In Praise of Really Bad Movies

Some time back, I commented here on the joys of watching schlock movies, and Michele, my ever-faithful reader (I wish I could clone you, Michele!) asked me to recommend a few choice titles. The fact that it's taken me so long to get around to doing so is not so much a function of being busy (though of course that's a factor) as it is of the challenge inherent in trying to provide such a list. To an extent, bad movies are not so much individual items as they are a kind of product. But the really good bad stuff, of course, is truly great, and as worthy of viewing (if you're so inclined) as Citizen Kane or The 400 Blows.

One of the best ways to enjoy bad movies is through anthology-type films such as It Came from Hollywood (1982), which provided my introduction to the joys of schlock when I first viewed it many years ago. Another good title in this vein is Schlock!: The Secret History of American Movies (2001). And then there's that most notable ongoing guided tour of schlock provided by the old Comedy Central show Mystery Science Theater 3000.

The makers of MST3K, many episodes of which are available on DVD, more than delivered on their stated promise to (quoting loosely here) "sift out the really bad stuff so you get to see the really bad stuff." For the unitiated, the premise of that great contribution to popular culture was this: our protagonist, Joel (later replaced by Mike) runs afoul of some mad scientists, who force him to wander endlessly in his space capsule, watching bad movies they've downloaded to his personal theatre. To ease the pain, Joel creates a coterie of robot friends who watch the movies with him and make wisecracks, much the way we have all done with our friends at some time or another in our lives..

The show we see, then, is an edited version of the schlock movie, viewed from a position just behind our hero and his buddies (their silhouetted heads appear in the foreground), who comment on such greats as Touch of Satan, The Girl in Gold Boots, and Eegah! At one point, Mike wins a bet against his captors, and as payoff demands to see a really, really good story. So they oblige him, serving up a dubbed German black-and-white TV version of Hamlet from the 1960s. Another favorite of mine is their viewing of Manos: Hands of Fate (1966), recently celebrated in Entertainment Weekly as the Worst Film of All Time.

When superlatives of bad filmmaking are discussed, however, it is impossible not to mention schlock's greatest auteur, the figure celebrated in Tim Burton's 1994 film Ed Wood. (Warning: Ed Wood, which featured prominently at that year's Academy Awards, is a good movie--inspiring, even. My wife and I have seen it a dozen times, and will happily purchase it if and when it ever comes out on DVD.) Edward D. Wood, Jr., is most famous for Glen or Glenda (1953) and Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959) , but his ouevre is far more extensive, and impressive overall.

If you're a Netflix member (those guys should pay me for all the promotion I've done for them over the years!), all you have to do is select a choice schlock title, then look down at the "Enjoyed By Members Who Enjoyed..." listing and start clicking links, you'll find enough schlock to fill many a day with joy. Apparently I'm not the only one afflicted with this perverse affinity for dreck: go to Netflix and view custom lists such as "Something Weird discs." Something Weird is the name of a distribution company that has undertaken the re-release, on DVD, of all-but-orgotten schlock classics from the golden age of the "genre," c. 1955-1975.

Finally, no overview of schlock would be complete without mentioning those works of contemporary Hollywood or independent filmmakers, as opposed to small-time exploitation studios of the past, that qualify for the title. I'm not talking about senseless action fluff that's just plain bad--as someone reviewing Ed Wood years ago noted, if you want to see a really lousy movie, see Demolition Man. (Or Judge Dredd, or Die Hard 2, or Lethal Weapon 4, or.... and the list goes on.)

No, I'm talking about something that aims much higher, because after all, the essence of schlock is unintentional humor. For that, one can hardly do better than to see a film that all the "important" people take seriously, when anyone with a working brain can see that the Emperor is naked: Thirteen, for instance, or In the Bedroom. (Actually, the latter was just plain boring and lacking in surprises--not really schlock, I suppose.) Such a film might include a really good actor, like Bridget Fonda in Point of No Return. Or maybe many good (or at least, notable) figures--and here I come to my favorite of all bad mainstream movies, one I never miss when I catch in on cable: St. Elmo's Fire. (If you don't believe me, see some of the memorable quotes at the IMDb.)

[For more great titles, see the Wikipedia list of films "nominated" for the title of Worst Ever. Also, here's a superb MST3K tribute site with tons of artwork and details, etc.]

Beware of Phishing Phools Swimming Sharkily Around the Amazon Basin

Normally I wouldn't bother to write about an email scam, because I figure that readers of this blog (all, oh, seven or eight of you) are savvy enough to spot them on their own. Some of these are so ridiculously transparent that I'm genuinely amazed to learn that people fall for them, but this one was so cleverly disguised that I puzzled over it for some time before reporting it.

Yesterday morning I got an email purportedly from Amazon.com, with a very convincing-looking return address. (I started to include it here, but decided against because I couldn't figure out how to keep it from appearing as a hot link, and I certainly don't want anybody to click on it.) Anyway, the note concerned a billing issue: supposedly somebody had been trying to use my account or something, and they needed me to contact them using a Web address they provided. That URL was VERY convincing-looking--no "amazon @ hotmail.com" or whatever. It looked so much like the real thing, and the matter seemed plausible enough--I order a lot of stuff from Amazon regularly, and one of my assistants also uses my account to order things for Deidre and me--that I clicked on the link. And the site it brought me to looked SO much like Amazon that I very nearly took the bait.

Had it not been for something about the subject line of the original email that looked a little strange--it just didn't exactly correspond to anything I'd ever received from Amazon before--combined with something in the wording of the email that didn't sound quite like it applied to me (there was a reference to an Amazon credit card, which I don't have), I might very well have fallen for this clever scam. Instead, I went to Amazon--not using the URL from the email, but the one stored in my Favorites on Internet Explorer--and reported the matter to them. Sure enough, they sent back a boilerplate response indicating that the email I received was not from them, and thanking me for reporting the matter to them.

So if you get something from Amazon that doesn't look right, don't respond to it. Just go to Amazon--the real Amazon--and let them know about it. You don't have anything to lose by doing so, and if you fall for a scam (as yours truly, who prides himself for his wisdom in these matters, very nearly did), you could lose a lot.