In January 2009, This Distracted Globe opened the books on ten of the biggest disasters in Hollywood history. I called this series VIVA DESASTRE! Which of these turkeys deserved a taxpayer bailout? Which deserved a blindfold, a cigarette and a drum roll? Click on the title of each movie to be sent to the full article.

Heaven’s Gate (1980). Some still accuse Heaven’s Gate of vaporizing the Golden Age of the director and putting the controls of Hollywood back in the hands of the studio, a process that was under way long before Michael Cimino ever got to Montana. What ultimately matters here is what’s on screen and what isn’t. On that basis, it’s time to call Heaven’s Gate what it is: the last great American film of the 1970s.

Cutthroat Island (1995). Every single cliché of the swashbuckling genre is on display here – a monkey, a plank, a peg leg and a treasure map appear within the first 10 minutes – but what’s missing is even one scene that rises to the spectacular edict laid down by director Renny Harlin to his crew. Instead of reinventing and cranking up the genre by ten times, it doesn’t even feel like anybody bothered to wake up and hit the fucking snooze bar.

Hudson Hawk (1991). Hudson Hawk isn’t a character, he’s Bruce Willis celebrating Bruce Willis, and that cocktail plows the movie head on into Stoker Ace and Rhinestone.

Cursed (2005). The only thing scary about the film is how desperate it feels, as if Kevin Williamson was sending out an encrypted S.O.S. that he was so over writing about high school and murder sprees.

The Boondock Saints (1999). Troy Duffy could be congratulated for getting The Boondock Saints made and mesmerizing the crowd the movie seems intended for: 15 to 22 year old bros who always wanted to hang a neon beer sign in their room. For the sober moviegoer, there’s nothing to recommend about the film at all.

The Fountain (2006). In The Fountain, the universe is as mysterious as a fortune cookie, love is as infinite as a bad soap opera and the future is as awesome as a Hare Krishna floating through space in his pajamas.

Southland Tales (2007). Whatever the hell this is could be debated in film schools for generations, likely in a course on how to commit career suicide and take an audience along with you.

Babe: Pig In the City (1998). Babe: Pig in the City departs so majestically from the original Babe that its blueprint could be smuggled out of Hollywood and spread among rebel groups of filmmakers meeting in basements to plot the demise of the brand identity marketing empire that rewards repetition and resists originality at all costs.

Last Action Hero (1993). It’s high time that Last Action Hero had its status upgraded from “turkey” to at the very least, “work in progress”. While the film is most definitely flawed, it’s so imaginative at turns that I’d go as far to say this is a must-see for movie fans, particularly lovers of ‘80s action cinema.

1941 (1979). The scenes in 1941 dealing with children or vintage aircraft seem to elicit a sparkle in the eye of Spielberg, the greatest director of boys’ adventure movies of all time. But most anything involving his principal cast – particularly humor – flies around the room like a balloon with the air farting out of it.