Why doesn’t this turd have the words National Lampoon in its title? What sort of incriminating photos did the producers have of Cuba Gooding Jr.? Can the Academy for Motion Picture Arts and Sciences rescind the awarding of Oscars? And most importantly, why did I have to see if this really as bad as everyone says it is? Because it’s worse.

Any movie in which a character lip-synchs and dances to James Brown’s “I Feel Good” should be thrown in cinematic jail for life, but Boat Trip keeps piling on offenses, like doing a Chariots of Fire parody (those ceased being funny in 1983), giving Saturday Night Live’s Horatio Sanz a starring role, having Cuba dry-hump a porthole until he jizzes on a guy’s face, and having Roger Moore suggestively lick weenies, among other things.

The story (with apologies to the word “story”) has Gooding brokenhearted after his girlfriend (Vivica A. Fox) dumps him when he barfs on her cleavage and proposes marriage. To cheer him up, his ultra-horny janitor pal Sanz convinces him to accompany him on a cruise to engage in lots of promiscuous sex with loose women. But unbeknownst to them, a vengeful travel agent (Will Ferrell, whose cameo is the film’s only saving grace, outside of Victoria Silvstedt’s purple panties) books them on an all-male, all-gay ship. Let the homophobia ensue!

The initially disgusted Sanz thinks the trip might be okay after all when he accidentally shoots down a Swedish bikini team’s helicopter with a flare gun and they must board, enabling them to suntan and do jumping jacks topless. Gooding, meanwhile, falls for the ship’s dance instructor, Rush Hour 2 hottie Roselyn Sanchez — who does things to a banana here that presumably killed her career — but he can’t reveal to her that he’s not a homosexual.

Despite all the cheap shots, the film actually does carry a “being gay is just fine” message, but I doubt very many could make it that far. Its humor is absolutely infantile, and the look suggests a cheap, made-for-cable comedy that wouldn’t get watched without gratuitous nudity. —Rod Lott

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Video Wars is so obscure that, 27 years after its release — in a rented room at the Holiday Inn, I’m guessing — it didn’t even exist, according to its absence from the Internet Movie Database. Trust me: It was for the best.

The globe is being brainwashed by one Prince Radolpho … Rapemonger? Rightmonger? (The audio is horrible, so I can’t tell what the fat villain’s last name is.) Anyway, his aim is to control the destiny of anyone anywhere in the world, and requires a trillion-dollar annual allowance from America. To combat this scourge, the U.S. government has a plan that’s “too secret, too sensitive, too everything … we’ll have to field a special team.”

That’s comprised mostly of one guy (George Diamond) who looks like Joe Mantegna’s second cousin. He’s trained in “subversive activities” and must find Prince Radolpho’s computer terminal. To do this, he’s given some gadgets that look assembled from various cast-off parts in Radio Shack’s bargain bin. This film’s Q rattles them off: “a rotational axis with combined sensor … and last but not least, your acid pen.” Replies our hero, “I hope it doesn’t leak in my pocket!”

This leads to a gaggle of Russian female agents, many of whom are real hatchet-faces; multiple aerobics sequences; a snowman with spy-camera eyes; a chase on snowmobiles; and the can’t-miss pick-up line “You like chicken, baby? Well grab a wing.” Take none of this as a recommendation. This no-budget spy comedy is worse than an eye stab.

The whole video game element is pure gimmick, having very little to do with the actual movie. Early on, there’s a scene in which a room full of businessmen are playing a game, and they’re taking to the joysticks as if they’re masturbating. And toward the end, there’s an arcade contest where, judging by the screens shown, the object is to look at 8-bit patterns of random-size squares. That’s about it. Do not insert coin to continue. —Rod Lott

In space, no one can hear you scream “Crikey!” But that’s where, in Collision Course‘s opening moments, a U.S. satellite explodes, sending its beacon-equipped core crash-landing in Australia, where a crocodile promptly swallows it. CIA agents are deployed to retrieve it, unaware it’s in a croc’s belly, putting them on a collision course … with danger!

Meanwhile, Animal Planet host Steve “The Crocodile Hunter” Irwin and his masculine wife, Terri — playing themselves because that’s all they can do — spend their day collecting all sorts of wildlife for zoo research. With all his scenes framed TV-style and talking straight into the camera, Steve finds something, catches something and indulges himself in a five-minute, diarrhea-of-the-mouth treatise on the animal, whether it’s a wily snake, a venomous spider or hungry crocodile. His typical, hypercaffeinated shtick is peppered with such exclamations as “If you ever see a snake like this, DON’T MUCK WIT’ IT!”

The two “stories” converge briefly when the agents come upon the croc in Steve’s possession and he mistakes them for poachers, putting them all on a collision course … with laughter!

Actually the movie puts you on a collision course … with sleep! It’s pretty dull, livened up only by the prospect of seeing Steve have his face penetrated with poison-dripping fangs, but alas, such blooper-worthy shenanigans never come to be. No mistake about it, this is simply an episode of his TV show with a pointless government-agent wraparound, putting me on a collision course with … aw, never mind. —Rod Lott

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Following a production logo outlining a breast with a nipple pointing north, Deathrow Gameshow begins with its own quasi-rap, sax lick-flavored theme song unfolding over cartoon footage of knives and jail cells: “Deathrow gameshow / It’s the only way to go / But if you lose / You’ll be no more.” Despite evidence presented by these deep lyrics, let me pause to tell you that this is a comedy.

The title refers to the chintzy TV show Live or Die, where felons scheduled for execution compete in quizzes and challenges for a reprieve or other rewards, but not necessarily for themselves. Typical scenario: If a contestant’s guillotined head falls into the basket face up, his family nets thousands. Hosting this trash is Chuck Toedan (John McCafferty, who also starred for Deathrow director Mark Pirro in Curse of the Queerwolf, A Polish Vampire in Burbank and, um, Rectuma), he of the 47 death threats a week and occasional busty groupie showing up in his bed.

Opposing him is cute blonde feminist Gloria Sternvirgin (Robyn Blythe, a former Brady Bunch Variety Hour Kroftette), who wonders if he’d stoop so low to air Raping for Dollars. She eventually becomes his ally when Chuck’s life is in danger by Mafia hit man Luigi (who looks like a fat Richard Simmons and is played by a man credited only as Beano) for 86ing mob boss Guido Spumoni on a prior episode. Won’t Luigi be furious when his elderly mom accidentally gets on the show, thinks she’s going to win a fridge, and is instead killed? Hee-haw!

I’m sure some day, the future imagined by Deathrow Gameshow will become reality, but this isn’t to be mistaken for the highbrow works of Paddy Chayefsky. It is, however, awfully fun to watch in spite of / because of its extreme stupidity, what with Blythe’s incredible boobs, Debra Lamb’s “Dance of the Seven Boners” strip number, a nightmare presented as a movie trailer, end-credit commercials that tastelessly defile corpses, and one old lady explosion. —Rod Lott

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A few years ago, my former employer decided to produce a series of videos for the smartphone market and tasked me with writing them. I threw together 25 scripts centered on the concept of the “sport” of curling (their idea, not mine), handed them in and heard nothing about the project for four months.

Then I learned the videos were going to be directed by “exciting new talent” David Ostry, who was then at work on a feature film produced by Kevin Spacey, starring Hayden Panettiere, that cute cheerleader from Heroes. I was excited to find out my scripts were actually going to be produced, and looked forward to hearing from Ostry when he inevitably sought my feedback.

Four more months passed, and I was surprised when I was asked if I wanted to see the completed videos. My surprise turned to horror when I saw that the “exciting new talent” had managed to completely misinterpret all of my scripts, sometimes conveying the exact opposite point and tone I had intended. Adding insult to injury, the only credit that appeared in the videos was Ostry’s, completely negating my own contribution to the project.

So you can forgive me if I approached The Good Student with a distinct bias against it. I try to never start watching a movie wanting to hate it, but in this case, I was willing to make an exception. It’s so poorly made, it’s no wonder the film took so long to be released, even with such a well-known, talented cast, including Tim Daly, William Sadler and Dan Hedaya. Despite starting out as an editor, Ostry has difficulty getting shots that cut well together and the digital-video cinematography makes the work look and feel like an ambitious home movie.

But its biggest flaw is its inability to maintain a consistent tone. Clearly inspired by American Beauty, it loses focus midway through and ceases to be an unsuccessful social satire in favor of being an unsuccessful thriller. But you can’t take my word for it, since I have an admitted ax to grind, which means you’ll have to judge it for yourself.

You poor, poor bastards. —Allan Mott

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