If you’ve ever wondered what happens when you strap an entire B‑movie budget to a shaky cam and christen it with Ice‑T’s name—then promptly hand the lead role to someone who isn’t him—congratulations: you’ve discovered 2001’s airborne atrocity Air Rage (or, as I like to call it, “Fly‑Hard But Wrong”). It’s exactly the kind of gleefully clueless cheese you’d expect from a Fred Olen Ray slash Jim Wynorski double feature, and that’s precisely why you’ll fall in love with its every misguided moment.

From the opening explosions in a different movie—where our villain dreams of explosions in HIS movie—to the big reveal that Ice‑T only pops up about 45 minutes into the movie (playing a black ops infiltrator with the emotional range of a traffic cone), the movie instantly subverts expectations. You think you’re signing up for a hardcore, Ice‑T‑led thriller? Nope. Our real hero is...someone else (no spoilers).

Plot? It’s basically “terrorists on a plane” meets “hey, why not throw in a top secret CD-ROM just for kicks?” And of course the whole scheme unravels thanks to dialogue so cheesily literal (“You're one dumb SOB, Sykes.” Sykes: "Yeah I know.") that you’ll swear the screenwriters were scribbling in crayon. The action scenes bounce along with the grace of a kangaroo on Red Bull: fists connect both when they should and should not, explosions happen in the background just to remind you they owned the footage, and the stunts range from “did they even plan that?” to “wait, a plane tube?”

But the pièce de résistance is the physics—or, more accurately, the complete absence thereof. Gravity politely excuses itself for the runtime. Bullets seem to curve around heads. Planes nosedive, bank, and somehow still manage to land on runway-sized targets with millimeter precision. It’s like someone chucked Newton’s laws out the emergency exit hatch and never looked back.

All of this adds up to a riotous, unintentional joyride. If you’re a fan of Fred Olen Ray’s gleeful disregard for coherence or Jim Wynorski’s unapologetic embrace of “that’ll do” effects, Air Rage is your new cult classic. Bad? Oh, undeniably. But in the grand tradition of so‑bad‑it’s‑good cinema, it’s a glorious, gloriously dumb flight you won’t regret taking.

A film that manages to accomplish nothing, makes us dislike the mains, but still makes us like the movie....

"Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man" is one wild, misguided ride that desperately tries—and fails—to turn its two lead dirtballs into lovable scoundrels. Instead of evolving into charming antiheroes, they remain gloriously repulsive, wallowing in a sea of their own filth, which only adds to the film’s bizarre, unintentional humor.

The movie seems to have tossed the rulebook out the window. Physics takes a permanent vacation when bulletproof trench-coats, which resemble oversized garbage bags, inexplicably defy every law of nature. And let’s not even get started on the leads pulling off the 15-story jump, landing in a pool as if gravity were a mere suggestion.

The relationship between the two HD and MM is as shallow as it is unconvincing—they barely share a shred of genuine care, leaving audiences to wonder if they even notice the people who care about them. Their nonchalant attitude toward life and each other underlines the film’s overarching failure to deliver the kind of dynamic, heartfelt camaraderie that makes buddy-adventure movies worth watching.

Then there’s the so-called "Great Bank" and its cadre of villains. These bad guys are a mess of drug-dealing side-hustles and a squad of armed assassins who, in a twist that’s almost as puzzling as it is amusing, seem like kind of folks who jam out to Kraftwerk. Their quirky, half-baked villainy adds yet another layer of absurdity to a movie already drowning in its own incompetence.

In the end, "Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man" is a complete failure as a buddy-adventure movie. Yet, in its relentless pursuit of over-the-top, ludicrous action and its blatant disregard for reality, it manages to stink it up just enough to be oddly enjoyable—a cult classic for fans of bad movies who appreciate a film that knows exactly how to be magnificently, laughably bad.

We really were losing a war to vending machines?

Electric State might just be one of the most staggering wastes of resources and talent to hit the screen in years. Armed with a ludicrous budget and an all-star cast, this movie squanders every ounce of its potential in a messy, juvenile attempt at sci-fi storytelling that only children—or perhaps the most forgiving of viewers—could enjoy.

Let’s start with the plot, or lack thereof. It's riddled with holes so large they could swallow entire scenes whole. Characters make inexplicable choices, key events seem to happen out of nowhere, and the emotional beats the film desperately tries to hit fall flat because nothing is earned. There’s no weight, no coherence, just a loose string of visuals pretending to be a story.

But hey, why write a decent script when you can drown everything in licensed music? Electric State goes full “James Gunn cosplay,” stuffing every scene with pop tracks that feel completely out of place. Instead of enhancing the emotion or tension, these needle drops undercut every serious moment and reek of desperation—like the filmmakers thought if they just played enough familiar songs, we wouldn’t notice the soulless narrative underneath.

Visually, yes, it’s slick—but when you spend what this film spent, that’s the bare minimum. The sad part is that behind the camera and in front of it are incredibly talented people. Directors, VFX artists, and A-list actors who should’ve known better are left adrift in a project that seems to have been greenlit purely based on aesthetics and IP potential rather than substance.

In the end, Electric State feels like the cinematic equivalent of handing a child the keys to a spaceship and hoping for the best. It's loud, shallow, and directionless, a bloated mess that burns money like rocket fuel and goes absolutely nowhere.

On this special episode the three of us sit down for a serious intervention - from bad movies! We discuss the Oscars winners that none of us saw. Wicked makes Jackie throw up. Sam praises Slow Horses and Gary Oldman's farting. We get an old staple of Pop Quiz, Hotshot. Sam complains about the supreme lack of Jello in our lives and Justin brings in a FilmStory about a dead director - WHO DUN IT!?

Enjoy and see you in a couple weeks!

Ah, Turbulence 3: Heavy Metal. A film so magnificently, obliviously ridiculous that it could only exist in the pre-9/11 era, where the greatest threat to air travel wasn’t terrorism, but satanic heavy metal concerts broadcast live from a 747. Yes, that’s the plot. And no, it does not get any smarter from there.

Let’s start with the hero we never asked for: Slade Craven (yes, that’s his real name), a Marilyn Manson knockoff who looks like Hot Topic threw up on a scarecrow. This man struts onto the plane in full goth-rock regalia, sneering at everyone like he just walked out of a badly lit music video, but give him 30 minutes and he transforms from a moody poser into an airborne action hero, karate-kicking terrorists and saving the day with all the grace of a drunk dad at a Slipknot concert. Watching him go from “edgy Rockstar” to “Die Hard protagonist” is like watching Ozzy Osbourne suddenly pilot a space shuttle. It makes no sense, and that’s why it’s beautiful.

The cast, if you can call them that, behaves less like humans and more like malfunctioning AI programmed by someone who thinks they understand human emotions. Dialogue is delivered with all the enthusiasm of a hostage video, and nobody reacts to anything with the appropriate level of concern. At one point, a terrorist hijacks the plane, and the reaction from the crew is roughly equivalent to someone realizing they forgot to pay their internet bill.

And then there’s Joe Mantegna, who spends every scene looking like he wandered onto the wrong set and refused to leave. His job is to play an FBI agent trying to make sense of the madness, but he mostly just stares into the abyss, radiating the same exhausted energy as a substitute teacher dealing with a class that just discovered energy drinks. You can feel him asking himself, Why am I here? The answer: we don’t know, Joe. We really don’t.

The villains? Well, they think they’re terrorists, but their actual motivation is so incoherent that by the time their master plan is revealed (summoning Satan via airplane concert???), you’ll have given up on logic entirely. There’s hacking, plane fights, a shockingly high number of fake Slade Cravens, and an ending so abrupt it feels like the film itself decided it had suffered enough.

Turbulence 3: Heavy Metal is cinematic junk food at its absolute worst—and most entertaining. It’s a movie that doesn’t just jump the shark; it hijacks the shark midair, flies it into a storm, and then fights Satan on top of it. If you love bad movies, this one deserves a place on your shelf, right next to a can of expired Monster Energy and a broken Playstation 2 controller.

Fact: Real ninjas throughout history used jazz hands to assassinate their targets.

"Dancing Ninja" might not be everyone's cup of tea, but if you're into a movie that revels in its own absurdity, you'll find a lot to love here. The film's corny jokes hit just the right note, and its satire—though subtle at times—adds a clever twist that keeps you on your toes. Every member of the cast and crew clearly put a tremendous amount of effort into the project, infusing each scene with passion and a genuine commitment to the film’s offbeat vision.

And then there's David Hasselhoff—majestic, as always. His performance is a standout, lending the movie an unexpected layer of charm and gravitas amidst all the wild, no-holds-barred antics. "Dancing Ninja" isn’t afraid to take risks; it brings big old balls to the table and holds nothing back, making for a refreshingly bold viewing experience.

In short, while this movie may not be for everyone, its unapologetic style and relentless energy are exactly what make it such a cult favorite. If you're in the mood for a film that dares to be different, "Dancing Ninja" is definitely worth a watch.

Harry and Harry have a great show in which they search out some of the hidden and forgotten locations and sets used in some of our favorite movies. Stinker Madness royalty Joe Dante and genius of the century Dana Gould guest on some of their episodes, among others. Be sure to check out their new episode about Plan Nine from Outer Space! Find all their content on YouTube:

A Murder of Time - The old "write a best-selling novel and give it to your enemy for revenge" caper

"A Murder of Crows" is a nonsensical thriller that manages to take an interesting premise and turn it into a complete mess. The plot centers around a "corrupt" lawyer named Lawson, played by Cuba Gooding Jr., who, after being framed for a murder he didn't commit, goes down a rabbit hole of trying to find out who did it. Rather than doing the smart thing—turning the evidence over to the authorities—he decides to get involved in a ridiculous scheme to clear his name. What follows is a convoluted, poorly paced disaster that defies logic at every turn.

First off, the characters are flat and unconvincing. Lawson, somehow manages to look both confused and smug throughout the entire movie. The villain is so dubious, it's hard to take the stakes seriously. There’s no sense of tension or urgency in the narrative—just a series of random, out-of-place events that feel forced and contrived. The dialogue is clunky, and the attempts at deep philosophical musings on fate and justice come off as completely hollow.

The plot twists? They’re ridiculous. Rather than being suspenseful, they’re more likely to make you roll your eyes and wonder how the filmmakers managed to stretch such a thin idea into a feature-length film. The whole premise is absurd. From the moment the movie starts, it feels like the writers took a random collection of crime clichés and decided to throw them together without any real thought.

It’s hard to understand who this film was made for—perhaps the genre’s most diehard fans who are willing to suspend all reason, but for anyone else, it’s a frustrating and pointless experience. "A Murder of Crows" is a poorly executed thriller that doesn't deserve your time. Save yourself the trouble and skip it.

Ever wondered what would happen if a group therapy session for people afraid of flying turned into a hostage situation? Neither did I, but Turbulence 2: Fear of Flying takes off with that premise and crashes it gloriously into the realm of “so bad it’s amazing.”

The movie starts with a group of nervous fliers boarding a fancy plane to conquer their aerophobia. But mid-flight, surprise! Hijackers reveal their master plan: not only to take over the plane but also unleash a deadly chemical weapon for… reasons? A ragtag group of passengers—including a guy who conquered his fear of flying just in time—must outwit the hijackers, survive turbulence (the metaphorical kind too), and prevent the worst-case scenario.

Oh, the villain’s "brilliant" plan? It unravels with 30 minutes left. Turns out, unleashing chemical weapons while on the same plane wasn’t exactly a stroke of genius. The plot holes are large enough to fly a 747 through. By the time Ryan literally punches his way to victory (because in-flight security is no match for his fist), you’ll be rooting for the plane to land just so everyone can go home and think about their life choices.

The dialogue is so cheesy you’ll get calcium poisoning. The special effects—mainly shaky cameras and stock footage of planes—make you nostalgic for middle school PowerPoint transitions. And the stakes? Well, let’s just say the characters might survive, but logic didn’t even make it through the opening credits.

Turbulence 2 is a disaster movie for people who love disasters—in every sense of the word. It’s the cinematic equivalent of finding out your in-flight meal is a microwaved ham sandwich: disappointing, weirdly satisfying, and undeniably hilarious when you’re at 30,000 feet. Grab some popcorn, and let this plane crash land straight into your guilty pleasure watchlist.

Grumpy Old Men but they can fart fire!

In theory, Supervized could have been a quirky, heartfelt exploration of aging superheroes grappling with retirement, purpose, and the loss of their glory days. In practice, it’s a tedious, joyless slog that squanders its promising premise on cheap gags, uninspired storytelling, and a finale so absurd it feels like the filmmakers gave up trying to make sense of their own plot.

The story follows a group of retired superheroes living in a nursing home, a setting rife with potential for meaningful commentary or even genuinely funny moments. Instead, we’re treated to a series of groan-worthy jokes about old age that feel like they were ripped from a 1990s sitcom. The humor never rises above the most obvious low-hanging fruit: people forgetting things, struggling with bodily functions, and being generally "out of touch." It’s like the writers typed "old people jokes" into a search engine and just pasted the results into the script.

The cast—featuring the likes of Tom Berenger, Beau Bridges, and Fionnula Flanagan—does its best to bring some life to the flat material, but even seasoned actors can only do so much with dialogue this uninspired. Berenger’s attempt to imbue his character with gravitas falls flat amidst the ham-fisted writing, while Bridges is left to play the clichéd role of the wacky sidekick who barely lands a laugh.

As the film stumbles through its predictable and uninspired first two acts, you might hope for a twist or some emotional payoff to salvage the experience. Unfortunately, what you get instead is a third act so spectacularly stupid it feels like a parody of itself. The plot collapses into a nonsensical mess involving a villainous conspiracy and a half-baked action sequence that looks cheaper than your average cosplay convention.

Supervized is a movie for no one. It takes an almost-interesting concept and smothers it with tired jokes, clunky dialogue, and an insulting lack of imagination. If you want to feel crappy about getting old, there are better options—watch About Schmidt or even The Bucket List. At least those films respect their audience enough to deliver something resembling insight or emotional depth.

Avoid Supervized at all costs. It’s not just a bad superhero movie; it’s an affront to anyone who was hoping for even the faintest spark of creativity.

Give that Joe guy a raise! Everything else though....

Fanatic, released in 1982 and later distributed by Troma under the title The Last Horror Film, is an ambitious yet confused attempt at blending psychological thriller, horror, satire, and social commentary. Directed by David Winters, the film follows Vinny Durand (Joe Spinell), a socially awkward taxi driver in New York who dreams of becoming a Hollywood filmmaker. Vinny's obsession with horror star Jana Bates (Caroline Munro) takes a dark turn when he follows her to the Cannes Film Festival, believing he can convince her to star in his debut film. Soon, people connected to Jana begin to disappear, leaving the audience to wonder if Vinny’s fantasies have turned murderous.

On the surface, Fanatic has all the trappings of a Taxi Driver knockoff, with Spinell’s Vinny bearing eerie similarities to De Niro’s Travis Bickle: a lonely man whose delusions of grandeur lead to a disturbing descent into obsession. However, where Taxi Driver offers a focused character study and searing critique of urban decay, Fanatic meanders between tones, never quite deciding what it wants to be.

Is it a darkly comedic jab at the absurdity of the film industry, with its over-the-top Cannes sequences and caricatured players? A horror film dissecting the dangers of unchecked fandom? Or a social critique of anti-horror activists and censorship? The movie flirts with all these ideas but fails to commit to any, leaving the audience in a muddled state of uncertainty. There’s undeniable charm in its chaotic ambition, but the result is a mishmash of clashing themes and tonal inconsistencies.

What Fanatic does have, however, is Joe Spinell. His performance is nothing short of extraordinary, especially given the film’s modest budget. Spinell imbues Vinny with a mix of vulnerability, creepiness, and manic energy that is utterly captivating. His ability to oscillate between pitiable and menacing elevates the film far beyond what one might expect from a low-budget production, especially one released by Troma. Spinell’s portrayal is a masterclass in character work, showing what can be achieved even in a film with clear limitations.

Despite its flaws, Fanatic has its moments of intrigue and campy fun. The Cannes backdrop offers a unique setting for a horror film, and there’s an undeniable novelty in watching Spinell and Munro share the screen again after Maniac. But for all its ambition, Fanatic ultimately bites off more than it can chew. It’s a film that tries to be everything and ends up being little more than a curiosity piece—worth watching for Spinell’s mesmerizing performance, but a frustrating experience for those hoping for cohesion or a clear narrative purpose.