What is a bad movie?

As you might remember, I went to see a series of mediocre movies earlier this year, all of which were considered good enough to get nominations and awards thrown at them, but were not actually good enough to hold my attention in any convincing way.

Over the last fortnight, in contrast, I have taken myself to see Duplicity and He's Just Not That Into You, both of which were completely disposable movies, and yet, for a couple of hours, totally entertaining and fun.

Duplicity is a stupid movie about industrial espionage, and He's Just Not That Into You is a stupid movie about romance. Duplicity is the classier affair: the double-crossing (or are they?) leads (Julia Roberts and Clive Owen) look gorgeous, the supporting actors (notably Tom Wilkinson and Paul Giametti) are smartly-cast scene-stealers, the direction is slick and glossy, the script sharp if shallow. If you liked Ocean's 11 and you liked The Thomas Crown Affair - and who didn't? - you will like this film. You may not remember it all that clearly five minutes after leaving the cinema, but you will like it. In the end it's a Tony Gilroy film, which is pretty much a guarantor of quality. He wrote the Bourne movies, he wrote Michael Clayton, and I've blogged about his fabulous ice dance romance The Cutting Edge before. (Toe pick!) You will not go wrong with Duplicity, but it's not going to win any Oscars.

Then there's He's Just Not That Into You. You need to peg your expectations around the mark suggested by a movie based on a self-help book based on an episode of Sex and the City. Pretty low, in other words. And yet my pretty low expectations were pleasingly surpassed. Feminist readers, or women with even a shred of self-respect left, may have to hold their noses around the Ginnifer Goodwin storyline (perky and somewhat thick hopeless romantic is taught the rules of dating by a self-satisfied Scott Baio ugly-alike who turns out, of course, to be the man for her - it's hardly a spoiler if you have ever seen a movie before). However the Jennifer Aniston and Jennifer Connolly strands were surprisingly moving, thoughtful and mature, and both actresses put in excellent performances (it's an aside, but: is Jennifer Aniston the most underrated actress of her generation? She is consistently excellent in both comic and dramatic roles.) And for male viewers dragged along by their girlfriends, Scarlett Johansson is ridiculously sexy. Those tits! That bum! Those lips! That hair!

In conclusion? I would rather sit through Duplicity or He's Just Not That Into You two or three more times than see The Reader or Benjamin Button again. Remind me which are the bad movies?

Then, last night, I went to Nicko and Joe's Bad Film Club, which I have also blogged about before. Last night they showed Leprechaun In The Hood, the fifth movie in the Leprechaun franchise, a Leprechaun rap musical if you can imagine that. Of course, it was bad. As bad as only a movie that might choose to name the lead rapper hero 'Postmaster Pete - because I deliver a positive message' can be. As bad as only a movie with a sex scene between a leprechaun and a fat, unconvincing transvestite can be. As bad as only a movie that stars Coolio as himself can be. I mean, BAD.

And yet - despite Nicko, Joe and guest Rufus Hound's excellent commentary - it was disappointing. It was the wrong kind of bad. The problem with Leprechaun In The Hood is that it was obvious that nobody involved in the film at any level thought that it was good. Everything about it drips cynicism and carelessness. It was cheap, nonsensical and at no point did anybody even bother to focus the camera. It looked like it had been cobbled together on someone's lunchbreak with the direct intent of taking as much money as possible from the pockets of fourteen-year-old boys. It couldn't truly be bad because it was never intended to be good.

A really, truly bad film needs to have been believed in by somebody. It needs to have been crafted and nurtured. Effort must go into its creation; vision and dedication. And despite this it must turn out to be a horrendous, laughable turkey. Only then can the true hubris of bad filmitude be achieved. Did Mariah Carey think that Glitter was going to be a pointless heap of crap? No, she thought it was going to showcase her incredible talent for all the world to see. Glitter was sacrificed on the altar of Mariah Carey's ego. This is the kind of bad film I want to see.

Which is why I have such high hopes for next month's Bad Film Club offering The Wicker Man. Did Nicholas Cage turn up in the morning thinking "I don't care, just show me the money"? Did Neil LaBute think "Who gives a toss how crap this is as long as people pay to see it?" That's Oscar-winner Nicholas Cage and multiple award-winner Neil LaBute. No: they thought they were onto a good one here. The very best bad movies are made by talented people, blinded by ego, making awful decisions with the loftiest of goals. Think of almost any Kevin Costner movie made from 1995 onward.

Which is why He's Just Not That Into You could never have been an entirely bad film. It's based on a self-help book. Thus it fulfills its intentions admirably. But is The Curious Case of Benjamin Button any kind of success as a huge-budget cinematographic feast of an adaptation of an F Scott Fitzgerald story? Well, you'd need to see it to find out. And I really can't recommend that...