It finally happened.
For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed watching really bad movies. I think it’s a trait that has been carried on through generations on my father side, because to this day, he still enjoys it.
I like the idea of being able to sit in front o a screen and turn my brain off. To not have to think about what mysteries await me or how someone will finally beat the aliens through an elaborate and intricate series of events that keep you guessing until the end.
I like the idea of being able to veg out and not have to critique a movie based on a book, or get kicked out of a theatre because everyone is tired of my doucheoise expressions of “that didn’t happen in the book” or “the book was so much better.”
I even like the idea of falling asleep in a movie because it is that mind numbing.
So, imagine my surprise when Sunday night rolled around and after an hour and 45 minutes of a movie, I was so disgusted by how terrible it was, that I felt like crying.
It had finally happened.
There was a movie out there so bad that it has caused me to renounce my bad movie watching ways. To stay away from direct to DVD releases and future Scy Fy movie marathons where a crocto something fights a giant dogopus (you know, a dog with 8 arms. Also it’s giant).
Like so many girls who have ruined me for others, I’d like to tip my hat to you, Death Race 3, for ridding me of my ridiculous obsession with all cinema that’s awful. I tip may hat to you, for it was not an easy task (hell, I liked Battleship).
But like all people scorned by those they thought infallible, one of these days, another crappy movie will come along and give new light to the “B-Movie” meaning, but until then, I’ll just have to settle for something less fulfilling: bad TV.