This week sees the release of Resident Evil: Retribution, the next installment in what has been dubbed the “most successful” of video game movie series, a shallow victory indeed. Considering that contemporary video games have become cinematic, employing many proven Hollywood techniques in their platforms, it means that once those properties are adapted for the screen you could end up with the proverbial serpent eating its own tail. In the case of Doom however you end up with something else; much like a document that has been photocopied from a fax of a forgery taken from a carbon-copy, what you end up with is an indecipherable mess.
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America loves a good ol’ fashioned bachelor party. It's a time honored tradition that’s been committed to film again and again, including in this week’s gender-reversal romp, Bachelorette, where the ladies get to behave badly. In honor of that film Movieline takes a look at the holy grail of bachelor party movies, and a bad movie we love: Bachelor Party, starring future Oscar-winner Tom Hanks.
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This August has brought us not one but two ghost possession horror flicks, in the form of The Apparition and The Possession, a double dose of the spooky scary ghoulish torment of nice, innocent people. Why do ghosts always come back to earth to do horrible, icky things? Why wouldn’t they come back to do totally RADICAL things, like make out with hot chicks, race hot rods, and enact some vengeance on bad dudes, all in the form of Charlie Sheen in his prime? I would totally do that if I were a ghost. GUITAR SHRED!! That’s right, get ready for the awesomeness that is the 1986 cult classic The Wraith.
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Don’t shoot the messenger! This week's wide release of the Joseph Gordon-Levitt bike courier film Premium Rush inspired Movieline to deliver this cinematic parcel to your doorstep. Once each generation, Hollywood pushes a product centered on the travails of these municipal nomads; back in the 1970s there was a love story with Tom Berenger in Rush It; CBS tried out the courier-based sitcom Double Rush with Robert Pastorelli and David Arquette; Jessica Alba played an urban biker in Dark Angel; and, most recently, came the Chinese import Beijing Bicycle. The desire to portray the world of bike messenger-ing is understandably tempting — the close-knit society, rebellious personalities, and high-risk action of the work beg for a dramatic treatment. But one title rises seat and handlebars above all the others in this micro-sub-genre: 1986's Kevin Bacon vehicle Quicksilver. more »
With the world in the thrall of another Olympiad, it’s time to dig up an appropriately athletic title from the vaults. And given the disastrous performance of U.S men’s gymnastics team in London, I will be doing my part to salve that psychic wound by drawing attention to an even bigger acrobatic disaster: the 1985 film Gymkata.
The late, legendary Wide World of Sports anchor Jim McKay was renowned for bringing us what he called “the human drama of athletic competition," and in that arena, the Olympics rarely disappoint. Gymkata, on the other hand, fails spectacularly. The drama is non-existent. The athletic display is jackhammered into the storyline, and the performances can be said to be many things, but human is not one of them. This is a gold-plated disaster, and it is one worthy of display. more »
Forty years ago this Friday, United Artists released Diamonds Are Forever -- the seventh entry in the James Bond series, and one that dragged founding franchise star Sean Connery out of 007 retirement in the hopes of rinsing the bad taste that his replacement, George Lazenby, left in moviegoers' mouths in the 1969 film On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Connery succeeded, but only by making what remains arguably the silliest Bond film to date. Enfolding globetrotting jewel smugglers, reclusive Las Vegas casino barons, effete hit men, bikinied enforcers named after cartoons, lunar-landing conspiracy bait, cosmetically enhanced villain-doppelgangers, and more one-liners than a decade's worth of White House Correspondents Dinners, Diamonds Are Forever is campier than a dome tent and almost as vacant.
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Since I'm rational, Christmas puts me in the mood for nostalgia and cartoonish violence. Accordingly, I'm torqued to explore one of the sweetest and most carnage-laden celebrations of the yuletide, Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. Chris Columbus's unthinkably successful box office hit ($173,585,516 in the U.S. alone) reunites us with Kevin McCallister, pits him against bumbling baddies Harry and Marv, and even trots out an extra Oscar-winner for our ironic amusement. Did I mention that it's sometimes more violent than The Texas Chainsaw Massacre? Because I wouldn't be lying about that. I also wouldn't be lying when I say this is a totally stupid movie that should come standard with every American home.
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For once in Bad Movies We Love history, I'm both speechless and teary-eyed. The holiday season is here, and as far as I'm concerned, that means it's time to wheel out the movies that are fucking dependable -- the ones that enrich our families, provide nourishment for our newborns, and encourage Jesus to be more of a hilarious character actress. For me, this means one movie -- my favorite movie -- and one that could be considered bad if you are a heartless, freakish, braindead moviegoer who thinks that skittish ensemble comedies based on board games might be stupid. I would strangle those people in a poorly lit billiard room. The movie is Clue, it's the one thing on Earth I'm positive I love, and I want to hug you as I write this. Girl, let's hold our candlesticks high, our dignities low, and bludgeon the daylights out of Mr. Boddy.
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Not long ago I poisoned you with a lengthy tribute to Madonna's 1986 fiasco Shanghai Surprise, and just yesterday I revisited five of Madonna's more tolerable moments in film with a perky countdown. Time to strike my original pose and get back to rancor: Here's a proper evisceration of Who's That Girl, the 1987 comedy starring Griffin Dunne and W.E.'s auspicious director. Is it a riot? Yes. Is it grimly bad? Yes. Is it anything else? Scary, sometimes.
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Ralph Fiennes's sweeping Coriolanus arrives this weekend. See that shit. Fiennes whips up a batch of thundering personal conflict, the kind that made Quiz Show so awesome, and Vanessa Redgrave gives a supporting performance far worthier of an Oscar than her work in Julia. She is angst and fury. She's like Coriolanus Morissette up there. But if Shakespearean seriousness isn't your thing, please circle back to 2001 when Mekhi Phifer, Julia Stiles and Josh Hartnett served up a Shakespearean telenovela in O, based on Othello. Hope you like hip-hop, opera and Josh Hartnett's "evil" face, because this movie is a green-eyed monster that's trying so hard not to be funny.
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Call me a glum frog with a hand flapping up my ass, but I didn't love The Muppets. Jim Henson's franchise is about goofy, heartfelt antics, and his whimsy warps into a barrage of Glee tunes, self-conscious dorkiness and perky, perky people under the pen of Jason Segel. It's a no for me. Luckily, the '90s already gave us a solid, if stupendously, un-self-consciously dorky Muppets update in the form of Muppets From Space. It's not exactly a part of the classic Kermit cannon, but that's because it's a tangential Henson operation. Think of it as Muppets Origins: Gonzo. Now you're in.
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I'm clinically unashamed most of the time, but today I come to you with a confession worthy of St. Augustine or at least Diane Keaton: Twilight may be the ultimate Bad Movie We Love. It is surely bad, as it looks and acts like the longest, moodiest Evanescence video of all time, but it's also hard to resist. It's neither pretentious nor overconfident. It's silly. Bella Swan is hot for a shock-white ghoul with darting pupils and a social disorder. Celebrate.
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I won't see Adam Sandler's new joint Jack and Jill because I'm a thinking organism, but my defiance is worthless: I've already watched Billy Madison enough times to line Opera Man's pockets with box office dollars for life. He already wins. The mid '90s marked a renaissance in vulgar, idiotic kid comedies (Dumb and Dumber, Tommy Boy, etc), and Sandler's breakthrough Billy Madison -- which barely earned back its $20 million budget -- remains the best of the bunch. Let's jump back in time and yell "O'Doyle rules!" at this loud old gem.
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Whip up a cauldron of haterade, because this week's Bad Movie We Love is a foray into children's Halloween cinema. It's a bargain bin Addams Family ripoff with spooky gusts of wind beneath its wings. It's Hocus Pocus, my pretties, Disney's perennial Halloween favorite for people who were exactly 7 in 1993. (Present!) We've got yer veteran character actresses in hag attire, a couple of winning child stars, and two songs that should render you songless until Thanksgiving. No, this is not a prequel to Sex and the City 2.
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Mamma Mia! is a celebrated American film where Meryl Streep tries to convince you she's brain-damaged for 108 minutes. She has no guess as to who birthed her blonde, blue-eyed, ABBA-squawking daughter, but she'll storm about a sunny Grecian isle until we all agree to forget she's doing this for an obese stack of cash. What a Swedish fishy musical this is! It gives Stockholm Syndrome to thinking people. Let's watch it 30 times, channel Agnetha and Anni-Frid using ethereal harmonies and beige lipstick, and recount the five greatest musical numbers in this insane, aquamarine spectacle of light, sound and sheer embarrassment.
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