Don't have enough plot to get to 3 hours? Just restate the plot of the movie 3 times and give your movie an hour of free time.

"Happy New Year" has all the makings of an enjoyable Bollywood blockbuster—a promising story, decent acting, likable characters, and a handful of genuinely fun sequences. On paper, this sounds like a surefire recipe for entertainment. However, the film quickly falls prey to the worst habits of Bollywood: unnecessary bloat, juvenile execution, and a lifeless narrative that seems more concerned with padding out its 3-hour runtime than telling a compelling story.

The plot, while intriguing in concept, drags at a snail's pace, feeling like it's perpetually stuck in quicksand. Every time the story starts to gain momentum, it’s bogged down by excessive filler, cheesy humor, or melodramatic detours that add nothing to the overall experience. The immaturity of the film's tone further undercuts its potential, making even its heartfelt moments feel contrived and insincere.

At its core, "Happy New Year" feels like a hollow vehicle designed to sell records of its overhyped soundtrack. Any spark of originality or excitement is sucked out in favor of cookie-cutter dance numbers and uninspired montages. The result is a film that overstays its welcome, exhausting the viewer long before the credits roll.

It’s a shame because there are glimmers of a much better movie buried underneath the excess. Unfortunately, this could have been an entertaining caper but ended up being a tedious slog instead. Bollywood can do better, and audiences deserve better.

It's really no wonder the Nazis lost the war. They are just too stupid. Antichristmas!

If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if a department store Santa got tangled up in a Nazi plot involving an evil elf, virgin sacrifice, and the Fourth Reich, then boy, do I have the movie for you. Elves (1989) isn’t just a bad movie—it’s a certifiable fever dream of absurdity, incompetence, and the kind of misguided ambition that makes it impossible to look away. Strap in, folks, because this isn’t your average Christmas horror flick; it’s a trainwreck wrapped in tinsel and doused in eggnog-flavored LSD.

Let’s start with the titular "elf." If you’re expecting some sinister, well-designed creature, think again. The elf in Elves looks like it was cobbled together with paper mâché, a glue gun, and leftover Halloween masks from a garage sale. It’s about as mobile as a garden gnome and spends most of its time menacingly staring—or, more accurately, just sitting there while the actors pretend to be scared. This thing couldn’t terrorize a toddler, let alone usher in the apocalypse.

You know a movie is destined for greatness when the plot hinges on Nazis breeding an elf to create the Antichrist. And the plan? Have said elf mate with a virgin before midnight on Christmas Eve. Because, of course, that’s the logical way to bring about the Fourth Reich. Never mind that this plan relies entirely on the elf being both horny and punctual. The sheer stupidity of it all is chef’s kiss. It’s like someone spun a wheel of bad ideas and just ran with everything it landed on.

The plot holes are big enough to fly a sleigh through. For instance, how is this elaborate Nazi elf scheme thwarted? Mostly by the combined incompetence of everyone involved. It’s almost laughable how easily the heroes stumble into foiling it—imagine if someone like, I don’t know, the mall cop had been paying attention. They’d have wrapped this whole thing up in ten minutes.

Dan Haggerty stars as Mike, a chain-smoking ex-detective who looks like Santa’s cousin who didn’t make the Nice List. Haggerty spends the entire movie sleepwalking through his lines with the charisma of a wet sock. His delivery is so wooden it’s a miracle he doesn’t spontaneously combust near the Christmas tree. And drunk? Oh, you bet. Whether he actually was or he’s just an acting savant, there’s an undeniable “boozy uncle” energy that only adds to the film’s charm. Watching him go toe-to-toe with Nazi elves is a gift that keeps on giving.

Every scene in Elves feels like it was conceived in a vacuum of logic and coherence. Highlights include:

By the time the movie wraps up, you’ll be questioning your life choices but also kind of thankful for the chaos you just witnessed.

Elves is a rare gem that transcends badness and loops back around into brilliance. It’s not a movie; it’s an experience. From the laughable special effects to the sheer audacity of its plot, to Dan Haggerty looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, Elves is the gift that keeps on giving. Gather your friends, crack open some drinks, and bask in the glow of a movie so insane it’s practically a holiday tradition waiting to happen. Merry Christmas, you filthy animals. ⯑⯑

It's definitely not "garbage day" at Kim's place. Get a broom, woman!

Oh, Silent Night, Deadly Night 4: Initiation. Where do I even begin with this glorious, messy fever dream of a movie? This isn't just bad—it's transcendentally bad. The kind of bad that rockets past mere mediocrity into the stratosphere of so-bizarre-you-can’t-look-away. It’s like a snowglobe filled with pure nonsense, shaken up, and dumped all over the screen.

Let’s start with the story—or whatever approximation of a story this is. Something about witchcraft? Reincarnation? Slugs? And Christmas? The plot (if you can call it that) unravels like a stream-of-consciousness poem written by someone halfway through a mushroom trip. Every scene feels like it was written in isolation, handed off to a new writer, and then smashed together without a second glance. It’s the cinematic equivalent of someone trying to explain their nightmare to you: incoherent, surreal, and yet, oddly captivating. Each moment begs the question: "What the heck am I even watching?" And honestly, I’m not sure if the world's greatest philosophers, theologians, and Reddit theorists combined could figure it out.

And oh, the acting. Special mention goes to our lead actress, whose performance is... something else. She delivers her lines with the charisma of a day-old bagel, and her reactions to the increasingly absurd situations around her are so wooden they could give Pinocchio a run for his money. Yet somehow, this adds to the film’s charm. Her complete inability to sell the madness she’s surrounded by only amplifies the chaos, like she herself wandered onto set accidentally and decided to just roll with it.

Now let’s talk about the gross-out factor. This movie is disgustingly, gleefully out of place with its grotesque visuals. Slugs. Melted corpses. Weird ritual goo. It’s like someone decided to combine The Fly with Rosemary’s Baby but threw in some festive tinsel as a last-minute afterthought. And yet...it’s fascinating. You can’t help but marvel at the sheer audacity of it all. Christmas horror should not involve this much slime, and yet here we are, neck-deep in it.

But truly, the crowning jewel of Initiation is its sheer unintelligibility. You will laugh. You will cry (out of confusion). You will desperately wish for a panel of scientists to explain why there’s a scene where giant bugs crawl out of a man’s stomach. And still, you’ll love every nonsensical moment because it’s so unabashedly weird and earnest in its ridiculousness.

If you’re looking for a holiday classic that’s as delightfully deranged as a fruitcake filled with live eels, Silent Night, Deadly Night 4 is your movie. It’s the perfect trainwreck to watch with friends, preferably with a few spiked eggnogs, as you collectively try to figure out just how this movie ever got made. Spoiler alert: you won’t. But the fun is in the attempt.

So the kaiju is a half-turkey/half-shopper hybrid. That helps.... a little.

Black Friday had the potential to be a fun and memorable addition to the horror-comedy genre. The premise of retail workers battling zombified Black Friday shoppers is clever, relatable, and ripe for satirical commentary on consumer culture. Unfortunately, the execution leaves much to be desired, resulting in a film that struggles to rise above mediocrity.

While the movie isn’t outright terrible, it’s glaringly uncreative. From the predictable character archetypes to the formulaic progression of the plot, it feels like a patchwork of familiar tropes we've seen countless times before. There’s the disgruntled manager, the plucky misfit hero, and the obligatory chaos of people turning into monsters, but none of it is done in a way that feels fresh or inventive.

The humor, which should have been the film's saving grace, rarely lands. It relies on stale, low-hanging jokes rather than sharp wit or clever dialogue. Even the horror elements fall flat, with generic creature designs and uninspired set pieces that fail to leave an impression. The film tries to balance comedy and scares but ends up doing neither particularly well.

That’s not to say Black Friday is without merit. The cast, which includes horror veteran Bruce Campbell, brings some charm to the proceedings, and there are a few fleeting moments of entertainment. But these highlights aren’t enough to compensate for the lackluster script and lack of originality.

In the end, Black Friday is a forgettable experience. It’s not a bad movie, but it’s far from memorable. With its promising concept, it could have been so much more, but as it stands, it’s just another derivative entry in a genre filled with better alternatives. Watch it if you’re bored, but don’t expect to be wowed.

What is the point of any of this??? What does life even mean anymore?!?!

Watching Alone in the Dark is like stepping into a surreal nightmare where logic, talent, and coherence take a permanent vacation. Directed by Uwe Boll, the film somehow manages to turn a moderately creepy video game series into a cinematic trainwreck so inexplicably bad it’s almost mesmerizing.

Let’s start with Tara Reid, whose performance as "Dr. Aline Cedrac" is the kind of thing you’d expect from someone who Googled “archaeologist” five minutes before arriving on set. Reid delivers lines like she’s trying to remember if she left the oven on, her scientist character less "Indiana Jones" and more "lost intern who wandered into the wrong set." Her chemistry with Christian Slater is nonexistent—though to be fair, Slater himself looks like he’s plotting his escape mid-scene.

The plot is the cinematic equivalent of dumping puzzle pieces from three different games onto the floor and calling it "art." Something about ancient artifacts, a secret government agency, monsters from another dimension, and the unexplained disappearance of common sense. Characters reference backstories and motivations that the movie never bothers to show or explain, leaving viewers wondering if they accidentally skipped an hour. But don’t worry—it wouldn’t make sense even if you had the context.

Nothing in this world adheres to any internal logic. The creatures are impervious to bullets until they suddenly aren’t, characters forget their own objectives, and physics behaves like it’s being controlled by a drunken toddler with a dartboard. There’s a moment when flashlights become pivotal to survival, except the characters don’t seem particularly invested in keeping them working. Why? Who knows! Consistency is for amateurs.

Then there’s the action, if you can call it that. Imagine someone yelling, “Action!” and the cast collectively deciding to flop around and fire guns into the dark. The choreography is stilted, the editing is headache-inducing, and the monster effects are so bad they look like rejected renders from a 90s PC game. Somehow, Uwe Boll takes things that should be inherently exciting—gunfights, explosions, and supernatural horror—and makes them as thrilling as watching beige paint dry.

And yet, in its complete and utter failure at being a movie, Alone in the Dark achieves a kind of perverse charm. It’s like a black hole of quality so dense it warps reality into something entertaining. You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all—the wooden acting, the nonsensical dialogue, the budget-bin special effects. It’s a film you watch with friends, drinks, and the understanding that you’re witnessing a masterpiece of mediocrity.

Verdict: Alone in the Dark is not just bad—it’s spectacularly, gloriously, hilariously bad. For aficionados of cinematic disasters, it’s a must-watch. For everyone else? Save yourself.

What happens when a B-list horror film tackles small town romance, anthropology, and…vampire bureacracy?

This movie takes us to a vampire-infested Salem's Lot, where the acting is about as wooden as the stakes they should be driving into these vamps’ chests. The lead actors deliver their lines with the enthusiasm of someone half-listening to a bad knock-knock joke, and I swear the child actor spent more time looking at the camera than playing a convincing kid. But it doesn’t matter, because that’s part of the charm.

The vampires in A Return to Salem's Lot redefine what it means to be bloodsucking undead. First, they feel the need to sit you down for a full-blown vampire lecture series, explaining their origins and why they drink blood as if they’re some misunderstood subculture rather than, you know, predators of the night. The amount of time they spend philosophizing about vampirism makes you wonder if they’re vying for tenure at the local community college rather than dominating the human race. They’re so bad at being vampires, it almost seems like they're on a trial period—experimenting with their nocturnal lifestyle, second-guessing their fangs, and generally acting like vampires who accidentally got bitten and are just trying to make the best of it.

Then, out of nowhere, comes Van Meer—the anthropologist-turned-vampire-slayer who actually gives this movie a reason to exist. The man is a total badass, with the wisdom of Gandalf and the "not here for this nonsense" energy of every grumpy old man who has ever lived. Van Meer doesn’t just kick vampire ass—he clobbers it, struts into scenes like he’s about to win an award for "Best Scene Stealer in a Horror Flick" and delivers lines with such unearned gravitas that you can’t help but root for him.

So, is A Return to Salem's Lot a good movie? No. But is it an awesome movie? You bet your fangs it is. If you’re in the mood for vampires who suck at being vampires and a hero who looks like he walked in from an entirely different (better) movie, this one’s worth sinking your teeth into.

Maybe the "safety bar" is the problem with your death machine.

If you're looking for a horror movie that makes you laugh, wince, and question your own sanity, The Mangler is an absolute gem. Based on Stephen King's short story, this 1995 film takes a wild swing at horror and lands somewhere deep in the realm of “so bad it’s good.”

At its core, The Mangler has one of the most baffling plots imaginable. The villain? A haunted, soul-sucking industrial laundry press. Yes, you read that right—a laundry press that inexplicably develops a bloodlust. It’s so absurd that you can’t help but be intrigued. How do you make a piece of machinery terrifying? You’ll just have to watch and see, but let’s just say the movie's plot twists somehow take this ridiculous concept and push it even further, to dizzying, laugh-inducing extremes.

The dialogue is a beautiful mess, filled with lines that are equal parts stilted and unintentionally hilarious. The characters often sound as if they’re making things up on the spot, adding to the overall bewilderment as you try to understand what’s going on in the film’s world.

Then, of course, we have Robert Englund and Ted Levine giving some of the most over-the-top performances you’ll ever see. Englund, clad in makeup that makes him look like a human-machine hybrid nightmare, completely commits to his role as the evil factory owner with a sadistic glee that’s infectious. Levine, as the grizzled cop, is both confused and determined, delivering every line with a mixture of desperation and bemusement that’s just... amazing to watch. You get the sense he might be wondering what’s going on as much as the audience is.

Together, these elements make The Mangler a fascinating train wreck, a "what the heck is going on" rollercoaster that’s perfect for fans of unintentionally funny horror. It’s a riotously bizarre film experience that you simply have to see to believe. Whether you're a horror fan or just someone who enjoys the absurd, The Mangler is the perfect bad-good movie for a night of laughs and confusion. Grab some popcorn, suspend all disbelief, and enjoy the twisted, baffling spectacle that is The Mangler.

Gee, I don't know. Who could it be...? Could it be....SATAN????

Look, if you're going to watch Split Second, leave logic at the door, forget everything you know about biology, physics, or coherent storytelling, and just hold on for one wild, wonderfully ludicrous ride. This movie is a masterclass in "so bad it's good" cinema, a staggering tribute to neon-lit nonsense where none of it makes sense, but you'll be too busy laughing, cringing, and cheering to care.

The plot? A near-future London suffering from the Great Flood of Questionable Sets, where a grizzled Rutger Hauer, rocking sunglasses indoors and some of the best action-movie hair around, plays a detective haunted by a shadowy, possibly-mutant killer that may or may not be Satan himself. Or is he a mutant? Or some kind of sewer-dwelling rat-beast with demonic tendencies? We never really figure it out, and that only adds to the glorious nonsense.

Hauer's character, Stone, has the personality of a rabid bulldog and the caffeine intake to match, which, let’s be real, might be the best part of the entire movie. Every scene sees him grinding through his lines like he's auditioning for Die Hard meets Mad Max, and his chemistry with his awkward partner, Dick Durkin (Neil Duncan), feels like it was lifted from a buddy cop fever dream. The scenes where Durkin goes from bumbling sidekick to gun-toting maniac after his own rapid-fire character development are cinematic gems that feel like they belong in an entirely different movie—and yet, they’re perfect.

As for the villain, well, if there were a Golden Globe for “Most Bizarre, Undefined Movie Monster,” this one would win it. The creature's appearance is equal parts Venom and religious cyborg, and its motives? Who cares! Sometimes it's better not to ask questions. All we know is that it’s drawn to hearts (as in, literally ripping them out) and seems to have an unhealthy obsession with Hauer’s character, for reasons the movie wisely decides not to explain.

Is the movie dumb? Absolutely. Is it chaotic? You bet. But if you're looking for a good time, Split Second delivers the kind of gleeful, cheesy absurdity that’s just begging for a midnight viewing with friends. So grab your popcorn, turn off your brain, and embrace the gloriously baffling thrill ride that is Split Second.

Well, you could always just lock the door that contains aliens hell-bent on destroying lives, MacCready.

Hobgoblins (1988) is the kind of classic cinematic disaster that bad movie connoisseurs dream of. It’s a true gem in the "so-bad-it's-good" genre, serving up every ridiculous trope you could hope for with a straight face. The budget is, to put it kindly, non-existent. You can almost hear the coins jingling in the director's pocket as they make every possible corner-cut. The "hobgoblins" themselves—clearly puppets—are so laughably bad that you can’t help but wonder if they were purchased at a yard sale. They wobble, flop, and seem to be more interested in starring in a middle school production than in wreaking havoc.

The acting? Let's just say the cast appears to have been picked up from a local mall food court. The dialogue delivery is awkward at best and painful at worst, with a cast that seems genuinely confused as to whether they’re in a horror film or a comedy. But therein lies part of its charm: this is a movie that doesn’t know what it’s doing, and it’s doing it with complete sincerity.

The plot is a fever dream that barely holds together. Some sort of government warehouse holds dangerous creatures (because of course it does), and these hobgoblins have the power to make people’s fantasies come true—though how or why is a question the film couldn’t be bothered to answer. The rules of the film’s universe break constantly, which somehow adds to the chaos and comedy, especially when you stop trying to make sense of it. Why are the hobgoblins doing any of this? Who cares! This is all about the ride.

If you're into riffing, Hobgoblins is a riffer’s paradise. The unintentional humor is endless, and every scene begs to be torn apart by a quick wit. Between the atrocious puppetry, nonsensical plot twists, and wooden performances, you’re in for a treat if your idea of fun is mercilessly mocking a film.

To be clear, Hobgoblins is not for everyone. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a dumpster fire: fascinating to watch, but only for those who appreciate the beauty of the burn. For the advanced class of bad movie lovers, though, this is a must-watch. It’s a perfect storm of everything you love to hate about bad movies, and it will leave you grinning at its sheer ineptitude.

Sure, it's super budget and leads with a crazy murder theme but that's not enough to stay in the game.

"Splatter University" starts with a flash of promise, diving right into the action with a bloody opening scene that hints at a thrilling ride ahead. Unfortunately, that promise quickly fizzles out, and what follows is an hour and a half of filler material that seems thrown in just to pad the runtime. The film struggles to build any real momentum, relying on scenes that add little or nothing to the central plot.

Instead of ratcheting up the tension or developing the mystery, it meanders through pointless side plots and unengaging character moments that make it tough to stay invested. For a movie in the slasher genre, you'd expect more focus on building suspense or delivering scares, but instead, "Splatter University" leaves you counting down the minutes until it's over.

Ultimately, this film falls short of delivering the thrills it promises and ends up a slog. With plenty of superior slasher flicks from the same era, "Splatter University" is an easy one to skip.