Sometimes it’s studio interference, sometimes it’s the wrong actor in the wrong role, sometimes it’s the director’s bone-deep (and bone-headed) misunderstanding of the material – the hurdles are legion. It’s unwise to look at a 1950s sci-fi and deem it poor on the basis of dated effects and performances alone, just as it’s foolish to assume that modern blockbusters can’t be every bit as shambolic as the works of Ed Wood. We’ve been doing it for decades, though bad films are by no means a thing of the past. It’s the audience’s job to decide what’s good, what’s bad, and what occupies that genre Elysian in between. The thing is, it’s ours now – and we can do what we want with it. ‘Actually that’s not meant to be funny…’. But strange things can happen between the thwack of the clapperboard and a film’s release date: ever so slowly, they mutate, swelling and splitting until they ooze onto screens as malformed beings far removed from their authors’ intentions.
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