So while The Fanatic isn’t doing anything particularly new, it knows exactly the movie it wants to be. There’s a trashy, pulp energy powering us through the efficient 88-minute run time — long enough to invest us in the stakes, short enough not to wear out its welcome.

One can understand the draw of The Fanatic for someone like Mr. Travolta: It calls for full immersion, mentally and physically. And he pulls it off.

The Fanatic narrows into a simple character study by Travolta. That’s not enough, and what’s here is as quaint and dated as many of the words that come out of Moose’s mouth.

Does not live up to the extravagantly wounded ferocity with which Travolta attacks his part.

If you enjoy hooting at corrosive and inept cinema that is neither worthwhile or giddily reprehensible then you might have found a new subject for fanaticism.