Why do I even bother?
I’ve been asking myself that question a lot during the last couple of weeks. Work has been piling on, I’ve fallen behind on some things and have had to stay up all night to catch up. I haven’t had time to relax without something looming over my shoulder.
After watching a film like The Forbidden Dimensions, I know why I bother.
There are legendary films that will live on forever, films like Gladiator, The Shawshank Redemption and Good Will Hunting. There are great films and there are good films. There are decent films, mediocre films and agonizing films, but the ones that remind me why I bother are the torturous films, films so bad, so unequivocally limitless in their unending carnage, so disastrous in everything they attempt and so genuinely overflowing with suckage, that I know a wrong must be righted and that I must take up the sword and do the deed because no one else will. There are different types of courage and I don’t consider myself a courageous fellow, but my thirst for justice is unwavering and this, my friends and fellow film warriors, needs brought to justice.
Read this plot synopsis from IMDB:
“Jack Slade was born during a solar eclipse in the year 1980. 18 years later, he finds out he has the ability to travel into the future. He projects himself into the year 2035, where society has been destroyed by a fascist regiment of psychopathic doctors that rule the wastelands, creating deformed mutants with a serum synthesized from the flesh of dead aliens. Now Slade must travel back to the year 1998 to destroy a device known as the wavelength generator, which opened the dimensional gateways to these alien beings. With the help of an army of female outlaws and a sleazy detective, Slade re-connects with the star child Khadijah, who holds the key to stopping these tragic events from ever taking place.”
Wow. Just wow.
The amount of brain cells lost during this sour escapade was in the millions between me and my seven-plus friends. All of us writhed in agony, trying to keep our brains from exploding all over the carpet. The plot alone, without regarding any other aspect of The Forbidden Dimensions, is an unsoiled example of cataclysmic abundance. A story this far gone from sentence structure or basic forms of brain matter is vileness that I won’t forget any time soon. It is a personal attack on the science fiction genre and to believe that this film belonged anywhere is absurd. Frankenstein could watch this movie and mock how hopeless it is and say, with great pleasure I’m sure, that he belonged in our society more than this derelict sampling of incompetent imaginings. If a dream to create another world, realm or time at all existed in this complexion of toxic waste, it was a dream that in physical form must have looked like a teenager who had been in five car accidents because he was irresponsible, broken all of his ribs, done every sort of drug from heroin to Nyquil, walked with a limp and a cane in the opposite hand because he was too dumb to know how to use it, a nose that had been broken every which way in numerous drunken quarrels, had facial scars Frankenstein could be impressed by and whose hands had been mutilated by fireworks like Jason Pierre-Paul. Its personality would be covered in blind hatred and stupidity, with no ability to empathize or care for another human being’s trials. This creation would be so meaningless that if Waste Management had seen it walking on the curb, they would try to load it in with the rest of the trash.
And to think, that is but one segment of this mesh of indiscernible mumbling that is so inconclusive that the term abstract can’t be applied to it.
The concept of acting was clearly not discussed nor communicated to the participants of this catastrophe. Granted, no one knowledgeable was present to do any of the communicating so they never jumped over the first obstacle: knowing what acting is.
When you watch a film and you legitimately wonder if cue cards were put next to the camera in every scene, that’s when you know you’ve found a real winner of a movie. With no emotional attachment to their lines or character ornaments to speak of, the lines might have been better off being read by Siri. Could these characters be any worse, these actors any more careless in their delivery? Speaking of delivery, I bet UPS drivers could be better actors than the people gifted with an end credit here. Lifeless and emotionless, the zombies on The Walking Dead have more life than these actors.
No hands were offered to them either. There are so many things that could be accomplished easier than reading the lines from this script and making it sound the least bit intriguing: running into a wall, skydiving into a volcano, boating along the coast of Somalia, driving across the city of New York in five minutes, jumping to Pluto and swimming to the bottom of the Pacific all come to mind. The stupid is unreal. There are internet trolls jealous of this film’s unfailing ability to stir the rage in all who view it. They probably watch this crustacean daily trying to learn its secrets.
But if there was one thing I had to peg as clearly the worst, and I mean the worst, of this ash-covered, barbed wire-infused, burnt steak covered in baby feces, it would be the camera work. In every scene, the talent’s face fills the whole screen. If you know anything about camera work, you would know what it means to highlight the center of your attention and how to shoot an effective angle. Every which way that you could find to shoot an inappropriate angle in the three-dimensional realm, The Forbidden Dimensions’ camera crew will find a way. Super close-ups, odd, clearly ineffective angles, super close-ups, poor lighting, super close-ups, lighting contrast, super close-ups, slow edits and yes, more damn close-ups, are littered through every second of this malnourished, drug-addicted demon child. A communication medium built on visual storytelling, the only storytelling going on in The Forbidden Dimensions is what it would be like being hindered by shrooms and LSD. This film hates epileptics and people with eyes, it detests people with brains and it makes the barrel of a shotgun look mighty appetizing.
Once again, if you’re new to my blog, I’ve always ranked movies on a scale of 0-100 (I don’t know why, I just always have). Here’s the grading scale.
80-89 It was a pretty good movie and definitely one worth seeing, but it doesn’t quite scratch my top ten percentile. (The Cable Guy, The Cabin in the Woods, Tears of the Sun, Edge of Tomorrow, The Amazing Spider-Man 2)
40-49 This movie is just mediocre. It’s not doing anything other than the bare minimal, so morbidly boring that sometimes I’m actually angry I watched this. (The Lost Boys, Zombeavers, Crank, Erased, I, Frankenstein)
30-39 Definitely worse than mediocre, the 30′s ironically define the 1930′s, full of depression, lack of accomplishments, poverty and just so dumb. (Centurion, Planet of the Apes, Stonados, Redemption, Pride and Prejudice)
20-29 What did I just watch? Cliches, stupidity, nothingness, did I mention stupidity? Just…wow. (The Visit, The Fantastic Four, The Boy Next Door, The Colony, In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale)
0-19 Watching this movie resulted in one or more of the following: seizure, loss of brain cells, falling asleep/unconsciousness, feel you wasted your time/day, accomplished nothing for you, left the movie knowing less about it then you did going into it, constantly asking yourself why you came to see this movie, or near-death experience. In short, staring at a wall was just as entertaining as watching this movie. This movie deserved a sticker or a label that said, “WARNING: EXTREME AMOUNT OF SUCKAGE.” (Cyborg, Outcast, Sabotage, Gallowwalkers, Tucker & Dale vs. Evil)
My score for The Forbidden Dimensions: 9.
Beaten only by the forever engraved Alien 3, The Forbidden Dimensions is one of the worst films I’ve ever seen. Without a doubt the worst production value I’ve witnessed, this apocalyptic, time-bending contraption needs to be sucked through a wormhole and be forever lost in the abyss. I slap an Extreme Suckage on this with delight, but let it be known that is the only pleasure I discovered during this torrential downpour of molding, scab-covered rats.