1. Fantastic Four - The Moment Where Jesus Christ Where Do I Start?
The only reason that Mortdecai isnt the worst film of 2015 is because Josh Tranks Fantastic Four reboot limped onto cinema screens this year. There hasnt been a superhero movie this terrible since the Green Lantern turkey: but Fantastic Four (redux) has an edge over both Depps masterclass in witless buffoonery and Martin Campbells underwritten, superficial snoozefest. You see, those two films are just bad movies. Theyre breathtakingly mediocre, appallingly scripted, badly acted and ill-conceived. Fantastic Four is a genuine car crash: a franchise-ruining, career-threatening slice of karmic lunacy. This is what happens when a clunky screenplay that has no idea what the source material is about is brought to a director with no idea how to fix it. This is what happens when that director finds himself horribly out of his depth, panics and hides from the production rather than face up to the problem. This is what happens when the studio realise theyve got a screw-up of monumental proportions on their hands and that a $120million production budget is burning up in their hands, and try to mend the situation by ordering reshoots and recutting what theyve got and hoping desperately that its still a salvageable movie. Its not. The central conceit is beyond help, as are the loose interpretations of these classic characters. That problem, in turn, leads to poor casting (and its nothing to do with colour or race: these people dont look or act anything like the Fantastic Four, largely because the script doesnt know who those four people are) and so on and so on, like a snowball careening downhill into a forest fire. This is a film that makes the first two lightweight, goofy Fantastic Four movies read like the first two parts of The bloody Godfather trilogy; it makes Tim Story look like Chris Nolan. It needs to be exhibited in film schools as an example of how not to make films. Its the worst moment in 2015 for movies of any stripe, by some considerable way.
Professional writer, punk werewolf and nesting place for starfish. Obsessed with squid, spirals and story. I publish short weird fiction online at desincarne.com, and tweet nonsense under the name Jack The Bodiless. You can follow me all you like, just don't touch my stuff.