Ed Wood is lauded as the world’s worst film director but there’s an inept charm to his work. He had a tenacity and pluck, refusing to give up his offbeat visions of transvestitism, rubber monsters and spacemen. The idea of “so bad it’s good” is synonymous with an Ed Wood production. His films had no production value whatsoever, but the spirit of optimism and good-natured love of film was alive in his poorly written and executed roster.
Nay, I speak of a different breed of awful here. Films that represent nothing but soulless greed and reprehensive nihilism. Projects that masquerade as social commentary, slip into theatres under the guise of entertainment and have nothing to offer in the way of provocative thought. These directors design crass, pointless vehicles for no other reason than to line their pockets enough to embark on their next vapid project. Take a look at the careers of these hacks and note the pattern in their directorial list. Comedies, remakes and sequels litter their resumés. Nothing they’ve made jumps above a six on the imdb.com voting scale. Not only does their work stink like a dead, bloated mouse on a blistering day, their public personas are equally offensive.
I boycott their work and hope that they soon fall by the wayside, having no choice but to get a job in a field they’re more suited, fading away from the realm of the artistic expression and the craft of communicating an idea to a mass audience. I’ve put these directors into no particular order as I find one no better or worse than the other. I refuse to comment on their bodies of work individually, as their C.V’s speak for themselves.
To be fucking continued…
Eli Roth
Stephen Sommers
Brett Ratner
I’m about to relate a ghostly tale of such dread and poor craftsmanship, that whosoever ingests it, will be lured into a world of terror and bed-shitting. It is the tale of a man only known as “Pappy Jig“. Pappy Jig was the great, great, great Grandfather of the Hideous Hooligan of the East. Before the story of Pappy Jig unfurls, it’s probably best to give you some background on the Hideous Hooligan of the East.
In a village named Bonk Flung, many years ago, a wild haired and yet balding speed freak, the shaman of Bonk Flung, taught a Skinny White Young Man and the Hideous One about war and pestilence, of revolution and terrorism and other facts too obtuse to reiterate here. One day, the Hideous One, still an amateur grifter in his circles, began to whisper in the ear of the Skinny White Young Man.
“The Hideous One!…Using a Rod Of Iron, forged forward a world of the artistically insane…In one heartbeat, in one rapid eye movement…relocated his world, to the upper chamber of life…and incubated the Intellect of these Artistic Deviants…to a machine…called EV RI 1′s EGO….”
Skinny White Young Man thought the Hideous Hooligan insane, although he laughed with him regardless of his infliction. As Skinny White Young Man and The Hideous One made their way toward the edge a dark and mysterious wood, they began to stumble and fall. In the deep and dark bog of the Bonk Flung, the twosome tried to speak.
They could not. Their lips were sealed, their eyes bound by sharp and stabbing pain. Communication was garbled. Their minds were clouded. It was like that Metallica video. They were mute. Hideous One motioned to Skinny White Young Man and SWYM (which we will refer to Skinny White Young Man from here on out) realized that HH (which we will refer to the Hideous Hooligan from here out) were incapacitated. They were young. They were bored. They needed “Seven Eleven Big Gulps”.
To Be Continued.
