The World's Greatest Sinner (Timothy Carey, 1962) It just might be, as its score composer noted on "The Steve Allen Show," "the world's worst movie." Martin Scorsese once said he was a fan, but how he can be one is a little speculative—The World's Greatest Sinner has never been finished, even though it was being worked on for three years before running out of money and, seemingly, interest. It did play in one theater in Los Angeles in 1962, but was relatively unseen and unmissed—nobody ever really sought it out as a lost masterpiece. Turner Classic Movies occasionally shows it in its present form "warts and all" (including the countdown leader between reels). Its ending is left open, and missing many shots of continuity, but one gets a semi-idea how it ends.
Tim Carey was an actor, eccentric to a fault. Creative but erratic. Stanley Kubrick used him early on, in The Killing and Paths of Glory, but his antics on-set in the latter caused Kubrick to never work with him again (although he showed up in what would have been Kubrick's next project, One Eyed Jacks, which Kubrick quit, over creative differences with star Marlon Brando). Carey had a long career in B-movies, small parts in A -'s, and a long string of roles on television.
Clarence Hilliard (Carey) is an insurance salesman who has had it with the profession. Upon seeing the near-riotous actions of teens at a rock concert, he is inspired to create his own act, a rockabilly flailing act that draws ecstatic reactions and further impresses him how he can "turn" a crowd. He expands the scope of his appearances to begin preaching his own gospel that every man is a god, capable of fulfilling their own destiny. He starts calling himself "God Hilliard" but his ambitions don't stop there, as he starts an ever-increasing bid for power.
His preaching rapidly turns into a cult following, with a growing number of sycophants and yes-men, and, intoxicated by the power he wields with the crowds and ability to get away with anything in his circle without consequence, turns away from his family and starts to seduce his followers, young and old, bilking those with any means of money and turns his sights to expanding his circle.
Hilliard goes into politics and achieves enough success to temporarily satisfy his rapidly expanding ego. His ultimate act is to challenge God to prove that he isn't actually God, and, of course, God is not that persuaded. In fact, God probably takes a right hand in things just to keep Hilliard from bothering Him any more.
The film's a mess. One can't deny it. The acting is amateurish with the exception of the writer-director-lead, and that's when the scenes are complete and there's actually some editing logic. But, there is the germ of an idea there that in more capable hands might have gone somewhere substantial. The cult of celebrity is a rich field to be mined by whoever can take it to a properly apocalyptic finish. With strong associations to Elvis, evangelists, and the recent rise of pop president John Kennedy, the germ of the idea isn't so much a stretch (as it isn't in such films as All the King's Men or A Face in the Crowd, two earlier better films on the theme). And the idea is a good cautionary tale, not only to those who would seek to capitalize on fame, but those who succumb to it at the shake of a hand...or a hip.
Because such a tale is a two-edged sword. You can't have a narcissist with a craving for power without the frothing masses who fall for it hook, line, and sinker. Tied to the corruption of the leader are the followers who allow it to happen by giving the egomaniac everything that he wants. Both parties should know better, and both will suffer the consequences for allowing it to happen. The blind lead the blind.
Even a flawed film, like The World's Greatest Sinner, can get it right sometimes. If the execution is flawed, and sometimes unwatchable, the subject is still pertinent and borne out in reality. One is so tempted to draw parallels to current times, but the story and its message isn't exclusive to these roller-coaster days. It has happened before and will happen again, in perpetuity, unless there is some general smartening up on both sides of the ledger, if only to admit that folk aren't as smart as they think, merely possessing of a useless hubris. It is even hubris just to suggest it.
By the way, the young composer who dubbed it "the world's worst movie" was a 23 year old Frank Zappa.
The World's Greatest Sinner (Timothy Carey, 1962) It just might be, as its score composer noted on "The Steve Allen Show," "the world's worst movie." Martin Scorsese once said he was a fan, but how he can be one is a little speculative—The World's Greatest Sinner has never been finished, even though it was being worked on for three years before running out of money and, seemingly, interest. It did play in one theater in Los Angeles in 1962, but was relatively unseen and unmissed—nobody ever really sought it out as a lost masterpiece. Turner Classic Movies occasionally shows it in its present form "warts and all" (including the countdown leader between reels). Its ending is left open, and missing many shots of continuity, but one gets a semi-idea how it ends. 
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