Can you guess what movie or TV show we’re watching? We’ve turned on subtitles (when available) not to give you a clue, but to enhance that WTF effect! Leave your best guess in the comments to prove your true Flick Attackosity!
Pathology (2008)
There’s not a single likable character in Marc Schölermann’s Pathology. Not a one! Ostensibly, the lead character of med student Ted Grey should be, but they cast Milo Ventimiglia. Oops! His brand of acting — squinting, really — only worked for him in TV’s Heroes, and nowhere else.
Ted’s new to the bestest pathology tract in the country, where his fellow students are all like, “to hell with the Hippocratic Oath — let’s fuck around and play some reindeer games with these here corpses, aight?” Their unofficial leader, Jake (Michael Weston), introduces Ted to the game they play after hours: autopsy! See, they kill random people and bring them in to see who can guess how they offed them. When did Quarters go out of style?
But, wait, there’s more! They also engage in group activities like smoking crack and having sex on the slabs. Why? The only good reason I can think of is because this was written by the reigning kings of over-the-top cinema, Neveldine/Taylor, who wrote and directed the Crank films and Gamer; it’s too bad they didn’t direct this one, too, because it could stand to be more outlandish. Redeeming quality: Ol’ Dr. Giggles himself, Larry Drake, pops up as a fat bastard credited as Fat Bastard.
It’s a mess — and not just because of all the bodies being cut open — but I get what Ventimiglia saw in the project: free feels. In the first scene, his hand slips underneath fiancée Alyssa Milano’s shirt and works itself all over her left boob; later, he’s all over the bared breasts of Lauren Lee Smith. It’s a living. —Rod Lott
The Medallion (2003)
Hollywood has little clue what to do with Jackie Chan. Their ideas boil down to: a) pair him with a wacky black guy, and b) surround him with special effects. The first one works; the second one never will. There’s no point in hiring the world’s most renowned kung-fu acrobatic clown and dressing him up with lots of wires and CGI; if you’re going to do that, you might as well get, say, Tim Kazurinsky.
In the FX-laden crapfest The Medallion, Chan is a Hong Kong security specialist named Eddie, working with American Interpol agents to track down Julian Sands, obsessed with getting this medallion from a mystical Asian boy. It ends up in Chan’s nimble hands, but he gets killed in the process, but yet is revived by its supernatural powers. So now he can jump real high and fly like Superman. It’s lazy and uninspired, not to mention inane and embarrassing, like the montage of him dancing to “Twist and Shout.”
Normally, bad Chan scripts can be made bearable by the ad-libbing of a crazy partner. But Lee Evans is no Chris Tucker or Owen Wilson. As a most unlikely love interest is Claire Forlani, so bad you’ll be praying for the relative grace and panache of The Tuxedo’s Jennifer Love Hewitt. Not even the outtakes that play during the end credits are any good, although it is worth noting that it contains the third instance of Chan being interrupted by a cell phone (first spotted in the bloopers for Rush Hour 2 and Shanghai Knights).
But that’s about all worth noting for this film, Chan’s absolute worst since breaking through on these shores in ’96. Even as a big Chan fan, I can safely say to avoid The Medallion at all costs. —Rod Lott
Screwed (2000)
Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski are best known for their trifecta of oddball biopic scripts: Ed Wood, The People vs. Larry Flynt and Man on the Moon. Occasionally they stray from true stories into straight comedies, like Screwed. Despite being one of the lowest-grossing studio films of the decade, it’s not half-bad.
Easily improving upon his starring vehicle, Dirty Work, Norm Macdonald stars as a chauffeur and indentured servant for a rich old hag (Elaine Stritch) who’s made her millions in baked goods. Tired of being unappreciated, he kidnaps her beloved dog in hopes of making off with a seven-digit ransom.
But she mistakenly believes that he has been kidnapped, and refuses to pay. The plot gets more convoluted with twists and turns that eventually involve Sherman Helmsley and Danny DeVito as a morgue attendant with a hard-on for saving things removed from people’s rectums and Hawaii Five-O star Jack Lord.
Screwed’s mean streak suggests that earlier Alexander/Karaszewski mainstram fare like Problem Child and That Darn Cat may have been watered down — okay, hosed down — by studio interference. But the less credible it gets, the less funny it gets. If you like Macdonald, you’ll probably enjoy this, even if you won’t remember much of it. —Rod Lott
Breeders (1986)
Filmmakers like Tim Kincaid exist to prove to the world that it really does take more than a lurid plotline and a group of actresses willing to embarrass their families to make a decent exploitation movie. By that standard, Breeders would seem like a sure thing, but Kincaid’s incompetence is so persuasive and omnipresent, it robs the film of any guilty pleasure it might otherwise have allowed.
A group of H.R. Giger-wannabe aliens located beneath the Empire State Building have determined that only hot virgin female humans are capable of carrying their offspring to term without mutation, and proceed to impregnate a bunch of them by force. On their trail is a young detective and the female doctor tasked with treating the violated women. In a rather convenient plot contrivance, it turns out that — like every other female character in the movie — the good doctor has never known the touch of a man and, therefore, is a ripe subject for impregnation herself.
Although the movie’s nonexistent budget does factor into its failure, the majority of blame rests squarely on Kincaid’s shoulders. While his filmmaking technique renders every frame in a squalid, ugly urban reality, his scripting sets the plot in a strange fantasy world where photographers tell bikini models they should eat before they continue their photo shoots, and 20-something city women spend their time snorting coke and exercising naked, but are still innocent enough to “save themselves” for marriage. Watching Breeders, it quickly becomes clear why Kincaid eventually gave up mainstream filmmaking for the much less demanding world of gay porn. —Allan Mott