TwistedEdge spotlights the movies that were so bad they gave us nosebleeds.

(Yes, satirical awards are about as new as the threat of Communism, but it sure is fun, so we're doing it anyway. And anyone who complains is just a jealous little dickhole.)

Ladies and gentlemen, the time is upon us – as the awards season grows evermore towards its dramatic anticlimax, we humble souls here at TwistedEdge and Rogue Cinema have deemed it time to throw some light upon the worst films of 2006-07, rather than the best. For every noteworthy Oscar winner, there are a thousand cinematic stools just floating lifelessly in the putrid sewers of the movie industry. These are the most inept lumpen vomitings the film world has had the misfortune to spew out unto society. These truly are the festering boils on the anus of Hollywood. It is here, boys and girls, that these cinematic monstrosities get the ridicule and humiliation they deserve.

Unlike many posh awards ceremonies such as those smelly Oscars, we allowed you unwashed peasants in the general public to pick the winner of the most important prize of them all: The Crappies Lifetime Achievement Award! Readers of Rogue Cinema were given the opportunity to select their favourite fuckwad from a list of worthy names, and the winner was then publicly named and shamed for all the world to see.

Who won this coveted award? Who won this year's prestigious and rather sexy trophy? Read on to find out...

The categories...

The 2006-07 nominations are split into six categories, and each year this funky little ceremony is held, we'll add a couple more. Simply click on a category below to see our infinitely wise rulings on the matter. If you have any ideas as to what these categories you'd like to see added, click here to get in contact with one of our highly trained morons...

Having left the world breathless with the massively popular Kill Bill epics, Uma Thurman was left with a difficult choice regarding what to do next. Perhaps follow that tour-de-force with a real masterpiece, aimed squarely at Oscar gold? Nope. How about working with the new crop of young directors in films that challenge the institution, bringing a whole new aura of critical respect? God no. Instead Uma lets it all ride on what is without a doubt the year’s most tired, by-the-numbers, painfully inept romantic comedy of the year. The silly cow.

Having been dragged kicking, screaming and biting into the cinema by my own mentally deranged ex-girlfriend to see this disasterpiece, I feel somehow mentally scarred. It’s not because this movie was so bad that liquid poop actually bled from the cinema speakers (although it’s true.) It’s because I could tell that during conception, this film had enough potential to be inventive, imaginative, and really really funny. And then, somewhere in the threshing machine of Hollywood, the magic and charm were lost, replaced by the blandest, most retarded love flick I’ve seen in a very long time.

Perhaps most tragic of all is that the normally fabulous Eddie Izzard and Luke Wilson are in this – two talents who can turn even the most mundane of scripts into something hilarious and memorable – the crappy outcome obviously hints at what a crappy script they had to work with, as they sleepwalk through comedic set pieces, clearly praying to God for answers as to what the hell they signed up for. The potential for geeky in-jokes into comic book humour could have been pure money, given the national frenzy for comic book remakes.

Crappiest muscle clad, hilariously macho schlock-fest: The Guardian.

Long gone are those illustrious days in the mid 90’s where Kevin Costner walked on water, helped the lame to walk and the blind to see. Long gone are the glory boy days when Costner was a clean-cut poster boy for truth, justice, integrity and the American Way. All was going well for Hollywood’s favourite wooden carving, until the shitfest Waterworld drowned under the weight of its own budget / bullshit.

From then Costner was spun into a downward spiral of increasingly crappy movies, each more purile and painfully hard to watch than the last. The climax of this suicide dive, it seems, was The Guardian.

Costner plays that most pungent of clichés; a troubled, broken veteran with the tragic past (his fellow jocks died in a rather unlucky helicopter accidThis is, of course, until cocky young trainee Ashton Kutcher comes along to shake things up and generally show the world what a rebel (dickhead) he truly is.

Crappiest holiday movie: The Santa Clause 3.

Perhaps it’s ironic that this movie is called The Escape Clause. Most award shows overlook seasonal holiday movies. Possibly because there has only ever been one good example of this genre – Planes, Trains and Automobiles. The days of films like that are now a warm, nostalgic memory. John Candy is long gone. Steve Martin’s latest works have become the absolute drizzling shit. What we’re left with instead in the very bottom of the barrel in terms of imagination and effort on the part of the movie-makers. Jingle All The Way. Hannah And Her Sisters. Surviving Christmas. You get the drift.

All of these are movies designed simply to lure the kids and their parents into the cinema. Asses on seats. Money changing hands. The very opposite of what film is meant to be about. The kids leave giggling, yet dead inside. The parents leave in a state of mortal fear, weeping openly for the hard-earned cash they’ll never see again. The poor fuckers. The latest in this long line of Hollywood crap? The Santa Clause 3. May it forever burn.

I remember when I briefly became a fan of this man. I remember a film called Happy Gillmore where a former hockey player took up golf, turned the institution on its head, killed off Carl Weathers, yelled a lot, and made pretty much everyone laugh. He played this unconventional angry young man, who seemed to have more balls than brains – and we loved him for it.

Unfortunately, we saw exactly the same angry young man in every single one of his subsequent movies. The range of this man is unequivocal – he can do angry. He can do retarded. He can do confused. He can do angry and confused. He can do angry and retarded. And, every once in a while – on those ultra-special occasions – we’re treated to the Adam Sandler’s piece-de-resistance... the angry, confused retard. Truly an actor for the ages, this man makes mere amateurs like Marlon Brando, Robert DeNiro and the like shit bricks in fear.

Rumour has it than when being cast for his Oscar-winning role in Capote, Phillip Seymour Hoffman actually shat his pants in fear and ran away like a sissy girl upon hearing threats of casting Sandler in his place. I even heard that Al Pacino almost didn’t complete the filming of the legendary Carlito’s Way, as he’d locked himself in his trailer, weeping hysterically in shame of his acting in comparison to The Great Adam Sandler. Okay, I’m being a prick, but you get the point.

So stop me if this sounds familiar... the world’s mightiest warriors are brought to one place to compete in a tournament to see which of the asskickers can kick the most ass. There’s more than just a substantial cash prize at stake – there’s also pride, honour, reputation on the line. That, and four totally inappropriate young supermodels tarted up to the eyeballs, stripped down and lotioned up, for pubescent teenagers the world over to wank off to until they see the face of Jesus. This is Dead Or Alive, based on the revolutionary computer game of the same name. Except this movie isn’t revolutionary at all. It sucks harder than a malfunctioning sex doll.

The individual aspects of the film aren’t that bad. While the acting is horrible beyond description, there’s worse out there (The Crow: Wicked Prayer, for instance.) While the plot is thinner than the waists of the talentless boob-racks on display, it’s at least comical in its ineptitude. While this movie is basically straight-to-DVD-destined soft-core smut (there’s even an all-female bikini-clad beach volleyball scene) it’s at least not attracted enough morons for it to be truly annoying. What makes this film truly special, however, is that when you put these elements together you have a film that’s about as enjoyable as drinking a pint of liquid shit. I’d rather crawl over broken glass with my fly open than ever waste my time on this cinematic abortion once again.

You’re probably expecting Judge Reinhold to scoop up this award, given my earlier comments. But you’re wrong. You are, however, probably wondering who the hell Burt Young is. He’s the poor bastard who played Drunk Uncle Paulie in all six Rocky movies, and Geriatric Mafioso Uncle in Mickey Blue Eyes. Oh, and he cameos as Sick Coughing Uncle in an episode of The Sopranos. He’s one of those acting heavyweights who’s been around for eternity but never hit the big time.

With the recent influx of media regarding Rocky Balboa this guy has resurfaced, once again being Rocky’s wingman for this final installment in this tired franchise. And the poor bastard looks as if he’s 150 years old. It really is a wonder, a miracle, a testament to the abilities of modern medicine that he’s still going. The world had forgotten about him, probably assuming him long-gone like Burgess Meredith (who is very dead) and Wings Hauser (who is still alive, but should be dead.)

So we award ye this most prestigious of awards, Burt Young – actor, performer, and possible cyborg. We thank your masters for removing you from cryogenic stasis to entertain us once more. The award is rightfully yours!

The Bullet In The Head Award: Keanu Reeves.

As chosen by the readers of TwistedEdge - you spoke, we listened. This one's for you...

There could be no other winner for this award, could there? Well done Keanu, you’ve made us all proud. This is the Crappies award for the person most deserving of 9mm of jilted metal to the face. Over and over again. Imagine the scene – you have one bullet, clear line of sight, and full diplomatic immunity, who would you shoot? Who would you save mankind from? I’m willing to bet more than a few of you uttered Keanu’s name, possibly the with the same resentment as film critics watching another DeNiro comedy failure.

Keanu; the man with the silliest name in Hollywood history, the man who’s taken the movie world by storm despite having the acting ability of a dying worm on a hook. Ever since the Matrix Trilogy smashed, crashed and wiped its ass with the box office records, Keanu’s face has been on the cover of every magazine, on every billboard, on every celebrity chat show and on the minds of a young generation. Good. Because the more this man is in the public imagination, the more his dramatic ineptitude comes to light.

Let’s break it down, performance by performance.

First there was Johnny Mnemonic, in which Keanu walked around a hellish future world looking morose and grumpy, eventually saving the day. Then came Speed, in which Keanu jumped on a bus, wearing an alarmingly sweaty vest, saving all those passengers while looking morose and grumpy. The Watcher; knives, guns, car chase, James Spader looking like a baffled dickhead, and ol’ Keanu looking morose and grumpy. The Gift? Keanu. Beard. Morose and grumpy.

The Matrix: trenchcoat, guns, spinning, guns, spinning, kicks, spinning, guns, spinning, and this time Keanu... erm... saves the world while looking morose and grumpy. The rest of the trilogy, more of the same, but with extra-large helpings of the morose and grumpy.

How about Something’s Gotta Give? Jack Nicholson looking sweaty. Diane Keaton looking like she’d OD’d on Valiums. Oh, and don’t forget our friend Keanu, who looked morose and grumpy. Constantine? The morose and grumpy ghost hunter. Played by Keanu looking exactly the same as always, cast despite John Constantine being blonde and English in the comic books. Alrighty then. I won’t even go near A Scanner Darkly. You can see where I’m going with this, surely?

Oh, and his middle name’s Charles. That’s just the icing on the cake, isn’t it? And if not, how about the 19 year old nutbag psycho Josh Cooke who murdered folk with a shotgun. Who did the authorities blame for this kid’s warped state of mind? Keanu Reeves and The Matrix. I kind you not, click here for proof. Thanks Keanu. This one’s for you.

And finally...

The Crappies 2006-07 begain life as an in-joke article published on Rogue Cinema - the world's definitive source on independent / low-budget cinema. It was about time, given the hilariously tragic and mind-numbingly dull state those so-called ‘real’ awards are in. The event was a huge success, with the categories and winners being published on Rogue Cinema’s prestigious December issue. Names were named, celebrities shamed and reputations dragged through the mud.

The highlight of the proceedings was the announcement of the Crappies Lifetime Achievement Award, the one award where we allowed you the common filth to choose the name of the most dastardly of disgraceful actors. Who should win this year's lifetime achievement award? Who has brought the most movie disgrace? Rogue Cinema's readers voted, they chose, their voices were heard and counted, and we’re proud to announce the winner of our Lifetime Achievement Award is...

Drumroll please...

That’s right people. Out of all the worthy names listed, the Swedish gargantuan muscle-head was the champion, the most worthy to have their name up in lights for an eternity here in our hallowed hall of shame. And very worthy he is too – it’s quite easy to see why The Dolph was chosen, considering this waxy douche-bag’s continuing onslaught on the world of movies. First coming to fame in Bond flick A View To A Kill, Dolph has since gone on to grace our screens in such classics / schlock-fests as Rocky IV, Universal Soldier, Bridge Of Dragons etc. Playing roles ranging from evil Russian boxers (Rocky movies) to evil Russian soldiers (Red Scorpion) he’s dazzled us all, especially in the latter movie, which boasts quite possibly the highest body count of any film, ever. Seriously, the man’s a one-man genocide in that flick.

Dolph’s stagnant rape of modern film is all the more surprising, given his colourful background. Born and raised in his native Sweden (ironic, considering that country’s main export is cheese) he showed an early interest in music and the fine arts, excelled in chemical engineering in which he got an honours degree. He then got bored of all that self-improvement nonsense and decided on a career kicking the living crap out of people. Nice. Thus unfolds the Dolph we all know and love, as he trained hard and became a champion Karate expert. (As to why he hardly ever utilized these kickass techniques in his films is unknown. Perhaps he got bored of all the running about and decided strolling around and shooting people in the face was a safer option.) While not kicking ass and taking names, Dolph also showed the world his more fluffy side by appearing in a never-ending barrage of sweaty topless pictures. (This unfortunately did carry through to his movies, most of which he spends with his pulsating man-boobs unleashed, often looking as though he’s been laminated.)

So we salute you, King Dolph, the 2006-07 king of crap, the man of the hour – you deserve this accolade, for every body felled, for every bullet fired, for every crap line muttered, for every second of disgrace you’ve brought to the world of film. Viva La Dolph!

(This isn't the first time we've raved about His Dolphness - click here to see the TwistedEdge profile of Hollywood's favourite gumbie.)

Well, that's it for this year folks - the Crappies, as expected, will be back next year to point the spotlight on the worst corn-filled festering stools the movie industry shits out, plus a whole lot more - stay tuned!