Archive for the ‘worst movies ever’ Category

Congratulations to the following winner and runners-up of the Worst Movies Ever contest…

Winner:  Scott from He Shot Cyrus, who broke my brain with the worst movie of all time (Begotten).

Runners-up:   Jason from Invasion of the B Movies who nominated Troll 2, Joseph at Cinexcellence who nominated Manos:  The Hands of Fate, and Sir Jorge at Scary Film Review who nominated Ax ‘Em.

Scott receives some super-secret prizes and each runner up receives a free DVD of a movie that actually doesn’t suck.   (You guys are getting brand-new copies of movies that are my personal favorites, so I’m crossing my fingers and knocking on wood that you don’t own any of them.)

You guys need to e-mail me so I can get your addresses.   Prizes go out in the mail next Saturday so you need to get me your information by that time, please.

Congrats, guys!   And thanks for putting me in some serious mental pain for the past few months.   Thanks to everyone else that submitted as well.

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It’s a movie about time-traveling, mutated turtles well versed in martial arts.   They have a rat for a sensei and Elias Koteas, who carries the disease known as “If-I’m-in-a-movie-it-will-suckitis”, as a friend.   They travel to feudal Japan and help restore peace to a region of the country.   They deal in bad action scenes, bad hair and bad jokes.tmntiii

I feel like I just strapped on some jelly sandals with some clashing day-glo clothes, teased my hair and went out in public…and promptly hit on someone.   Does that make sense?   Do I care?

Watching this gives you the distinct feeling of uncomfortable nostalgia mixed with the discomfort of feeling like someone was hitting the crack pipe pretty hard during the conceptual stage of this.

I just watched a sequel to a freakin’ Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie.   I thought it ended badly with Vanilla Ice rapping about kinesthetically-gifted giant reptilians in Part II, but um… no.

And if you’ll excuse me, I have a bottle that’s calling my name.

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When one of my friends found out I was doing Moonraker, he said (and I paraphrase):  “I love James Bond but I don’t even own that piece of shit, Caitlin”.   Praise, indeed!


The nominators for this one were the sisters Pookie and Schnookie, who have long James Bond marathons and enjoy such things as Murder, She Wrote and quilting, so you know we get along well.   I was warned in advance that this was awful.  I believe there were some admonishments about how none of Bond’s quips even make sense given the situation at hand, but nothing, really, can truly prepare you for the cataclysmic ineptitude that is Moonraker.

There’s no real use in summarizing the plot since every James Bond movie has the same plot for the most part.  In this one, Bond must stop the villain Hugo Drax from doing something villanous involving outer space.   He must battle Hugo Drax’s feared henchman Jaws and Bond’s contractually obligated to have sex with a couple of pretty girls who have vaguely pornographic names, too.   In theory, it’s hard to completely fuck up the premise of Bond.   He uses some gadgets, drives a cool car, gets laid and bests the baddie.   If you’ve seen one…

Moonraker, however, is in a league of its own due ot the fact that nearly every aspect of it is shitty.   Hugo Drax, the villain, is so bland that I didn’t even bother to take a screencap of him.  His dullard henchman is more interesting than he is.


Jaws is a simple fellow who likes to bite things with his metal teeth, stand around being intimdating and generally walking around with a big smirk on his face.   That, ladies and gentlemen, is the mark of a great Bond villain.

Oh, except for the fact that Jaws turns “good” in the end…for love.

The man just runs around and bites things and is a strong freak, okay?   That’s all he does, right up until the very end.    How memorable.


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God, this thing wears thin fast.

Just My Luck involves Ashley (Lindsay Lohan), a fashionable Manhattan career girl who has everything go her way and Jake, a guy who does something involving music and who seems to be perenially cursed with awful luck.   When the two inadvertently cross paths at a masquerade party and kiss, they switch luck .  This leads Ashley to take up a desperate hunt for Jake as she gets fired, goes to prison, and  nearly electrocutes herself in the few short hours after they switch luck.

The concept of “luck-switching” is boring enough, but to stretch it out for hours is maddening.   I swear that the word “luck” has to be repeated enough time for it to be drilled into your brain with a Pavlovian response indicating pain.   Not only is it boring and tedious, but the general overall feel of the film doesn’t even feel romantic – and it’s supposed to be a romantic comedy, for goodness sakes.

Lindsay Lohan does not do her best here.   She’s mechanical and robotic at times, something which is odd considering the fact that she ought to be holding her own and then some.   Given the subject matter, this is Lohan’s previous bread-and-butter; a family-friendly comedy with a bit of romance and quirk.  In some regards, this is charted, simple territory for her. Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen and Freaky Friday were similar roles in Lohan’s repertoire.   The performance she gave in Mean Girls indicates she’s far better than what she gives here, which is supposed to be a lucky but unappreciative career girl who learns the true meaning of being grateful for what you have.   Lohan, however, can’t even sell you that Ashley is appreciative for her luck, let alone capable of giving it all up for twoo-wuv.

Let’s hope Chris Pine isn’t as instantly forgettable in Star Trek as he is here.

There are some “what-if” premises that just can’t be stretched into a feature length movie without being exhausting and full of mediocrity and tedium for the viewer.   Just My Luck started out as one of those premises.

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Look, I have my limits, okay?   Uwe Boll just pushes me too far.


Every time I try to put coherent thoughts down about Alone in the Dark, I fail.   If you have seen a Uwe Boll movie, then you have an inkling of what’s in store for you.   If not, then this movie should have the subheading “ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO PUT THIS IN YOUR DVD PLAYER”.

I’m sure that given a few years and a mindwipe, I could cobble together something about how Stephen Dorff can’t even play a parody of himself.  I could probably work together a theory on why Uwe Boll makes movies that suck so much they’re not even the kind of bad movie you can pop in on a Friday night and laugh.    I could even, maybe, write a passionate argument about how Tara Reid’s not stupid, she’s just not a good actress and that’s what makes her look awful as an archaeologist (along with a god-awful script).    I actually feel bad for Tara Reid.  Sigh.

All of it, I could do – were it not for the worst sex scene I have ever had the distinct displeasure of seeing in a motion picture.   My eyes did not want to drink in the sight of a bloated, stubble-covered Christian Slater, looking half miserable and half depressed as Tara Reid shucks her clothes.   Watching the two wriggle under atrocious lighting with an untalented director to bring us something that resembles a facsimile of sex may render you unable to speak.  And oh, Jesus, the sounds.  I don’t know that I can ever forget it.   This is the second time I’ve watched it.   The scene is so bad I have the urge to get up and leave the room.
That’s when all thoughts of comprehensive analysis leave my brain.

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Déja vu.


When I was doing a little digging on the ‘net for general cast information about Eragon, I noticed that a lot of people seem to be mentioning that it’s a a blatant Star Wars ripoff. To some extent, that’s true, but Star Wars in and of itself rips off a lot of myths, so take that for what it’s worth.

I feel compelled to inform you in the interest of integrity that I am not a fan of dragon movies.
Now that pesky integrity thing is out of the way, I’d like to offer up that I am not enthralled by Eragon. There is nothing about dragons and fantasy flicks in general that has ever entertained or amused me. This movie is not the exception to the rule either. It’s a hodgepodge of fantasy movie plots and mythology. It’s not inventive or anything new.

Eragon moves like a highlight reel at a fantasy convention and I get the sense that maybe that’s not what the fine people who made it were looking for. Story wise, though, it’s on solid footing and it at least makes sense.

Eragon is a poor farm boy who was abandoned by his mother. He finds a stone in the woods one day that hatches into a dragon. When the dragon accepts him as a rider, all hell breaks loose. In the days of old, there used to be dragon riders until one of them got some no-good aspirations into his head and became a king. His name is Galbatorix, which only made me think of some sort of intergalactic Star Trek villain. Who plays Galbatorix?
You know John Malkovich took this one to pay off his house or something. In fact, he’s not the only famous person slumming it in this one. I don’t know what the hell was going on with this flick, but some really well-respected actors lined up for decent pay with little work.
Galbatorix isn’t too happy about another dragon rider to be called, so he puts his faithful servant on the job of finding the last remaining dragon rider. Galbatorix made sure every dragon rider was gone, or so he thought.
If I weren’t so familiar with Robert Carlyle’s crazy ass, I never would have recognized him. This is some “Robert Carlyle goes to the Renaissance Faire” kind of bullshit going on here, if Robert Carlyle let his Dead Can Dance-listening girlfriend dye his hair with Manic Panic. Watching Robert Carlyle smarm his way through this is ghastly and painful. I suspect it would be a lot like how I would feel if I were ever dragged to a Renaissance Faire, come to think of it.

Eragon’s family is killed while Robert Carlyle searches for him, but a helpful mentor named Brom shows up and lends a hand to Eragon’s survival with a little persuasion. Thus they must travel to a stronghold of resistance in order to mount the forces necessary to defeat Galbatorix and essentially save Eragon’s life.

Brom is the best thing about this movie mainly because he’s played by a hot old man we all know and love named Jeremy Irons.

Besides being handsome, what I love most about Jeremy Irons in this movie is that he practically walks though every scene with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. It’s a smile that says, “This turkey is paying for my new car and my kid’s college education, so I might as well ham it up while I have the chance”. Thanks, Jeremy. He’s the one bright spot in a drab flick. Plus, he’s the kind of hotness that makes you want to lick your television screen. That would be a good idea, except not – all you’re left with is a tongue coated with the taste of bitter disappointment and dust.
Ed Speelers is the kid who plays Eragon. I don’t know how I feel about him. He’s awful, awful, awful. He could have been replaced in half the movie by a mannequin and it would have been alright. He takes what should be a standard character and makes him either obnoxious, tedious or monotonous.
And Djimon Hounsou showed up to collect a paycheck, I see…
So did Garrett Hedlund. Ouch.
Eragon isn’t a movie that makes a viewer claw their eyes out; it’s a movie that bores the viewer right to sleep.

How lame is that?

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Throw Pretty Woman and My Best Friend’s Wedding into a blender and what do you get?


I’ll put it as succinctly as I can.   Kat is a successful woman who’s only missing one thing in her life – a relationship.   After being jilted by her fiancé years earlier, she’s remained single.  A phone call from her sister in London only complicates things for Kat.   Her sister is getting married and Kat’s ex, Jeffrey, will be the best man.   Desperate to show up looking successful, happy and most definitely not-single, Kat hires a charming male escort after reading an article about “paying for a date”.   It only costs her a pittance.   $6,000 is a small price to pay to appear as you wish to be, right?

If you have seen Pretty Woman, if you have seen My Best Friend’s Wedding, then you know right where this movie is going.   You can predict all the plot points, you can predict all the conflict.   All of the romance movie clichés are out in full-force, as Kat’s got the annoying, spoiled sister and the brash best friend who says obnoxious things in such a charming fashion.   Kat’s ex, Jeffrey, is a complete scumbag and the male escort played by Dermot Mulroney?   Well, he’s just a do-right kind of guy, don’t you know.

I probably have the least amount of room to complain about predictability or genre clichés, given my love of bad horror and action films, but at least things vary from time to time.   This one is just more worn out than old carpet.

I would say it’s a shame, but that’s only because I have lots of residual love for Debra Messing from Will & Grace, but I think Debra Messing’s made up her mind to just play Grace Adler for a really long time.   The character of Kat is nothing more than a more depressed version of Grace… which I’ve seen variants of for seven seasons.   On Will & Grace.  This time, there’s no Megan Mullaly to liven up the set when Grace gets a little annoying.

By the end of this fairly predictable piece of “romance”, you mostly wish everyone would just shut up and stop whining.   An easily resolved conflict does not make for two hours of a good movie and the tiresome aspects of everyone else in the movie make you long for one of the martinis that are constantly being served up and around the wedding party.

And really, ladies, does anyone find Dermot Mulroney attractive?   I don’t.   I’d rather tongue-kiss Hugh Grant any day of the week and we all know how I feel about Hugh Grant.   It’s not that Mulroney’s bad looking, he’s just slightly above average, like an insurance salesman who’s aged well.   I have a hard time buying him as a suave male escort.

Well, I have a hard time buying the whole movie; especially when I could’ve told you how it would end after the first ten minutes.

Pass me a martini, will you?

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Think Bratz, only more patronizing and twee.

I didn’t know it was possible, but IT IS.

How weird is it that a show that’s entirely based on celebrating and glamorizing the obnoxious fetes of a group of spoiled-rotten teenagers is turned into a movie that’s about using your Super Sweet 16 for philanthropy and not excess?   ‘Mind-boggling’ is the term that springs up in my head.  Other than that, please see Bratz.   The same syrupy teenage stereotypes are used here.

I puzzled my puzzler, to borrow a term from Dr. Seuss, for days on how to write this.   Honest to goodness, there’s no good way to review it.   Once I stopped having a stream of mental vomit that probably looked like the Lisa Frank store had set up shop in my bile ducts, I was left at a loss for words.   I don’t know that a more useless, obnoxious piece of worthless waffling has been put to plastic in quite a while.    Can’t we give children credit to think that they might want for more than this?

You also have to question the appeal of making this movie into an after-school special, given the fact that all the show did was give bratty teens a platform to share with the world their fits about not getting to ride into their party on the RIGHT ELEPHANT.   These are kids with too tight grips on Mommy and Daddy’s credit card, kids who clearly missed the lesson Roald Dahl tried to teach with Veruca Salt in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The folks who are undoubtedly turning on My Sweet 16:  The Movie are not looking for a message of “showing off isn’t everything”; they want to see if some kid can book Jay-Z and ride in to the amphitheater on a caravan of gold-leafed camels outfitted with saddles hand sewn with blue diamonds, all while the kid slices up a ninety tier cake.   At least that’s what I’m thinking, given the couple of episodes of My Sweet 16 that I’ve endured.

Is it the worst I’ve seen?   Oh, hell no.   Is it the worst of the kids movies that I’ve seen?   Oh, yes.

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If you want a movie as dull as a box of rusty razorblades, then Glitter is definitely your ticket.    Talk about a snoozefest…

A struggling singer – Mariah Carey – was abandoned by her single, lounge singer mother at a young age and since then, she’s been struggling for professional acclaim and the ability to find her mom.  A promoter comes along and offers Billie, the young singer, and her two friends a job in a group.  It really turns out to be that Billie is the real singer while another girl, Sylk, gets all the credit for the vocals.  A DJ spots her as the real singer and from there, Billie’s career takes off, but can she survive choices between friends and careers?   And what, pray tell, will Billie do when the promoter comes back for his chunk of the pie, putting her on-the-rocks relationship with the DJ in peril?

If you’re already bored senseless, then imagine stretching out that overworn plot into a two hour movie.    Here’s a shocker:  Mariah Carey in my opinion isn’t as awful as everyone made her out to be.   She’s barely passable as an actress but I have to say, I’ve seen a lot worse in the past few months.   What’s really sickening about this one is the performance of the supporting cast.   See Terrence Howard before he was all well-known, cheesing it up as a sleazy promoter.   See Da Brat, she of The Surreal Life and rap fame, playing one of Mariah Carey’s best buds in what may be the most annoying yet bland portrayals I’ve ever seen of the best friend/hanger on.

More than anything, Glitter refuses to deviate from the clichés of movies before it, nor does it offer up anything spectacularly original or interesting.   Two hours of Maria Carey trying to make her celluloid mark isn’t very interesting at all.   I’ve had more fun during dental procedures.

Worse yet, Glitter is set in the ’80’s in a period of dance-pop and New York clubs, something which is decidedly not easy on the eyes.   Two words:   camel. toe.   It’s not pretty and it’s not any easier to look at in spandex, stretch polyester or some sort of silver-y outfit that looks vaguely space age.   (You could probably cover the space station with the material from that outfit).   It doesn’t bring on any warm feelings of nostalgia to see people running around in hot pink and hats with the brims flipped up; it adds another layer of cringe to an already sad, vapid movie.

The ending of Glitter is indicative of the whole movie:   the now-famous, successful daughter shows up in a limo and spangly formal dress to meet her long-lost mother who has turned into Suzy Homemaker out in the country.   Trite, boring, and uninteresting, it’s amazing the few theatergoers who braved Glitter made it out of the theater without leaving copious amounts of vomit in their respective wakes.

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I’ll preface this write up by saying Untraceable is far from the worst movie I’ve seen doing this little shindig we call “Worst Movies Ever”, but it’s a far cry from the best.    In fact, it’s just shoddy and poor all the way around.

Diane Lane plays FBI Agent Jennifer Marsh, a lady who starts out as a no-nonsense, ass-kicking kind of cybercrime agent.   By that, I mean she picks up the phone and literally requests a door knocked down based on circumstantial evidence that would never actually get you a warrant in real life.   Already, this movie?  It bores me.

Marsh is asked to investigate a website with her partner, Griffin Dowd.   Killwithme.com features a kitten stuck to fly paper, unable to move as people watch the thing suffer and die.    Once the audience is successfully disturbed and a modicum of sensibility that the future serial killer is a sicko has been established, we move on.

Marsh, it seems, is a dedicated family woman!   She’s a single mom, lives with her mom and her daughter and throws roller-rink birthday parties where she invites her coworkers.   How sweet.   It’s too bad there’s  a psychopathic serial killer who likes to broadcast his major killings on the internets, huh?   That’ll totally fuck with your suburban household downtime.

Here’s where the film fucking explodes into stupidity.

Each victim is selected and broadcast for everyone to see on the Internet.  The more hit counts the website gets, the quicker the victim dies.


One victim is pumped full of anti-coagulants and made to bleed to death; another is stuck under high-powered lamps and somehow burned to death.   When Griffin discovers the identity of the killer, he’s rounded up and summarily dispatched in a tank of water quickly infused with sulfuric acid.   Pleasant.



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