Worst. Horror. Films. Ever.Beneath amusingly bad films lie the just-plain-crap-films, languishing in septic repose. These puerile, amateur, uninspired shart-stains should not be purchased, rented, or seen under any circumstances.
House of the Dead (2003) When I saw this movie, it hurt my feelings. House of the Dead was a fine videogame in its day, and it was a little exciting to find out that a movie treatment was coming (I learned nothing from the Super Mario Brothers movie). Please imagine a movie made by an hollow-eyed, fist-sucking teen, encouraged by his smecking, out-of-touch blind grandmother to 'make your little movie, dearie.' Well, Uwe Boll isn't a teen, but this is indeed that movie.
The excuse-where-a-plot-should-be is a rave party on a secluded island that coincidentally doubles as a base for underground mutant making. The things-where-actors-should-be are a faceless roster of vapid stereotypes that are unlikely to return to that side of a movie screen. Boll managed to rope Jürgen Prochnow (yes, Jürgen Prochnow, from Das Boot) into a small, fetid role. I can only presume that blackmail with compromising pictures of Prochnow covered with seamen from Das Boot were involved. The only thing this smoking rope of turd is missing is Clint Howard - Oh, wait! There he is, mailing it in, and thereby properly annointing the glistening skidmark that is this film.
The rumored $7,000,000 budget apparently went to the purchase of the 360-degree bullet-cam at the Matrix garage sale. Every time the action slows down, a jarring 'bullet-cam-spinny' shot is spliced in with the hamfisted glee of a hillbilly pulling, um, his own ham. Even an old guy stumbling around, confused and lost, is given this glittering high-tech treatment. It's not fair, because that old guy was probably just trying to wander off the set of this smoking fistula of cinematic offal.
Possibly more annoying than the Appalachan ham-grease-cam is the senseless splicing in of clips of actual gameplay from the HOTD video game every time the movie bogs down (or every seven minutes, whichever comes first). Sometimes this occurs in action sequences (in place of actual action), and sometimes they appear because Boll crapped on the film and had to cut around the brownout. The irony remains that the movie would have been far better if the dried feces had been left intact, instead of this inane 'stylistic' move.
I honestly cannot say enough about this movie. The only reason it should ever be purchased is as a gift for someone you really hate. A lot. Hitler should have received this movie. Once. Uwe Boll should get two copies.
Exorcist II: The Heretic (1977) They had everything going for them. They had brand-name recognition worthy of the gods. They had William Peter Blatty's involvement. They had John Boorman. They had James Earl Jones and Max Von Sydow! They had Dick Smith's makeup effects, and a wacky Italian score. They had crazy Africans. They had Sir Richard Burton... well, they had crazy Africans, anyway.
It may be unfair of me to rant on about this turd, since I have never been strong enough to watch the entire film. However, I was reminded of how bad this movie is by a few things:
(1) I remember how great The Exorcist still is.
(2) I still wake screaming when I dream of this movie, and did so recently.
(3) I saw it listed as the SECOND WORST MOVIE OF ALL TIME on some movie website.
My recollection is a post-traumatic flavor of hazy, but I recall an incoherent mess featuring awkwardly budding Linda Blair with electrodes on her head in a cheesy fishbowl-type of laboratory, repeatedly coupled to Sir Richard Burton. And disjointed cuts to strange aboriginal hijinx and endless footage of locusts. And Sir Richard Burton. And Linda Blair tap dancing - it could not have been more horrible if it had been in slow motion. Oh, and mind reading, which invariable leads to more disjointed editing and more locusts where they don't belong. And Sir Richard Bur-Ton.
It's not scary. It's not interesting. It's barely a movie. It is more like if someone made flip-books out of all the pictures in a urban newspaper, and then edited those flippy-book clips together, added words, crapped on the floor and yelled "I made this." But dumber.
It took Excalibur to save John Boorman's career. It took Rick James to save Linda Blair's.
Zombies Gone Wild (2007) Oh crap. I thought there would be at least two good things about this movie (if you know what I mean), but I was even wrong about that. It starts out like a bland, no-talent teen road trip movie. And then it goes nowhere. Nowhere! There's some sort of mystical zombie chick, but honestly, I could not pay attention long enough to be sure about even that before the convulsive fast-forward button pushing kicked in. Probably a primitive, deep seated survival mechanism inherited from early homonids who had to listen to stupid stories around a fire.
Honestly, if I can ever make it through this shart-smear, I will provide a detailed warning, but for now, just avoid this. As far as I can tell, it has nothing to do with anything in the title. Unless "Zombies Gone Wild" means "boring horse poop falafel" in another language.
Ressurrection Mary (2005) The real Ressurrection Mary is a Chicago area legend going back many years. I have been to the Willow Springs ballroom where she famously appeared. I have been to Ressurrection Cemetery in Justice, where she just as famously disappeared. I guess I take it a little personally when she is disrespected. Like in this smouldering turd of a movie.
This movie gives 'direct to video' a bad name. I watched it 'on demand' for free, and I still feel like I was ripped off. It starts out like a typical, humble low budget piece of crap, but rapidly descends into a staggering low budget piece of epic crap. A theater fire would be the only way to help this movie. A swirling vortex of ineptitude, it turns an inappropriately amorous ghost into some sort of pointless vigillante ghost. Out for vengance or jealousy or motivation or frustration over crappy writing, she kills a bunch of people who may or may not have something to do with the 'dude' in this movie. And then she disappears. And later she re-appears. To remind us of what a stupid writer can really do with enough pencils shoved up his nose. And that's about it.
I kept waiting for something to redeem this film - good acting, good effects, even good lighting. Nothing. I kept on waiting, until the end credits were blurred by my tears. I cried and cried. I cried because I was stupid, and I had proved it by sitting through this whole movie.
Sorry, Mary. I am so sorry.
Q (1982) Maybe it isn't fair to include this film in a list of such absolute turds. I was tricked into seeing this film in a theater when it was released in 1982. Furthermore, it cost $8 (which is about $40 in inflation-adjusted dollars for today), which really cheesed me off. But it was the early 80s, and there were not a lot of horror releases to choose from. And I had heard of Michael Moriarty somewhere, so he sounded like a real actor.
What I remember is a lot of standard 1980s boredom, punctuated by Moriarty yelling "Eat em! Eat em!" to the monster, as though the monster somehow cared what he had to say. I don't remember Shaft being in there, but he is. I remember pretty good effects, and I remember generally crappy dialog.
Maybe I am just bitter about that $8. Whatever.
Das Komabrutale Duell (1999) It's funny how something apparently made by German teenagers with too much paper mache and red and brown water could be considered a bad movie.
This film, described as "banned in Germany due to extreme content" (apparently the Germans hate schiese too) begins with a disappointing lame plot, and then suffers while it tries to maintain that story line. It gets slightly better when it realizes how stupid it really is, which just frees it up to have fun. Like cutting heads in half (the long way), or stomping on fetuses. Foetii. Whatever. They're cheap plastic dolls. It doesn't matter.
Which brings me back to how alarmingly cheap and bad the gore effects are. They are the cinematic equivalent of beer muscles, as in "Hans, Ich ist zo vaisted! Looken at mein grosse muscles!" (This is, of course, German for "Henry, I have lots of red juice and paper mache heads! My SFX are awesome!") Which makes sense, because this movie should only be seen drunk. And without subtitles. And with the screen turned off.
If you want to see what this movie wanted to be, rent Violent Sh*t II - Mother Hold My Hand, which now seems like friggin' Kubric by comparison. Surprisingly, this may be the most watchable movie in this list of stinkers. Shrug.
Antichrist (2009) Firstly, I need to acknowledge the good things about this film. It stars Willem Dafoe, and it features some beautifully composed imagery, especially in the first scene. And it features some very personal and in-your-face gore effects. Which is usually nice.
Unfortunately, by the time the gore cavalry showed up, I had already lost interest in this irritating turd stroker.
Firstly, this is an art film, not a horror film. People who inappropriately market films honk me off. And yes, it was marketed as a horror film, with the tagline "When nature turns evil, true terror awaits." It should have been "when repetitive, unappealing humping turns tedious, run for the exits." That would be accurate marketing.
Secondly, I have not encountered an actress capable of irritating me on so many levels since Sophia Copolla induced wincing in The Godfather III, and THAT is really saying something. Charlotte Gainsbourg, who comes off as a horny doppelganger for Margaret Hamilton (the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz) is unappealing at every level - well, wait - that's not fair - her hair didn't bother me. Within the first half hour, I had endured too much of her breathy, affected delivery of twitchy nutball-babble while she kept hopping onto the Green Goblin's knoblin. I felt more empathy for the confused deer with the stillborn fawn hanging out of its dumper (in case you didn't catch it, this is an art film). Granted, the writing didn't help her - first she's unconsolably grieving, then she is afraid to walk on grass, the next morning she is fine, then she is angry with a chance of psycho. What a great character. Poooop!
This brings us to the third facet of failure - pretentious, hamfisted writing. The symbolism was nice (falling infants everywhere, I get it), but was applied with a smug shovel. This sort of writing is usually reserved for junior-high notebook covers. You know, the kid who has just discovered heavy metal, and insists on writing epic phrases (like "chaos reigns" - thanks, mister talking fox!) in angular, pissed-at-the-world letters. I'll bet this whole movie was written on the back of a Trapper Keeper. Awesome, dude! There's nothing more metal than bolting a heavy grinding wheel through a guy's leg with rusty bolt! I am iron dork! Gwaaa! (Perhaps writer/director Lars von Trier seems to be rebelling against his time with Bjork when he made Dancer in the Dark.)
In the beginning of this film, I wanted bad things to happen to this actress. By the middle of the film, I wanted to do those bad things to her myself. By the end, I was so detached from the film that I didn't care what happened to her, or if Damien ever would show up. I just wanted it to end.
Dead Clowns (2003) One night (after watching The Fog), Steve Sessions thought "I can do that!" He proceeded to try. Kind of how dumb guys always talk about starting a band after going to a good concert.
So he wrote, scored and directed a movie about a coastal town with a long-ago sea tragedy during a storm. And now, the victims of that tragedy are coming back to take their revenge. Stalker laws prevented him from contacting Adrienne Barbeau, so he hired Brinke Stevens to be the 'storyteller' (personally, I love Brinke Stevens - she is a classy lady doing a crap job). But Carpenter already did this with 'ghost sailors,' so Sessions pulled out the next obvious idea - clowns that somehow managed to die in a train wreck in the ocean. Let that sink in for a moment.
No, I'm not making this up.
The next move was genious - take all these elements, and mix them up with stock hurricane footage, tedious shots of people looking at something out-of-frame, and make sure that all the action is s-l-o-w. Super slow. Eraserhead slow. Result: boring poop with lots of closeups of big shoes.
The effects are almost adequate, the gore is sort of funny (and slow and boring), and I still can't figure out where these rotting undersea clowns got brand new clown outfits and big clean clown shoes. Maybe Costco. It's just lucky for Lon Chaney that he didn't say "there's nothing boring about a clown at midnight." He would have been way wrong on that one.