A thoroughly disposable bit of Teutonic fluff, Bandits follows the improbably merry adventures of four female prisoners who form the eponymous rock band to channel their brewing discontent into jangly, Bangles-like pop. Tapped to play the annual policeman's ball, the women take the opportunity to escape to the German countryside after knocking out an abusive guard. In an unexpected twist—unexpected to anyone who hasn't seen The Harder They Come, that is—their music begins to sweep the nation, the band's notoriety feeding into its commercial success. An incredibly silly film, made sillier by its tendency to lapse into music-video-style performance sequences at the drop of the hat, Bandits portrays life on the lam as akin to a college road trip, the women's fugitive status never getting in the way of their ability to frolic in fields, paint their nails, pick up a hunky American tourist, and lead spontaneous dance sessions during a rush-hour traffic jam. Director Katja von Garnier shows a commercial director's eye for a striking image, but she's not selling anything interesting, just one-dimensional characters on a fairly routine adventure. After a lot of nonsense, Bandits gets serious in its final act—and becomes yet another film to swipe liberally from Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid—which may be the funniest thing about it.