Stinker Madness - The Bad Movie Podcast

This special episode we go through our favorite bad and cult movies from our 10th year in podcasting. We'll also give our favorite 3 movies from the year 2024.

Death appears completely unqualified to do its job. It should apply for a cabinet position in the government. Hey yo! "Final Destination" starts with an intriguing premise for an X-Files episode – a group of high school students narrowly escape a plane explosion thanks to a premonition, only to find themselves stalked by Death itself in the aftermath. It’s a clever setup, but the movie drags its feet getting to the fun part. The initial plane disaster sequence is drawn out like it’s gunning for an Oscar in tension building, but instead, it feels like a slow crawl through a TSA line. The characters spend far too much time brooding about fate and existential dread before the real fireworks begin. Once the film finally lets loose and the Rube Goldberg death traps start rolling, it hits a much better stride. Each subsequent demise becomes more absurd than the last, delivering the kind of schlocky, over-the-top fun that horror fans crave. There’s a certain perverse joy in watching the universe bend itself backwa

If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Charles Bronson had to hunt a werewolf and decided to play detective instead of hanging from Torino’s rooftops, “12 to Midnight” is here to answer that question with all the subtlety of a silver bullet to the jaw. Robert Bronzi leans so hard into his Charles Bronson impersonation you half expect him to growl “Don’t pull that stunt on me, pal” at every suspect. His trademark scowl is in full force, but the script seems to recognize that Bronzi can’t quite nail the dialogue—so he just stands there, arms crossed, delivering each line in unintelligible monosyllables until everyone else on screen tries and fails to fill in the blanks. It’s stoicism by requirement, and Bronzi owns it. Plot coherence? Forget it. “12 to Midnight” is a glorious fever dream of mismatched clues, midnight stakeouts that last five minutes, and villains who apparently transform more for the camera than for the storyline. S

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

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 an

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,

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

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 ar

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 th

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 Plot (LOL): 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. The Cast: Craig Sheffer plays the reluctant everyman hero, Ryan Weaver, who, let's face it, spends the whole movie with a mix of confusion and mild constipation. Jennifer Beals is the love interest-slash-voice of reason, adding just enough gravitas to remind us this movie had a budget

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 Beren

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 characte

"Fair Game" is the cinematic equivalent of a rollercoaster ride designed by someone who forgot to include safety measures, plot coherence, or the laws of physics—and somehow, it’s a blast to watch. Starring William Baldwin as Miami cop Max Kirkpatrick and Cindy Crawford as Kate McQuean, a sexy lawyer who becomes the inexplicable target of a rogue KGB faction, this movie is a glorious 90 minutes of car chases, explosions, and dialogue so wooden it could be used to build a log cabin. The Plot (If You Can Call It That) Kate McQuean, a lawyer who apparently moonlights as a fashion model (judging by her perpetual runway-ready appearance), files a lawsuit involving a derelict freighter owned by the bad guys. Naturally, this lawsuit sets off a chain reaction where the Russian mafia—consisting of the most cartoonishly evil ex-KGB agents imaginable—decides she must die at all costs. Why? Because, apparently, the freighter is tied to their secret cyber-criminal empire. Enter Max Kirkpatrick,

Don't have enough plot to get to 3 hours? Just restate the plot of the movie 3 times and give your movie an hour of free time. "Happy New Year" has all the makings of an enjoyable Bollywood blockbuster—a promising story, decent acting, likable characters, and a handful of genuinely fun sequences. On paper, this sounds like a surefire recipe for entertainment. However, the film quickly falls prey to the worst habits of Bollywood: unnecessary bloat, juvenile execution, and a lifeless narrative that seems more concerned with padding out its 3-hour runtime than telling a compelling story. The plot, while intriguing in concept, drags at a snail's pace, feeling like it's perpetually stuck in quicksand. Every time the story starts to gain momentum, it’s bogged down by excessive filler, cheesy humor, or melodramatic detours that add nothing to the overall experience. The immaturity of the film's tone further undercuts its potential, making even its heartfelt moments feel contrived and insincere. At its core, "Happ

It's really no wonder the Nazis lost the war. They are just too stupid. Antichristmas! If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if a department store Santa got tangled up in a Nazi plot involving an evil elf, virgin sacrifice, and the Fourth Reich, then boy, do I have the movie for you. Elves (1989) isn’t just a bad movie—it’s a certifiable fever dream of absurdity, incompetence, and the kind of misguided ambition that makes it impossible to look away. Strap in, folks, because this isn’t your average Christmas horror flick; it’s a trainwreck wrapped in tinsel and doused in eggnog-flavored LSD. The Elf: Discount Gremlin in the Clearance Bin Let’s start with the titular "elf." If you’re expecting some sinister, well-designed creature, think again. The elf in Elves looks like it was cobbled together with paper mâché, a glue gun, and leftover Halloween masks from a garage sale. It’s about as mobile as a garden gnome and spends most of its time menacingly staring—or, more accurately, just sitting there while t

It's definitely not "garbage day" at Kim's place. Get a broom, woman! Oh, Silent Night, Deadly Night 4: Initiation. Where do I even begin with this glorious, messy fever dream of a movie? This isn't just bad—it's transcendentally bad. The kind of bad that rockets past mere mediocrity into the stratosphere of so-bizarre-you-can’t-look-away. It’s like a snowglobe filled with pure nonsense, shaken up, and dumped all over the screen. Let’s start with the story—or whatever approximation of a story this is. Something about witchcraft? Reincarnation? Slugs? And Christmas? The plot (if you can call it that) unravels like a stream-of-consciousness poem written by someone halfway through a mushroom trip. Every scene feels like it was written in isolation, handed off to a new writer, and then smashed together without a second glance. It’s the cinematic equivalent of someone trying to explain their nightmare to you: incoherent, surreal, and yet, oddly captivating. Each moment begs the question: "What the heck am I even

So the kaiju is a half-turkey/half-shopper hybrid. That helps.... a little. Black Friday had the potential to be a fun and memorable addition to the horror-comedy genre. The premise of retail workers battling zombified Black Friday shoppers is clever, relatable, and ripe for satirical commentary on consumer culture. Unfortunately, the execution leaves much to be desired, resulting in a film that struggles to rise above mediocrity. While the movie isn’t outright terrible, it’s glaringly uncreative. From the predictable character archetypes to the formulaic progression of the plot, it feels like a patchwork of familiar tropes we've seen countless times before. There’s the disgruntled manager, the plucky misfit hero, and the obligatory chaos of people turning into monsters, but none of it is done in a way that feels fresh or inventive. The humor, which should have been the film's saving grace, rarely lands. It relies on stale, low-hanging jokes rather than sharp wit or clever dialogue. Even the horror element

What is the point of any of this??? What does life even mean anymore?!?! Watching Alone in the Dark is like stepping into a surreal nightmare where logic, talent, and coherence take a permanent vacation. Directed by Uwe Boll, the film somehow manages to turn a moderately creepy video game series into a cinematic trainwreck so inexplicably bad it’s almost mesmerizing. Let’s start with Tara Reid, whose performance as "Dr. Aline Cedrac" is the kind of thing you’d expect from someone who Googled “archaeologist” five minutes before arriving on set. Reid delivers lines like she’s trying to remember if she left the oven on, her scientist character less "Indiana Jones" and more "lost intern who wandered into the wrong set." Her chemistry with Christian Slater is nonexistent—though to be fair, Slater himself looks like he’s plotting his escape mid-scene. The plot is the cinematic equivalent of dumping puzzle pieces from three different games onto the floor and calling it "art." Something about ancient artifacts, a

What happens when a B-list horror film tackles small town romance, anthropology, and…vampire bureacracy? This movie takes us to a vampire-infested Salem's Lot, where the acting is about as wooden as the stakes they should be driving into these vamps’ chests. The lead actors deliver their lines with the enthusiasm of someone half-listening to a bad knock-knock joke, and I swear the child actor spent more time looking at the camera than playing a convincing kid. But it doesn’t matter, because that’s part of the charm. The vampires in A Return to Salem's Lot redefine what it means to be bloodsucking undead. First, they feel the need to sit you down for a full-blown vampire lecture series, explaining their origins and why they drink blood as if they’re some misunderstood subculture rather than, you know, predators of the night. The amount of time they spend philosophizing about vampirism makes you wonder if they’re vying for tenure at the local community college rather than dominating the human race. They’re so