling drugs to customers, how to score with celebrities and how to get promoted by offering to let his boss give him a Lewinsky.

He works really hard, avoids sleeping with his friend’s wife, gets exploited as just another piece of club-style beefcake, becomes estranged from his father, disappoints his sister and eventually rises to the exalted position of bartender.

All of this seems to happen without our ever really getting inside any of the characters’ heads.

This film was as vapid and uninteresting as the late ’70s itself.

If the writer had intended for us to be left with an empty feeling of dissatisfaction, then he might be a genius. But realistically, I think he was going for something cool with an edge and missed the boat.

When you can’t decide between showing how cheesy or gritty something was, you are going to end up in bad movie limbo.

The film and the time period came to a screeching halt in the same strained fashion as the opening of the film. I won’t give it away, but it involves a geriatric disco queen called “Disco” Dot and an IRS raid.

This film was just a faint-hearted attempt to recreate a dull, narcissistic moment in pop culture without anyone getting dirty hands.

If I had it to do all over again, I would go see “Smoke Signals” again.

2 stars out of five

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Greg Jerrett is a graduate student in English from Council Bluffs.