I’ve seen bad movies. They usually inspire nothing more than indifference or boredom. But sometimes. Sometimes a bad movie is so awful, so offensive to my sensibilities as a film-goer that it transcends being merely “bad” and metamorphoses into some kind of nightmarish object of pure spite aimed directly at me. Rarely have I encountered something that seems to beg for me to hate it.
But until a few days ago, I hadn’t seen the remake of The Stepford Wives.