A do-nothing weekend at home occurs only because migraines have determined this. My husband John stays close, almost hovering because he knows how bad these monsters can be.
To entertain ourselves, John accesses a bad film. Since subscribing to Netflix, he has discovered a whole new world of bad, really and truly awful movies that use every cliché known.
How do we know this movie is a bad movie? There are some indicators:
It is always filmed at the same time of day, when the sun is the brightest.
Jungle scenes are sparse on greenery, with the same trees filmed over and over from different angles.
It has generic music that never seems to match the action.
The film is ‘grainy’ and tries to be artsy, like “Blair Witch…”
Hero is always a tortured soul with a scarred past. Vague references are made to Somalia, Vietnam, Bosnia, or Gulf War.
The dialogue is corny, predictable, and always leads to bad stuff. Examples are: My way or the highway…Roger that…We need bigger guns/boats/knives…Let’s split up and cover more ground…Get the lead out…Bad-ass rebels, man…
Character names have character, like Cajun, Poison, or Scar. And at least one of the commando-types will have a Native American connection with a meaningful tattoo.
Watching mindless bad films together and creating our own withering critiques somehow drives migraines back into the cage.