‘6 reasons why my obsession with Bad Movies is unhealthy’
[themify_hr color=”dark-gray” width=”100px” border_width=”1px”]
A BMBR Quickie
[themify_hr color=”dark-gray” width=”100px” border_width=”1px”]
Just breathe.
I can do this…
Hello. My name is Defector and I am addicted to collecting Bad Movies. But I don’t consider it a problem. I’m on top of it. It’s a choice. Definitely. However, I can accept there are certain aspects of my…casual hobby…that I will admit aren’t exactly conducive to my general well-being. Namely…
1. It’s all I do now
[themify_hr color=”dark-gray” width=”100px” border_width=”1px”]
No, seriously.
Well, I mean, of course I do other things. I have a full time job, a family, and I sleep for at least one hour a night, but when I indulge in those activities I’m usually still thinking (or dreaming) about Bad Movies. Does that sound normal to you? Or maybe I should have the words ‘dangerously obsessed’ branded on to my face to warn anyone who thinks I’m actually listening to them.
If I’m not watching Bad Movies, I’m writing about them. If I’m not writing about them, I’m purchasing them. If I’m not purchasing them, then I’m trying to convince other people that I’m not insane despite them. And yes, when I’m not doing any of these things then I’m most likely thinking about Bad Movies. I wonder if they think of me?
Yes, I have a bit of a collection of Bad Movies, and I regularly catch myself staring at them like a soiled 1995 Pamela Anderson calender and mentally masturbating. I said it’s not a problem. But as initially impressive looking a collection it is, that pile of plastic is actually fairly tiny in the grand scheme of things (this guy has over 5000 of them for fuck sake…), but it’s difficult for collectors not to become attached to their subjects, regardless of its modesty.
No matter what the form takes, be it stamps, cars, rocks, or dismembered feet, owning a collection of any sort is a one way ticket to ‘just one more’ obsession that can sort of take over someone’s life if they’re not careful. But again, I’m fine, and the difference with my particular obsession is that mine is the correct one, and everyone else’s is stupid and a waste of time.
So yes, this has pretty much taken over my life, and the unwitting lives of everyone else within my steadily dwindling circle of family and friends.
2. I keep having to explain the ‘The Collection’
[themify_hr color=”dark-gray” width=”100px” border_width=”1px”]
Any visitors who enter our living room are now greeted by a frankly disgusting looking tower of DVD’s (I’m banking on my wife never reading this and making me choke on this admission), and it’s the same story every time, as people inquire in to the meaning behind such an incongruous eyesore, and my general emotional well-being.
I once took tremendous pleasure in describing the in’s and out’s of my weird hobby to anyone who would listen, much like an eight-year-old who wants all their visiting relatives to know the names of every single Transformer, whilst not having the emotional maturity to realise how everyone is impatiently waiting for you to shut up.
Except the more these instances occurred, the more I realised I sounded insane, and so now try to avoid the topic. However, this doesn’t prevent visitors from noticing titles such as ‘Death Machine’ and ‘9 ½ Ninjas’, then frowning and piping up with some well meaning nosey bullshit.
“Why do you have…”
“BECAUSE I LOVE THEM, DROP IT!”
But I have indeed brought this on myself, considering how prominently placed a ‘feature’ they are within our home. And yes, I’ll admit that what once looked quaint, now is imposing and dreadful. But what am I to do? They have to go somewhere. There has been talk about installing shelving units in our downstairs bathroom, but this is problematic. If I can’t see them, then how on earth do I go about giving myself a mental pat on the back throughout the day? Exercise less bladder control? And besides, they might be shit, but I’m not exposing them to actual faecal matter.
I could box them up I suppose, but staring at a pile of boxes is infinitely less exciting (and infinitely more pointless) than being able to see the words ‘Santa Claus Conquers The Martians’ underneath my family photos.
No, the fact remains, as much of a marriage strain it may be, that these things are here to stay, and only when every inch of available wall space is covered by Troma crap and Godfrey Ho Movies will I concede defeat, leave the family I love so dearly, and move in to an abandoned library.
3. I now hate normal films…
[themify_hr color=”dark-gray” width=”100px” border_width=”1px”]
…which means I now hate 99.99% of all film, and for someone who spends their precious free time watching and reviewing movies, this can be a mild frustration. Okay okay…hyperbole. It would be more accurate of me to say I am bored by normal films, at least most of them, but my obsession with Bad Movies, and the rate at which I consume them, has definitely had some bleed-over.
I just can’t seem to motivate myself to go back to the way things were. I mean, what’s the point? Why sit down to watch the frankly unfunny ‘Twelve Years a Slave’ when I can watch ‘King of the Kickboxers’, and not only risk my life through uncontrollable laughter, but also witness positively reinforcing messages delivered by Billy Blanks’ fists? Exactly.
‘Arrival’ was an okay film I guess, but I wouldn’t have fallen asleep if they’d had a budget of £50 and an actual rubber squid-monster instead of a CGI one. Oh, and if Amy Adams’ character was played by Gary Busey.
So now I’m at the stage where I don’t even look at the center of the screen when a ‘normal’ movie is on. Oh no, I scan the periphery looking for accidental boom-mics so I can feel intelligent and superior, and just for once fill the void in my soul.
No, sorry normal films. You have lost me.
4. People don’t understand me, or the fascination…
[themify_hr color=”dark-gray” width=”100px” border_width=”1px”]
…and quite often, it’s people themselves who don’t actually understand their own sense of what is or isn’t funny. I know, that sounds all high-and-mighty, but I can confirm that out there exists a Bad Movie for everyone, no matter how cold-hearted or joyless a person they are.
And the reason for this is simple.
Did you see that? You found it funny, didn’t you? Of course you did, you’re human. And if there’s one thing human people enjoy above all else, it’s watching other human people fail in hilariously unintended and entertaining ways. This is something that unites all of mankind. If someone falls down and mildly hurts themselves anywhere on this planet, you can bet there will be someone else recording it on a camera-phone and pissing themselves. And this is what people just don’t seem to get…Bad Movies are hilarious!
Whenever I have my motivations questioned as to why I watch these films, it would mistakenly be thought that the reason why I watch these movies is simply because they are shit. Which of course would be completely unrelatable to just about anyone. But I would have to patiently point out that the reason why I sift through all this crap is because sometimes, just sometimes, within the swamp of boring Bad Movies, I’ll come across something that is comedy gold.
And then (sigh) it would be mistakenly thought that I’m referring to films that are intended to be funny, and I would yet again have to patiently explain that the reason these movies are so go-damn hilarious is because they were not supposed to be. The hilarity comes from unintended consequences, just like that poor bastard and her grapes. This kind of humour exists from the love of being able laugh at someones amateurish attempts at creating something competent, but instead sucks so fucking hard that it stops time.
That said, it’s often not always all about The Room’s or Birdemic’s. Some movies are unintentionally awesome in a nostalgic, child-like kind of way…think early Van Damme or Lundgren. Those movies were genuinely awesome back then, but now they still retain that awesomeness, but with the addition of looking silly as fuck, which in my book adds to the charm. A motorcycle jumping over an explosion might be exactly as ridiculous as the director intended, but nowadays, with my retro goggles permanently glued to my face, that shit will get a high five with enough force to stop bullets.
5. CEX employees now hate me
[themify_hr color=”dark-gray” width=”100px” border_width=”1px”]
CEX (actually pronounced ‘sex’ if you use their help-line) are second-hand trade in stores that will pay you money in exchange for your hard-stolen electrical items, video-games, and DVD’s, and given the frequency at which I visit CEX stores, I may as well mop their fucking floors before I leave. Oh, and they have started handing over my ‘fix’ within brown paper bags, as if I need any more convincing that things are getting out of hand.
My relationship with this particular store has become…complicated. For example, the following is an incident that took place at one CEX store a few months ago.
After having driven 60 miles to get there, I made a bee-line for the first floor DVD section, and the awful garbage contained therein. This was my first time in this particular store, so I was certain I would discover a mountain of Bad Movie booty that would have been shamefully overlooked by every single other customer (again, most people don’t know what they are missing), and I was not wrong. After approximately one hour of scanning every single title on every single shelf, I had amassed so many DVD’s that I had to lean backwards while carrying them. Giddy as loon, I carefully made my way back downstairs and joined the back of a very long queue. As my turn came, the cashier looked up at me, his face dropped, and very audibly said “Oh for fuck sake…”
I laughed, because obviously he was just engaging in friendly banter, right? Well, no he wasn’t, as he then looked up at who must have been his boss with a pleading ‘do I have to’ expression. And the boss…well, she took a moment…she took a moment…and then shrugged, as if to say ‘I suppose you do’. I tried to meekly apologise for forgetting not to be ‘that shit-head customer’, but he wasn’t for listening, as he now had to round up three other people during what was obviously a very busy Saturday afternoon, and have them round up all my shit films.It was then I realised that…I was almost refused service in a second-hand store, and yes, that realisation came with a sense of pride.
But this kind of reception by the diligent and hard-working staff members at CEX stores has pretty much become the norm. Especially at my local store, where they now know to expect a hard time when I arrive on the premises. But I am trying to make things easier on them by spreading my germs as it were, as yes, I now go on (no shit) road trips to far-off CEX stores with my children.
Don’t you fucking judge me.
6. My wife may have given up
[themify_hr color=”dark-gray” width=”100px” border_width=”1px”]
And who could blame her? Remember what I said about eating, breathing, and shitting Bad Movies? Well, most often that shit is verbal. And guess which lucky duck is contractually obligated to be around me the most? That’s right, the misses. Therefore she is usually the recipient of my Bad Movie diarrhoeal fact-factory, and its regular discharge, and considering I no longer get to hear my own voice when people come to visit, she gets both barrels of whatever happens to be in my head at any given moment.
Of course, I think this is the best of times – sharing whatever nonsense I can on the topic – but I could probably wank into a wind-tunnel and expect the same level of person-to-person interaction. No, it’s fair to say that she, like most people, doesn’t share the same love for ‘Hologram Man’ and ‘Magnificent Natural Fists’ as I do. And again, who the hell could blame her? These films are hilariously stupid…at best. But 90% of the time they are fucking atrocious, and that’s coming from a die-hard fan of them.
As such, I’m not adverse to putting myself in her place (which still doesn’t stop me yakking about them). I mean, imagine someone who felt compelled to purposefully tread in shit every day, and then recount the details of their shoe back to you over dinner. There would only be so much pretend enthusiasm you could have for a person like that before you would either poison their food or join them in their hobby, and there’s really no option there. So whilst I do love her dearly, I am regularly checking my potatoes for razor blades. Not that I’d blame her if I find any.
