Seven Cinematic Guilty Pleasures
These are all objectively bad films, and I love them.
Even the most serious student of film has their guilty pleasures. Therefore, please consider this article a confession. Objectively speaking, these seven films do not constitute great cinema. Nonetheless, I find them hugely enjoyable.
A note on criteria: To qualify as a guilty pleasure, a film cannot be too good. For example, I considered Kindergarten Cop for this list, but concluded it is the wrong side of actually good to qualify. So-bad-it’s-good films can qualify (I toyed with adding The Room), but not so-bad-it’s-bad films (Michael Bay’s interminable Transformers sequels, for instance, are so bad they’re bad, and contain no guilty pleasure whatsoever).
Here then is my guilty pleasure list, in no particular order of guilt. (It is also worth noting most are from the 1980s and 1990s, which is a reflection on my age, no doubt.)
Angels & Demons (2009)
I am not a fan of The Da Vinci Code or Dan Brown in general. However, the Angels & Demons film, which I understand departs considerably from the novel, is another matter entirely. Yes, it’s bad, but it’s also immensely enjoyable.
From parachuting pontiffs to the ridiculous stolen dark matter plot, Ron Howard’s film never fails to entertain — even if it is more of an embarrassing footnote in his largely splendid filmography. Ewan McGregor is also a lot of fun as the cleric with temporary control of the Vatican between popes, and provides an agreeably lunatic foil to Tom Hanks. The twists and turns are insane, but so much fun.
The Blob (1958)
A number of 1950s science fiction B-movies can be objectively defended as great films. The Incredible Shrinking Man is an example. My all-time favourite creature-feature Them! is another. However, The Blob really isn’t all that great, to put it mildly. On the other hand, how can anyone not enjoy a film like this? A meteor containing a mysterious gooey-substance crashes on Earth, consuming anyone with whom it comes into contact, growing into a vast, unstoppable… well, blob.
Featuring “Steven” McQueen in his debut role (before he dropped the “n” and became the King of Cool), there is loads of fun to be had here. I particularly like the moment where the Blob oozes into a cinema, about to devour an audience watching an equally silly scary film (“I am the demon that possesses your soul!”). Another highlight is the splendidly daft title song Beware of the Blob! — performed by Bernie Knee and written by Mack David and Burt Bacharach (no, really). Check it out here.
Hudson Hawk (1991)
Bruce Willis is a cat burglar and expert safe-cracker on parole in Michael Lehmann’s truly idiotic, action-packed, budget-busting slice of celluloid stupidity. Blackmailed into various heists, Willis and his partner Danny Aiello sing Bing Crosby’s Swinging on a Star as a way of synchronising their burglary endeavours, before being drawn into a bigger plot involving alchemy and Leonardo Da Vinci. It’s utter rubbish, but oddly fun to watch.
You also get Andie MacDowell as a secret Vatican undercover operative working with CIA, and a gloriously over-the-top villain in the form of Richard E Grant. (“I’ll torture you so slowly, you’ll think it’s a career.”) There are daft stunts galore, and even a nifty nod to North by Northwest, in the form of James Coburn’s character’s name, George Kaplan. I won’t ever defend it as a good film, but I’m not going to lie and say I don’t find it entertaining.
Supergirl (1984)
Alexander and Ilya Salkind were responsible for getting Christopher Reeve’s Superman to the big screen, and for that, we should be eternally grateful. Supergirl by contrast was largely viewed as a poorly scripted, anaemic, unconvincing cash-in. Guilty as charged, yet I still have a huge soft spot for it.
Helen Slater is a spirited lead, contrasted by Faye Dunaway’s deliciously evil sorceress antagonist. Dunaway is also very funny, particularly in scenes with the equally amusing Peter Cook. Another great Peter (O’Toole) provides support on mentoring duties, and the whole thing is smothered in an earworm Jerry Goldsmith score. And yes — I’m obsessed with it to the point that I own a DVD copy of the rare 138-minute extended cut.
A Fistful of Fingers (1995)
Edgar Wright has since gone on to popular and critically acclaimed films, including Shaun of the Dead, Baby Driver, and Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. However, I saw his infamous debut as a student, during its original limited run, when it played at a local comedy film festival held at Harbour Lights Cinema, Southampton. Although it’s undoubtedly a pretty rubbish film, I found it hugely entertaining.
What most struck me was the way Wright had blagged his way into filmmaking, clearly intending Leone spoof A Fistful of Fingers as a means to an end, yet still imbuing it with a certain wit and inventiveness amid the no-budget pseudo-spaghetti western escapades. If nothing else, it’s the only western to ever be shot in the UK. It also features a surreal and hilarious cameo from Jeremy Beadle. How Wright managed to blag that one is beyond me.
Condorman (1981)
This monumentally silly Charles Jarrott directed Disney adventure — in which Michael Crawford of 1970s BBC sitcom Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ’Em fame helps beautiful Soviet KGB agent Barbara Carrera defect — is absolute rubbish from start to finish. Yet Crawford’s character, an eccentric comic artist obsessed with making his “Condorman” character believable (to the point that he jumps off the Eiffel Tower in a Condorman costume), is oddly endearing.
I can’t help but enjoy this film, possibly because I saw it as a child. It features James Bond-style gadgets, such as a rickety truck that transforms into a supercar with various weapons, plus a catalogue of daft action set pieces including a boat chase with laser guns. Oliver Reed provides the sneering villainy; clearly a film he did for the money. Again, I can’t defend the film in any way, but nor will I pretend I don’t like it.
Highlander (1986)
The first Highlander is pretty damn nonsensical, but it is an exercise in coherence and logic compared with its idiotic sequels. However, forget about those. Instead wallow in the sheer over-the-top glory of the Queen-scored original, as inexplicably immortal Christopher Lambert and Clancy Brown (with a little mentoring help from Sean Connery) battle it out down the centuries — from the medieval Highlands of Scotland to 1980s New York — to determine who will gain a vaguely mystical “prize” by chopping off the other’s head. There can only be one, apparently.
Russell Mulcahy cut his teeth on Duran Duran videos, and their flamboyance carries over into his directorial choices here, with swirling crane shots and motion sickness-inducing camera angles. The narrative is choppy and uneven, to say the least. On the other hand, despite all the silliness, Lambert’s sorrow at outliving his beloved wife feels genuinely poignant. Though that could be because of the Queen song Who Wants to Live Forever? A great song can paper over a multitude of cinematic sins.
What are your cinematic guilty pleasures? Confess in the comments, and I’ll reply, letting you know whether I consider them too good to qualify, so bad they’re actually bad, or spot-on selections.
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