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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You've never seen an Olsen Twins movie, have you? Have you? You've never twisted your hair into braids like Hailee Steinfeld and discovered How the West was Fun or booked a trip to the UK for Winning London. You've never personally discovered that, indeed, It Takes Two. God. Now that you've admitted you have nothing in common with true cinéastes, allow me to educate you: Today we're visiting the quaint Manhattan of New York Minute, the Olsens' 2004 big-screen bomb costarring more than a few people you respect. Since their sister Elizabeth is defying cult order in Martha Marcy May Marlene this week, the least we can do is honor the original Olsens for their enslaved followers. These zealots prefer their Kool-Aid straight-up.
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A friend of mine once explained to me her chief problem with movies: "I don't like when movies have conflicts. Can't we just hang out with the characters and make jokes and have fun? It's nicer that way." This week's Bad Movie We Love answers that harebrained prayer with a conflict-free plot, a smiley disposition from beginning to end, and a huge helping of total irrelevance. It's the 1995 sequel Father of the Bride Part II starring The Big Year's lead amigo Steve Martin, Diane Keaton, and a company of stress-free actors. Father of the Bride Part II is the cinematic equivalent of vanilla ice cream with butterscotch syrup: old-fashioned, tasty, and fit for consumption on a Sunday afternoon with your grandparents. Put in your dentures and watch the sedatest version of a "wild and crazy guy" you'll ever see.
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Real Steel calls upon Hugh Jackman's ability to tame and train robots, but this isn't his first time at the robo-dome. He first conquered a borg named Nicole Kidman in Baz Luhrmann's failed epic Australia. Ha! Now, now, that's the first and last Nicole Kidman joke you'll hear from me because 1) Nicole Kidman is awesome, 2) Rabbit Hole is under-appreciated, and 3) BORGS ARE VINDICTIVE. Let's reinspect the joys of this looooong movie without ever caring about the story!
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Since Joseph Gordon-Levitt is titillating you with cancer this week in 50/50 and Josh Hartnett is storming the art-house circuit with Bunraku, we have no choice but to revisit their joint alma mater, the hallowed halls of Halloween H20. It's not the best Halloween movie, and it's certainly not the worst, but as October dawns and the season of the witch descends, we're due for a fright -- and Halloween H20 delivers. It'll loosen the Activia from your trembling constitution.
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What do you get when you take the cartoon/live-action interplay of Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, remove the classic WB/Disney characters, and replace them with loud, gurgling, predatory sexual freaks? You get goofy gonorrhea and the 1992 bomb Cool World starring Moneyball-er Brad Pitt, a perverted young Gabriel Byrne, and Kim Basinger, an Oscar winner who exhibits the dramatic range of Claudia Schiffer. This movie's bad because it's drawn that way.
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