Stinker Madness - The Podcast for Bad Movie Lovers

Final Destination: Bloodlines - Leaning Tower of Street Pizza

After spending the better part of two decades turning Rube Goldberg murder machines into an art form, the Final Destination Bloodlines series finally does something unexpected: it evolves. Bloodlines still delivers the franchise’s trademark chaos—people getting folded, exploded, liquefied and generally punished for existing near household objects—but this time there’s an actual emotional hook underneath the carnage. Shockingly, it works. Instead of drowning the audience in endless conversations about “death’s design” and convoluted cosmic bookkeeping, the movie streamlines the setup and gets right to the fun while adding a family-centered angle that gives the victims more personality than “future corpse #4.”
The family aspect is the smartest thing the franchise has done in years. Watching the curse ripple through generations gives the film a different energy from the usual disposable group-of-teens formula. There’s tension not just in who dies, but in how these characters relate to one another before death inevitably hurls an air conditioner through somebody’s sternum. The script wisely understands that audiences came for inventive disaster sequences, not a TED Talk from Ali Landry explaining metaphysical loopholes for the ninth time. Bloodlines trims the mythology down to its essentials and benefits immensely from it.
It also absolutely nails its comedic timing. The Final Destination films have always flirted with dark comedy, but this one embraces it with confidence. The setup-payoff rhythm during the death sequences is wickedly funny, milking every fake-out and every suspiciously placed kitchen utensil for maximum audience anxiety. You can practically feel crowds bracing themselves for catastrophe while the movie toys with them. When the kills finally happen, they land with a perfect mix of shock, absurdity, and “you’ve got to be kidding me” escalation. It’s the closest the series has come to recapturing the mischievous energy that made the early entries such crowd-pleasers.
The visual effects team deserves serious credit here. The large-scale destruction sequences are polished, detailed, and satisfyingly vicious without looking weightless or cartoonish. There’s a craftsmanship to the mayhem that elevates the material beyond simple splatter gags. That said, the movie occasionally leans a little too hard into melodrama, especially during some of the family conflict scenes. Whether that works will depend on what you want out of the experience. If you’re only showing up to watch fate turn landscaping equipment into instruments of death, the emotional beats may feel a touch overwrought. But for a franchise six movies deep, Bloodlines deserves praise for at least trying to give the audience something fresh while still delivering the gleeful mayhem everybody bought a ticket for.

Year in Review - Year 11!

This special episode we go through our favorite bad and cult movies from our 11th year in podcasting. We'll also give our favorite 3 movies from the year 2025.

Wu Tang Vs. Ninja - So moon blood CAN turn you into a walking boner! I knew it!

When martial artists desire to be "the most popular girl" - Top That!
There are ninja movies, and then there’s Wu Tang Vs Ninja—a film that feels like it was assembled from a fever dream involving late-night cable, a kung fu catalog, and someone half-remembering Star Wars after watching Teen Witch. It’s baffling, chaotic, and completely committed to whatever bizarre wavelength it’s operating on. And honestly, that commitment is what makes it such a blast.
The plot is less a coherent narrative and more a mystical scavenger hunt through pure nonsense. There are chosen ones, shadowy clans, vague rivalries, and an almost cosmic understanding of ninja hierarchy that somehow coexists with the strangest supernatural rules imaginable. It really does feel like someone mashed together Jedi mythology with teen wizard empowerment tropes and then filtered it all through low-budget ninja cinema. Trying to make sense of it is pointless—just let it wash over you like a neon-colored smoke bomb.
And oh, the ninja insanity delivers. You’ve got all the classics: tunneling assassins popping out of nowhere, color-coded factions flipping through trees, and enough smoke bombs to fog an entire county. But then it escalates into full-on madness—energy-draining techniques tied to… let’s call it “vital essence,” ninjas transforming into flying curtains (yes, really), and wild “finger blast” attacks that feel like someone imagined super-powers five minutes before filming. It’s the kind of movie where every scene dares the next one to be even weirder, and it rarely disappoints.
That said, this isn’t a casual watch. The fight sequences are relentless, sometimes to the point of exhaustion, and the pacing can feel like it’s sprinting through a dozen ideas at once. But for the true ninja aficionado—the kind who lives for unhinged creativity, maximalist action, and filmmakers throwing everything they’ve got at the screen—this is a gem. It’s strange, it’s messy, and it absolutely earns its place in the “so bad it loops back to good” ninja section of the hall of fame.

The Concorde... Airport '79 - 79 Airport movies is a LOT

Everything you want in a cheesy disaster...disaster.
If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if a disaster movie inhaled a gallon of jet fuel, ignored every known law of physics, and then sprinted straight into absurdity with a grin, The Concorde... Airport '79 is your answer. This is high “so bad it’s good” cinema - a movie so committed to escalating nonsense that it becomes a kind of accidental masterpiece. It doesn’t just jump the shark; it straps the shark to the Concorde and fires it into international airspace.
The effects are gloriously, unapologetically cheesy. Miniatures wobble, explosions bloom like overcooked popcorn, and the Concorde itself seems to operate on a proprietary fuel source called “plot convenience.” Missiles zigzag like confused bottle rockets, fighter jets materialize only to be obliterated moments later, and physics as a concept is treated less like a rulebook and more like a vague suggestion. The sheer number of McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom IIs that get blown out of the sky “just because” is almost impressive - like the movie is trying to win a bulk discount on destruction.
Then there’s Robert Wagner as the villain, a man so dedicated to covering up his crimes that he creates exponentially worse problems at every turn. It’s like watching someone try to put out a grease fire with dynamite. His master plan hinges on an evil corporation deploying what may be the least effective missile system ever conceived - an instrument so catastrophically unreliable that it becomes the film’s secret comedic MVP. Every time it fires, you’re less worried about the Concorde and more curious about what unintended target it’ll embarrassingly fail to destroy next.

Final Destination 5 - Trying something new? Nope? Ok.

Final Destination 5 arrives with the same promise every installment in the franchise makes: elaborate Rube Goldberg death traps, a group of attractive but personality-free victims, and the vague hope that maybe—just maybe—this time they’ll do something different with the concept. Instead, the film dutifully clocks in for another round of “Death’s master plan,” delivering exactly what you expect and little else. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a factory resetting itself every ninety minutes.
By the fifth go-around, the plot mechanics have become painfully transparent. A premonition saves a handful of people from a spectacular disaster, they try to cheat Death, and then the universe conspires to kill them one by one using household items, loose bolts, and questionable workplace safety standards. The film acts as if it’s revealing some grand mystery about Death’s rules, but if you’ve seen even one previous entry you can practically write the script yourself. The series has settled into a rut where the only innovation is how absurdly complicated the next fatal accident can become.
And even that’s starting to feel tired. The elaborate death sequences still have a certain morbid creativity, but the tension is diluted by the endless fake-outs—every loose screw, dripping liquid, or falling object telegraphs a possible kill before the movie finally decides which one it wants. When the highlight of the film is watching characters stand around while the camera lingers on potential hazards, you start to realize the movie has mistaken suspense for stalling.
What really sinks Final Destination 5 is the sludge of dialogue in between these moments. Characters exist solely to explain the rules or panic about them, and the performances rarely rise above that thin material. The result is a sequel that trudges through the same narrative mud the franchise has been stuck in for years. The deaths might be bigger and dumber, but by this point even those feel oddly unfulfilling—like watching the same carnival trick repeated until the novelty finally wears off.

The Octagon - Worst ninja corporation ever. Can they file for bankruptcy?

Chuck, we can't understand the plot because we can't understand your inner monologue. Just kick people in the face!
There’s a version of this movie that exists somewhere in the fog of its own whispery voiceovers—a lean, paranoid ninja thriller starring a prime-era Chuck Norris. Unfortunately, what we actually get is something bafflingly stupid and surprisingly hard to follow. Dialogue drifts in and out like it’s being transmitted through a malfunctioning shortwave radio. Exposition arrives in murmured internal monologues that feel less like insight and more like someone forgot to turn off the narration mic.
To be fair, the ninjas are fine. They look the part. They flip, stab, and smoke-bomb on cue. The action sequences are… fine. Competently staged, occasionally energetic, and punctuated by the sort of sternum-crushing kicks you expect from Norris. When fists are flying, the movie briefly wakes up. There’s even a sense that someone involved cared about presenting ninjas with a degree of mystique rather than just costumed stuntmen in pajamas.
But those moments are islands in a sea of inertia. For long stretches, the film is painfully boring. Scenes drag. Characters speak in hushed tones about vague conspiracies, yet none of it ever quite coheres into something gripping. The supposed menace of the terrorist-ninja training compound never translates into tension. Instead of escalating stakes, we get a parade of bland set-pieces and conversations that feel both overwrought and underwritten at the same time.
In the end, The Octagon isn’t disastrously bad—it’s just inert. The ingredients are there: Norris in his stoic prime, a ninja cult, a secret training fortress. But the muddled dialogue and lifeless pacing sap the energy out of what should have been pulpy gold. If you’re a completist for early American ninja cinema, it’s worth a look. Just don’t expect the kind of delirious nonsense that turns mediocrity into magic.

Super Ninja - I'll have the Soup AND the Ninja

Did you pack your Ninja Springs, honey?
There are ninja movies… and then there is Super Ninja (1984)—a film so aggressively committed to every ridiculous shinobi trope ever conceived that it loops right past parody and into accidental genius. If you’ve ever wanted to see color-coded assassins deploy zip-lines, burrow through the earth like caffeinated gophers, and—yes—water-ski in full ninja regalia, this is your holy text. And just when you think the well has run dry, it introduces portable ninja trampolines as a legitimate method of tactical traversal. Cinema peaked here.
The plot? Oh, it exists. Somewhere. It requires light excavation. Characters explain things in stilted, echo-chamber-dubbed dialogue that sounds like it was recorded inside a soup can. The villains concoct plans so catastrophically self-defeating that the entire narrative collapses into what can only be described as an “idiot plot.” If any antagonist paused for even a single reflective breath, they’d realize their schemes only accelerate their own doom. In fact, the most logical strategy available to them would be to do absolutely nothing and let events unfold naturally. But no—when you’ve invested in a team of color-coded ninja knockoffs, you’re obligated to deploy them in increasingly absurd ways.
And yet, that’s precisely why Super Ninja works. The dreadful dubbing, the hilariously wooden line readings, the narrative leaps that feel like missing reels—all of it enhances the experience. It’s chaotic, earnest, and completely unselfaware. There’s a strange purity to its excess. This isn’t a film winking at you; it believes every trampoline-assisted midair flip matters. For bad movie enthusiasts hunting that electric “so-bad-it’s-good” high, this is prime territory. It’s messy. It’s nonsensical. It’s spectacularly misguided. And it is absolutely glorious.

The Final Destination - I'd like to get off here, please.

The Final Destination is the point where a once-clever horror concept finally admits it has nothing left to say. By the fourth entry, the franchise’s core gimmick—cheating Death via a premonition—has gone from macabre novelty to rote obligation. The film feels less like a continuation and more like a contractual requirement, dutifully shuffling through the motions with no real interest in escalating ideas or tension.
The most obvious sign of creative exhaustion is the desperate embrace of 3D. Objects fly at the camera with all the subtlety of a carnival ride, and none of it integrates meaningfully into the storytelling. Instead, scenes pause so a tire iron, lawn mower blade, or random shard of debris can be hurled directly at the audience, reminding you that the movie exists primarily to justify its ticket surcharge. It’s not immersive; it’s intrusive, and it dates the film almost immediately.
Worse, the kills themselves lack the elaborate Rube Goldberg flair that once defined the series. The chain reactions are shorter, sloppier, and often telegraphed so clearly that suspense evaporates well before the payoff. Characters are thin sketches whose sole narrative function is to stand near something dangerous until the script decides it’s time for gravity or combustion to intervene.
There is, however, one scene that almost feels like effort was expended: a cartoonishly vile Nazi who can’t read addresses and somehow gets blackout drunk on three beers. His demise is abrupt, mean-spirited, and oddly satisfying—less because it’s clever than because the film briefly aligns audience morality with Death’s bookkeeping. He dies, and that’s good. Unfortunately, that single moment of grim amusement isn’t enough to rescue a sequel that mistakes louder, closer, and more gimmicky for fresh.

Demons - TOTALLY not zombies, though.

It shouldn't be possible but we've cracked the code and found the movies villain to be....NEDSTRADAMUS!
Demons is the kind of movie that feels less like it was written and more like it escaped from a nightmare after being fed too much cocaine and heavy metal. Set almost entirely inside a movie theater where watching a cursed film literally turns the audience into demons, it’s pure mid-’80s Italian horror excess—loud, bloody, and unapologetically stupid. It’s also the kind of film where logic checks out early, clocks out halfway through, and never returns.
To be fair, Demons can be tedious and repetitive. The structure settles into a loop of people getting infected, screaming, transforming, and being hacked apart, over and over again. Characters are thin to nonexistent, dialogue exists mostly to scream exposition, and the film often feels like it’s killing time until the next gore effect or shrieking synth cue. There are stretches where you can practically feel the movie spinning its wheels, daring you to lose patience.
But here’s the thing: the story is so profoundly nonsensical that it becomes hypnotic. Plot threads appear and vanish without explanation. Rules are implied and then immediately ignored. Geography inside the theater makes no sense whatsoever. And then there’s the final 15 minutes—an escalation so baffling, so disconnected from reality, that it crosses the line from dumb to glorious. Motorcycles, katanas, helicopters, demon slime—everything is thrown at the screen with reckless confidence, as if the filmmakers themselves stopped asking questions and decided to go all in.
That commitment is what makes Demons a worthwhile “Bad Movie Sunday” experience. It’s not accidentally funny so much as aggressively insane, a film that believes in its own chaos with absolute sincerity. Yes, it drags. Yes, it repeats itself. But by the time the credits roll, you’re not thinking about the dull patches—you’re laughing, confused, and strangely satisfied. Demons may not be good, but it is unforgettable, and sometimes that’s the highest compliment a cult horror film can earn.

Troll 2 - This time, go ahead and piss on hospitality.

Looks like we missed the turn to go to Nilbog, kids. Let's just keep going to Norway.
Troll 2 is the kind of sequel that knows exactly what it is and leans into it with reckless enthusiasm. This is a big, loud, gloriously dumb monster movie that wears its influences proudly on its sleeve—Roland Emmerich disaster excess, Indiana Jones-style pulp adventure, Jurassic Park escalation, and Godzilla-scale city-smashing spectacle. It doesn’t apologize for any of it. Instead, it barrels forward with the confidence of a film that understands the assignment: entertain first, think later.
The plot is predictably ridiculous, but that’s part of the charm. Ancient threats awaken, governments panic, scientists shout exposition, and ordinary people find themselves running very fast from things that absolutely should not exist. The film gleefully stitches together familiar blockbuster tropes, but does so with enough sincerity that it never feels cynical. It’s corny, yes—but it’s fun corny, the kind that invites you to laugh with the movie rather than at it.
Where Troll 2 really shines is in its scale and energy. The action sequences are big, messy, and frequently absurd, but they’re staged with surprising clarity and enthusiasm. The trolls themselves are impressively realized, blending creature-feature menace with just enough mythic weirdness to give the film a distinct Norwegian flavor. The movie may be chasing Hollywood spectacle, but it never completely loses its regional identity, and that grounding helps the madness go down easy.
 
In the end, Troll 2 is a celebration of blockbuster stupidity done right. It’s not trying to reinvent the genre or inject faux prestige into monster mayhem. It just wants to smash landmarks, crank the music, and keep the audience grinning for two hours—and it succeeds. If you enjoy over-the-top disaster movies, pulpy adventure throwbacks, and unapologetically silly spectacle, this sequel delivers exactly what it promises, and does so with a big, dumb smile on its face.