So, years ago – yes, I’m that lazy – I was thinking of making Bad Movies a regular thing on this blog. Although somehow I missed everything but the soundtrack first time around, I wallowed through polished Eighties turd Cocktail and came out the other side wondering how on earth Tom Cruise ever had an acting career after that one. In the interim I cued up another likely stinker – Days of Thunder – and pretty much Adam Sandler’s entire post Happy Gilmore oeuvre.
Needless to say, my Netflix recommendations look…bad. The white text at the top should probably read ‘lasciate ogne speranza voi c’he entrate’, but Netflix hasn’t read Dante so instead I get ‘wacky eighties comedies’, which is much the same thing really.
It was mostly laziness that stopped me from keeping it up, but it was also a period of time where nobody watched movies any more. It was all TV, and in the main it was all very, very good TV. The kind of TV that stomped along in the huge footprints of The Sopranos, and did it very well. House of Cards. Breaking Bad, and its shockingly good spinoff Better Call Saul. And now Stranger Things – I mean, look at that fucking thing. It’s beautiful. It’s like Netflix’s kneeling, hands-clasped apology for commissioning three series of Hemlock Grove.
So yeah. There wasn’t really a great deal of stuff to point and laugh at, except maybe for Hemlock Grove and the bog-awful Sons of Anarchy, and they – like a lot of the bad stuff – wasn’t point-and-laugh bad. Just deathly dull.
But then there was Zoo.
Full disclosure, when I started watching Zoo I was down with a vicious stomach bug. So it might have been feverishness and a lack of food that made me laugh as loud and hard as I did. This show is insane. It’s dementedly awful in a shrieking, so-bad-it’s-good way that I haven’t seen since the dizzy days of Footballer’s Wives. And I’m told they’re doing a third series. Magical. Continue reading
Hey everyone – look at what this thieving shitnut, AKA Naomi Knight AKA Rhyming With Oranges wrote!
Look familiar? I know, right? Looks a hell of a lot like a post I wrote, doesn’t it?
Oh no, wait – it looks more like two posts I wrote.
It’s okay, Naomi. I’m not that angry. I’m only slightly furious. Is it because you were dropped on the head as a baby? Or are you really that fundamentally fucking stupid that you didn’t think I’d notice that you’d copypasted large swathes of things that I wrote and passed them off as your own? It might be a good idea to apologise at this point. And swear on the bones of whatever saints you hold holy that you will never, ever do this again. That might be a smart move on your part right now. I’m suggesting it because you don’t seem to have many smart ideas. At least none of your own.
If there’s one thing I really love about Netflix and other on demand movie services, it’s that they not only give you instant access to the best movies ever made, but also (and more frequently, let’s face it) to some of the absolute worst.
I love bad movies almost as much as I love bad books. I devour bad books. I download them by the fistful, gorge on their awfulness, laugh along with their bad reviews and marvel at their good ones. I could review bad books forever, except that many of the worst stinkers I read are by ordinary people. It’s not like taking wide potshots at the likes of E.L. James, Dan Brown or John Green, since my bad opinion is hardly likely to cut into their sales margins. Some of the real steamers on Amazon are by ordinary people. People who are just trying to make a living. People like me.
It’s an old rule of comedy (and maybe human decency) – always punch upwards.
And that’s why Hollywood is the perfect outlet for my unspent bile. It’s a multi-billion dollar dream factory that – despite having access to untold wealth and talent – manages to turn out some of the most hollow, expensive toss ever to trouble human eyeballs. You have a huge budget, a bankable star, an Oscar winner for your villain and a bunch of cameos by such likeable British actors as Ray Winston, Nick Frost and the late Bob Hoskins.
All that and you still manage to make Snow White and The Huntsman. Continue reading
Posted in bad movie night, big steaming heaps of it, reviews, Unfathomably bad movies, wtf
Tagged artax nooooo, bad movies, Charlize Theron, Kristen Stewart, Snow White and The Huntsman, Strong Female Characters(TM), you tried
This is it. This is finally it. The last chapter of Fifty Shades of Grey. Twenty-six is a strangely appropriate number, because this monster of a book often feels like a marathon; it hurts like hell, you think it will never end and it may very well make you throw up in public.
The chapter begins with Ana waking up, and I don’t even care because I don’t have to read any more of this crap once this chapter is over.
Posted in big steaming heaps of it, books, Fifty Shades of Abuse, Fifty Shades of Shit, reviews, wtf
Tagged crap, fifty shades annotated, fifty shades of abuse, fifty shades of grey, new depths of boredom, truly awful books
Chapter twenty-five starts with Ana’s mom burping out yet another string of self-help platitudes as she bids goodbye to her hellspawned daughter.
“Follow your heart, darling, and please, please – try not to overthink things. Relax and enjoy yourself. You are so young, sweetheart. You have so much of life to experience yet, just let it happen. You deserve the best of everything.” Her heartfelt words are comforting whispered in my ear.
Just in case that Hallmark pink moment above wasn’t Disney enough for you, ditz-princess Renee Carla reminds Ana that ‘you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.’ Then she promises to visit, although she probably won’t, since she couldn’t be bothered to stir herself to come to Ana’s graduation. Ana wanders aboard her flight thinking on the subject of ‘unconditional love’, and promptly pulls out her BlackBerry in order to ‘stare at it despondently’.
I know it looks like nothing is happening at this point in the book, but trust me – it’s all about to hinge on this moment. Ana is about to have one of her moments of slack-jawed revelation and we’re all about to die a little more inside. Continue reading
Chapter twenty-four starts with another one of Ana’s ever-so-meaningful ‘symbolic’ dreams.
Christian stands in a steel-barred cage. Wearing his soft, ripped jeans, his chest and feet are mouthwateringly naked…
This is my second favourite participle mess of the entire book. While it doesn’t quite come close to the one where he was wearing a tie with eyeballs and a shrewd expression, it’s still pretty special in context. Just a heads up – Thomas Hardy fans might want to grab something to bite down on before reading any further. Continue reading
This post comes from a place of deep, heartfelt joy. Yes, that’s right – yesterday I finished reading Fifty Shades of Grey and it can’t hurt me anymore! It’s over! I am FREE!
You, however, have got another five terrible chapters to read. Sorry about that. Continue reading