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On a Friday night, myself and about 200 other people waited anxiously outside of a Toronto movie theatre. Many were there with their friends, laughing and chatting excitedly. There was an unmistakable energy. As the crowd poured into their seats, popcorn in hand, a silence fell over all of them as the first frames lit up the screen. Soon after, cheering.
With such a vibrant reaction, it wouldn't be unreasonable for all those people to have come to the theatre to see something fantastic. A film with such success that it warranted an outpouring of appreciation and collective appraisal.
Instead, they were there for Showgirls.
Paul Verhoeven's 1995 film was an infamous flop. Scoring a measly 24% on Rotten Tomatoes. The film was also nominated for a whopping 13 Razzies; it would go on to win 7, including Worst Picture, even winning Worst Picture of the Decade in 2000.
So what is it about a film, famous for being near universally panned, that made all these people come to the cinema in the first place?
The simple reason is that it's funny. Making a movie, good or bad, is a significant labour. Very few filmmakers set out to intentionally make an awful movie. It's hard not to laugh at something we can see falling apart in real time, like how we might chuckle when someone trips and tumbles. The same goes for watching Elizabeth Berkley and Gina Gershon discussing their shared love of eating dog food.
The enjoyment lives in a place between watching a farce and watching a car crash. It's a truly curious phenomenon, and one defined by the utter unpredictability of a piece of media that seemingly turns its nose up to even basic conventions. People pay to sit in large crowds and watch Plan 9 from Outer Space or Samurai Cop. They form rituals around The Room and The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Not because there are those of us out there who see these films out of reverence, but because a good car crash is hard to look away from.
When you experience something with a crowd, a kind of magic happens. Everyone has gathered there for the sole purpose of making fun of something ridiculous. Not only at the terribleness of the film, but the audacity of the filmmakers. When you sit in your living room with your friends, you egg on each other's quips. People bond over badness because it gives them something that they can all agree on.
Even the prevalence and popularity of series such as Mystery Science 3000 demonstrates that not everyone is always there for a good time. In any other screening, you and all the other faceless strangers sit in total darkness and silence. Maybe you mumble a 'that was good' to your friend on the way out. People like good movies, but they aren't a communal experience.
Even for those of us whose job it is to watch that year's good-taste, award-winning, acclaimed films, there has to be a palate cleanser for the drabness of the lonely movie theatre. Watching bad movies for fun is something you share with others. It also makes us appreciate the good ones even more.
