Junkfood Cinema

Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; slippery when festive. You and your intrepid team of reindeer, who may or may not be aerial yaks, have flown your sleigh past the mountains of good taste and crash-landed here on the island of misfit movies. Each week I will crank out one of these Charlie-in-the-boxes, pointing at its flaws and laughing like the meanest little bastard on the naughty list. But then, realizing how dangerously close I am to not getting any presents this year, due to the aforementioned bastardness, I will make a sappy speech in front of a glowing Christmas tree professing how much I loved this movie from the start. That cheap gesture should secure me that Chocolate-Covered French Fry Maker I’ve had my eye on. To put a bow on this whole affair, I will offer up a sugar-laden snack food item paired to the film that will constrict your arteries like Santa climbing down a cramped chimney. This week’s flimsy gingerbread house: Home Alone 2.

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood cinema; nature is lethal, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the McRib. Welcome to the feast of intellectual famine! For our first course, we will be serving skewered schlock seared over a hot flame of merciless ridicule. We will follow this with a round of genuine affection sweetened with just a suçon of my completely indiscriminate, and therefore dubious, taste. For dessert we will be serving an actual food, of the junk variety, paired thematically to the film. Hey, yesterday was Thanksgiving wasn’t it? It’s hard to tell here at JFC because we feast like manic depressive sea cows on a weekly basis. But now that you’ve had ample time to digest, and now that you’ve again worked up an appetite by spending all day hip-checking soccer moms to obtain $3 seasons of Cagney & Lacey on DVD, we horribly humbly submit another feeding frenzy for your destruction consideration. Today’s Reheated Nugget: Deep Blue Sea.

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; we don’t know what a barbie is either so just throw the shrimp into our mouths. You have just gone walkabout and stumbled upon the Internet’s 87th most prestigious bad movie column. Every week, I spear a wildly schlocky movie as it goes hopping by with a veritable pouch full of shortcomings. But then my opinion of the film boomerangs back to the pure adoration I’ve been harboring all along. To cap the occasion, I offer a disgustingly delicious snack food item certain to prove only slightly less hazardous than any of the innumerable poisonous Australian fauna. This week’s didgeri-don’t: BMX Bandits. 

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; now get off our lawn. This is the weekly internet bad movie column that gets winded as you scroll up and down the page. Every Friday I assault your senses with whatever terrible movie I happen to being using a coaster that week. I will pummel and pistol whip the movie with its own flaws–and a pistol apparently–until it can barely stand, but then I will congratulate the movie on its acceptance into the gang and lavish it with praise. I will then buy a beer and a disgustingly awesome snack food for the film as we stand as friends at the bar singing our gang’s…theme song (?). This week’s punk: Never Too Young to Die

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; we’re so metal we can’t get through airport security. Every week during the month of October we will be showcasing the shockingly schlocky, the horrifyingly horrible, and the most terrifyingly terrible horror films we can get our claws on. We will drive a lampooning stake through the film’s heart and laugh maniacally as it takes longer to die than Paul Reubens in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But then, because we learned nothing from The Evil Dead, we will resurrect the film by reciting passages from the necronomicon of pure adoration. To complete the blood ritual, we will pair the film with a insidiously delicious snack food item in the hopes that we can create for you a completely interactive horror film experience by actually shortening your life. This Week’s Beast: Black Roses The basic story here, and I do mean basic, is that a very popular rock band called The Black Roses has decided to begin their world tour in Mill Basin, Ontario, Canada USA. The kids in town are all super psyched, but the parent groups seem to have their collective undergarments in various stages of entanglement. They feel that The Black Roses is a group that promotes evil and the corruption of youth. Eventually, the parents see the error of their ways and let the band play all four (?) of its consecutive shows. Turns out they were right because much evilness and corruptitude ensues.

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; now incapable of discerning tricks from treats. In case you’ve been binge drinking for the last week and chucked your wall calendar, cell phone, and computer–in which case how are you reading this–onto the lawn in a fit of rage, October has arrived. As such, it is time for Junkfood Cinema to set its beady little eyes upon the campiest, the cheesiest, the frighteningly schlockiest titles that the horror genre has to offer. Every week from here until we reach glorious Samhain, I will carve up a Samheinous horror film like a helpless jack-o-lantern. But then I will set a candle of pure adoration inside its hallowed out carcass so that it shines like a beautiful goblin. To top it off, I will prescribe a  tasty treat themed to the film that will haunt your waistline in the same fashion that the film haunts your sense of better judgment. This week’s ghoul: Dead Heat

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; 100% medically accurate. Because Salisbury has staked the reputation of his chubby little column on my abilities to pen something that will be even in the same neighborhood as his consistently hilarious musings on bad movies and bad food, I will honor him in the only way I know how – by writing about a romantic comedy that centers on a lady in a coma and the dude who loves her. You’re regretting your decision now, aren’t you, Briguy? TOO LATE. I’ve hijacked your precious little column and we’re going straight to the most glorious reaches of heaven above (with a wee detour along the way). What’s the plan? Well, it’s the usual plan. I’m going to roast a terrible film over the coals of a hellfire, gently turning it on a devil-approved spit, and dance around all that horrific burning while the screams stretch up through eight other levels of Hell, said bad film begging for mercy and forgiveness. Then, we’re just totally going to skip Purgatory, because it’s super-boring, but then and only then will I shower the film with love, tickling it gently with little white feathers, with a brief pause to run through a sunlit meadow while a blonde lady plays a harp nearby. Then we’re all going to eat cake. Please open the pearly gates for Just Like Heaven.

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; already too old for this shit. If you are reading this, you are probably doing the internet wrong. This is the weekly movie column that has maintained a hearty resilience to quality since 2009. Every Friday I fricassee a truly bad film, skewering it upon its own ineptitude. But then, just before it’s burned past the point of being palatable, I glaze it with a BBQ sauce of unabashed love and shove it directly down your throat. If you find you aren’t dead from internal bleeding, you are welcome to then enjoy the snack food item I pair with each film. Because honestly, name one person obesity ever killed, right? This week’s heart-clogger? Ernest Goes to Camp.

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; got a back-up weapon? Yes kids, after last week’s ridiculous invasion of your local multiplex, your favorite film column’s favorite film column is back where it belongs, digging into the vast catalog of older films searching for diamonds in the rough. This week we reach all the way back to 1998. As per usual, I’ll start off by listing all the reasons to avoid this film like the swamp lands of Kentucky, but I’ll finish up by lovingly wrapping it in one of those emergency blankets that look like aluminum foil. I’ll also recommend a tasty if health challenged treat to warm your cholesterol-laden insides. So what are we waiting for? This week’s cinematic indulgence is…drum roll…U.S. Marshals!

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; constantly in need of a bigger boat. Remember when Junkfood Cinema only covered crusty old cheese that you didn’t care about or crappy movies out of theaters just long enough to have completely vanished from your consciousness forever? Those were good times, simpler times. You were safe from it as long as you stayed in the boat and didn’t venture into my usual feeding grounds. But now, like some God-awful 3D gimmick, I am bursting through your computer screen and invading your local movie theater to take a massive bite out of a brand new movie. I will chomp apart all of this film’s many, many faults and drag it down to a watery grave. But then, like Matt Hooper, my love for this movie refuses to stay submerged and comes bubbling to the surface. I’ll wrap it up by chumming the waters with a tasty snack food themed to the film. Today’s Catch: Shark Night 3D It is a true rarity that brand new movies, in those fancy shmancy multiplexes with their hoity toity 3Ds, XDs, and D-students, perfectly exemplify the core values of Junkfood Cinema. But in the case of Shark Night 3D, the confines of a traditional review would simply do no justice to the complex, near-paradoxical experience of seeing this terrible/amazing film in a theater and, despite all its best efforts, loving it so much that you unironically hope it wins an Oscar so that a hundred more movies just like […]

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; your check is almost certainly in the mail. Yes my unfortunate dupes, you’ve stumbled upon the weekly bad movie column that seriously calls into question the acronym TGIF; unless you reassign the letters to mean Tell God I Forfeit. Every Friday, right before you shuffle off for the weekend, I slap you upside the face with a film that fell well short of greatness long ago and is now selling insurance and renting a double-wide in a little town called Schlocksburgh. My job is to walk the dirt roads of Schlocksburgh under cover of night and hurl rocks of mockery at said double-wide until somebody calls the internet police. But then, just as I’m about to be booked for a hate crime, I tear off my shirt and reveal a crudely drawn homemade tattoo across my chest professing my undying love for said film. I then offer a disgustingly tasty themed snack as an act of contrition, and in the hopes of avoiding a bothersome restraining order. This Week’s Target: Blackjack

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; fatter than Jesus. This is the weekly column that celebrates the myriad ways a film can fail. Every Friday I take you for a ride on the SchlockCoaster; careening through each of the movie’s wild faults. I then level things off and explain how I still love the film despite those faults. Then, after your confidence in my tastes plummets at thrilling speed, we exit the ride and I treat you to a gooey, sticky snack food that is sure to unsettle your stomach. With today’s inexplicable release of yet another Final Destination movie, I believe it’s called FIVEnal Destination Goes West, I thought it would be fun to look back at the only entry in the franchise that I find enjoyable. This week’s snack: Final Destination 3

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; lords of the gridiron…or at least the waffle iron. Strap on your helmet and conceal any benefits you received from agents during college because you have just been drafted to the NFL; the Nefarious Film Lovers…League. Ok, so it’s the NFLL, shut up! Every week we tackle a bad movie to the roaring delight of over eight people. And we don’t just tackle the movie, we tackle it like we’re Ray Lewis with a playoff game on the line and the ref’s just been stricken with blindness. But then, just before the internet starts throwing penalty flags at us, we enter free agency, join up with the film, and use our unabashed love for it to help this underdog win a championship of warped film appreciation. Finally, after months of heated debate that ultimately muddied the issue and pushed us closer to the edge of complete anarchy…the NFL lockout is over. We can finally stop troubling ourselves with petty nuisances like defaulting on our national debts and get back to what really matters: overpaid sweaty guys knocking the snot out of each other. In honor of this jubilant occasion, I decided to run an all-out blitz on a film from  2000 whose premise eerily mirrors recent events. This week’s play: The Replacements

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; the home of the brave. Here at JFC, we are one nation united under our love for schlock. Every week we salute the standard-bearers of terrible films. First we savagely thrash at the film’s faults; clawing at it like a bald eagle startled into rage by a thunderous fireworks display. But then, once we’ve knocked the stars and stripes out of it, we dust it off and slowly raise it back up with our unabashed adoration like Old Glory at Iwojima. We sing its praises like we’re Toby Keith in September and prove that yes we can…unironically appreciate crappy films. To punctuate this, our other national pastime, we will pair the film with a patriotically delicious junkfood item to storm the beaches of your intestinal fortitude much in the same fashion that the film declares war on your brain cells. This week’s treat: Captain America.

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to JFC; we ain’t gonna play Sun City. Written from within the Bad Movie Archives nestled comfortably below the surface of the Earth somewhere underneath Dolph Lundgren’s wombat ranch, Junkfood Cinema is, according to critics, “arguably worth your time.” Every week I flash fry an entire movie in the white-hot oil of merciless mockery. But then I cool it on a baking rack of unabashed reverence letting it congeal into something unironically delicious. Then, after coming to the terrifying realization that I can’t actually eat a metaphor, I will substitute a real-world snack item paired to the film in the hopes that my writing will no longer boast the greatest offense to your bowels. Today’s treat: Demon Knight

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; we will not go quietly into the night. You are about to read one of the worst internet columns in the history of mankind. No longer consumed by our petty need for legitimately good films, we here at Junkfood Cinema are united by our common interest in the utterly schlocky. First we will examine how the chosen film has earned its freedom from the tyranny of nuance and the oppression of critical measures of quality. We will then triumphantly raise our voices to proclaim what it is about the film that allows it to survive total annihilation and win not only the day, but our hearts as well. Finally, we will pair the film with an appropriately themed snack food item in order to prove that our waistlines will not vanish without a fight. Today we celebrate Roland Emmerich’s Independence Day!

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Junkfood Cinema

After watching your third hour of golf (that Mcllroy sure can play!) and giving your father the same tie from last year, enjoy this special Sunday edition of Junkfood Cinema in honor of all of the fathers that didn’t try to murder us and move on to the next family. Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; your mother and I are very disappointed in you. Kids, fetch me my slippers and my flagon of Scotch because it’s time for me to tell you about another fantastically bad movie. Stop that whining and sit still while I breakdown the birds and the bees of what exactly makes this movie so bad. Then, if you finish all your chores and refrain from soiling yourselves for once, I will tell you all about what makes me love that same movie so much. Finally, I will whip up an appropriately themed snack food item to ensure your wild, sugar-induced frenzy just as you are supposed to be getting ready for bed. As today is Father’s Day, this week’s very special treat is The Stepfather 2.

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema: we have come here to chew bubblegum and worship bad movies…and we’re all out of bubblegum. Pursuant to our mission statement, hastily written in soy sauce on the wrapper of a Zagnut bar, every week we will tempt your cerebral taste buds with all the most decadent, delicious treats it doesn’t want to admit it craves. We will slice, dice, chop, and screw the movie; basting it in its own faults along the way. But then it will lovingly bake in our hearts at 98.6° for 3-5 paragraphs until it becomes golden brown with our misguided affection. We will then transform metaphor into substance by offering an actual snack food item paired with the film in order that no part of your insides remain unaffected by this odious column. If losers are always whining about their best, we achieve the complete opposite effect by lauding the worst with a barbaric yawp. Today’s Blue Plate Special: The Rock

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; stuffiness is the disease, we are the cure. This is the only weekly internet column to actually be slapped by Jamie Oliver, slapped right in its meaty face. I am like the mean older brother, each week slapping around the black sheep of Hollywood until they cry. But then, like any good older brother, I release them from the grip of my sardonic Indian burn and give them a loving bro-hug of ridiculous praise. I then take them to Stuckey’s and treat them to a delicious, movie-themed snack item. Whether you like it or not, this is Junkfood Cinema. This week’s target: Cobra

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; our love don’t cost a thing. Well it’s officially time to fire the captain of your brain barge because he has lead you down the internet river directly to the worst conceivable port. Each week I float atop a stinky, but apparently strangely buoyant, cinematic mistake, laughing maniacally as I poke it full of holes. Then, once it becomes painfully clear that I am sinking and in danger of drowning in my own arrogance, I begin to patch those holes with an all-consuming, sorely-misplaced love for said mistake. Once I’ve satisfied myself that my rancid vessel is once again seaworthy, I have myself a little post-voyage snack paired impeccably to the movie. If you are already vomiting, I assure you it is not due to seasickness. This week’s treat: Anaconda

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published: 12.17.2014
B+
published: 12.15.2014
B
published: 12.12.2014
D+
published: 12.05.2014
C+


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