Least Favorite Films of 2016

The difference between the "worst" and "least favorite" is a necessary distinction here because these are all films that had potential to be worthwhile. Therefore, Adam Sandler crotch kicks, Seth Rogen bong rips, animated kids movies about farting glitter, and feel-good Oscar-baiting dreck starring Will Smith will never be represented here. Infact, some of these titles have actually appeared on other Best of the Year lists. So, without further ado, here are 2016's greatest follies. When people claim cinema is alive and well, I'll point them to these turkeys.



Anthony Weiner was running for mayor of New York City in 2013. Anthony Weiner likes taking photos of his "weiner." Anthony Weiner is not a tragic figure worthy of unprecedented access, and this miscalculated freak show doc is simply another predictable tale of political hubris gone awry. 


Yoga Hosers

Kevin Smith's lame stoner comedy follows two convenience store teenage girls (played by the real-life daughters of Smith and Johnny Depp) as they stare into their iphones, engage in Canuk jokes, and battle Nazi bratwursts. Yes, Nazi bratwursts. This isn't simply an act of nepotism. It's child abuse. 


Captain Fantastic

Matt Ross's shallow social critique about a father (Viggo Mortensen) living with his family off the grid never bothers to examine its troubling premise. Instead, it piles on the familial sing-alongs, tearful monologues, and forced whimsy while holding up the patriarch as some kind of anti-capitalist saint. Vomit. 


Swiss Army Man

This should have been a grotesque buddy comedy, but instead, directors "The Daniels" thinks they're making a movie about human loneliness. Please. Think Michel Gondry-inspired fantasy without the charm set to an atrociously twee indie soundtrack. And no, the Daniels are not in on it.


Star Trek Beyond

Justin Lin hyperdrives the Star Trek franchise into a black hole with this incomprehensible jumble of shaky action sequences and lame attempts at humor. Gene Rodenbery must have been rolling around in his grave to the deafening sounds of The Beastie Boys after this soulless cash grab. 



Is it possible for a great performance to turn up in a truly bad, wrong-headed film? Rebecca Hall is fiercely committed as TV reporter Christine Chubbuck, who shot herself live on air in 1974, but director Antonio Campos completely misses the irony of the very thing Chubbuck warned against. Unlike Robert Greene's meta deconstruction Kate Plays Christine, Campos's misguided dramatization represents a streamlining of mental illness and a vulgar portrait of "blood and guts" exploitation.



Pablo Larraine's anti-biopic is the worst kind of art house wallpaper; a ghoulish display of grief masquerading as character study. Instead of historical specificity, we learn that it must have been awful to see your husband's head blown off. Thanks, movie.



In a year of shitty comic book movies, Deadpool was the worst because it actually thought it was being a subversive take on superhero tropes. The problem here is that indulging in the very cliches you are satirizing isn't clever, it's just as lazy and self-satisfied as an avocado having sex with an older, more disgusting avocado.


Men and Chicken

A tone deaf mess about socially challenged siblings who discover they are actually adopted half-brothers after stumbling upon three additional half-brothers on a Danish island and...well, who cares. Not even Mads Mikkelsen's goofy moustache and chronic masturbation can save this turd.


The Eyes of my Mother

Nicolas Pesce's debut is an ugly, sadistic piece of wannabe art house nonsense which offers no reason to exist other than as a flashy calling card for its writer-director. This isn't galvanizing or bold horror filmmaking. It's simply empty Freudian torture porn calories.