Tommy is cheesy, grandiose, bombastic, over-the-top and full of ridiculous goofs (like how a straight-brown-haired brown eyed chunky kid grow up into a curly-blond-haired blue-eyed lean adult is a question for the ages). The motifs are so Freudian-blatant one wants to ROTFL. Oliver Reed can’t even speak-sing. But I still love it. Not sure why. I think it is the color-coding of the demonic triad of The Acid Queen, Cousin Kevin and Uncle Ernie. Or Ann-Margaret rolling in baked beans. Or both.