My friend, Julie saw the movie Drive a month or so ago. She’s still bitter about it. She’s anxiously waiting for this Michigan woman’s lawsuit to go class action. Woman sues to stop Drive getting away with a ‘misleading’ trailer.
Here’s Julie’s concise review of the film. “Drive. Buzzed about at Cannes. 80 on Metacritic. Huge flaming pile of crap – unless you watch it as a comedy…”
Her brother, Joel was equally unimpressed. “You could stare at a photo of Ryan Gosling for two hours and basically have the same experience without the annoying music and ultra violent spurts.”
I think everyone has seen a movie that they despised on a visceral level. A friend of mine once sent me an e-mail after seeing The Blair Witch Project, and said that he wanted a refund of his ticket price just so he could take it and throw it out a window, because he’d get more satisfaction from that action than he ever could watching that movie.
In May of 2000, I picked up my brother at the Kansas City International Airport. We were attending our sister’s graduation from the University of Kansas the next day. He had seen Battlefield Earth the night before. And he clearly wasn’t over it. From the time he set foot in the car until we reached our hotel in Overland Park, probably a 25-30 minute drive in afternoon traffic, he went off on one continuous rant about everything in the movie that sucked (which was EVERYTHING in the movie).
My cinematic arch-enemy is P.S. I Love You. Sometimes I get sucked into going to really awful chick flicks with my friends. I’m not really a big fan of the romantic comedy genre, but there are a few that I can tolerate, even like. This one, no.
Soooooo many things were wrong with that movie. The premise is, a guy dies of a brain tumor, and as he’s dying, he leaves a series of fun, kooky, romantic notes for his young widow to find after he’s gone.
Firstly, most men are incapacitated by a simple head cold. I can suspend disbelief in order to buy that Indiana Jones can crack his whip, be dragged behind a truck full of Nazis shooting at him, and come out unscathed (with his hat), but to think that a guy in the throes of end-stage cancer is going to be thoughtful enough to go to such extravagant lengths for his wife on the other side, is not within the realm of possibility.
I mean, he sends her off on a trip to Ireland (um, they lived in a tiny NYC apartment and she worked as a waitress at a bar, yet he’s got money stashed for an all-expense paid trip for her and her three friends) and she meets a guy in a pub, sleeps with him, and oh jeez, look at that, it’s her late husband’s childhood best friend. Who knew?
And just when poor Hilary Swank, worst actress in a romantic comedy ever, is at the end of her rope, she sees his cufflink fall to the floor and it inspires her to start her own business of putting trinkets on top of shoes, and instantly she’s a fashionista with her own swanky retail store on Fifth Avenue. What fucking ever.
Harry Connick, Jr. and other assorted hot guys are in this movie. I’ve had a crush on Harry since I first knew who he was when he was 21 years old and I was 19. By the end of the movie, I even hated him. Hated him because his character was stupid, hated him personally because he took this stupid role to begin with.
Years later I’m still filled with self-loathing for having ever SEEN that piece of dreck. This is why we need a resurrection of Mystery Science Theater 3000. Someone needs to find those guys, give them a hugeass budget so they can rake big box office flicks over the coals. The Occupy Wall Street and Tea Party crowds should be getting to the bottom of problems like this. These are the issues that matter.
What’s the worst movie you’ve ever seen, and why?
© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2011