Hold on tight, everyone: 2017 is almost over. But before we let these past, mostly awful 12 months fade from memory, let us pause to remember the mistakes that Hollywood should hope to avoid next year – at least on the screen. (Rectifying matters of sexism, racism, abuse, privilege and all manners of horrors that reside inside industry boardrooms and executive offices is not going to be solved by reading this listicle, alas.)
To that end, here are the worst movies the industry had to offer in 2017 – and this list doesn't even include The Emoji Movie, The Mummy, The Book of Henry, Geostorm, Baywatch and Underworld: Part 12 or Something, all of which I luckily avoided. May the next year be better than the last.
All Eyez on Me
Tupac Shakur lived a life of ambition, excess and boundless creativity. Director Benny Boom's biopic of the hip hop legend is cheap, lazy and aggressively dull. Which all would make the film easily dismissible, a harmless mistake, nothing to write about … if All Eyez on Me didn't also cross over into gross irresponsibility. When Boom chronicles Shakur's 1993 sex-assault case, in which the rapper was convicted of first-degree sexual abuse, the film turns toxic, painting the most nauseating portrait of a victim possible. It is unwarranted, exploitative and inexcusable.
An American Dream: The Education of William Bowman
To mix things up, here's a Canadian production, if this Ken Finkleman creation can even be called a "production" in the strictest sense of the word. It is more like a series of Dennis Miller-style rants crossed with the visual stylings of a camcorder that's been turned on accidentally. With An American Dream (there's no way I'm writing out that subtitle twice), Finkleman mistakes caricature for satire, and ignorance for insight. In the process, he makes a great case for why Canadians should be barred from even gently poking fun at our neighbour to the south.
Daddy's Home 2
At the beginning of 2017, the idea of hiring Mel Gibson for a family-friendly Christmas comedy was a horrible one. But in the waning days of the year – when it seems as if the film industry may finally be waking up to so much of its own toxicity – giving Gibson a family-friendly seal of approval proved to be an especially reprehensible decision. Daddy's Home 2 is a movie made for all the wrong reasons – an easy payday for Will Ferrell and Mark Wahlberg, cynical celebrity rehab for Gibson – and ineptly made, to boot. It should not exist, and the fact that it does is a slap in the face to any and all moviegoers.
Ghost in the Shell
It seems like Rupert Sanders's manga adaptation came out a decade ago, so dated does the concept and feel of Ghost in the Shell seem today. Yet it was only back in March that the film came and went, and it's better we all forgot its existence. It is a product born out of a desire to erase virtually any trace of its foreign origins, with an ending that solidifies its white-washing intents. Also: Sanders's visuals are simply ugly to look at, and his narrative a chore to follow.
I, Tonya
This might seem like an outlier, as Craig Gillespie's Tonya Harding biopic has littered actual Best Films of 2017 lists. But make no mistake: Despite a confident and skilled lead performance from Margot Robbie, I, Tonya is a cynical, disingenuous, fake-cute mess of a movie. In detailing Harding's truly horrible childhood and early adult years, Gillespie aims for laughs one moment, then scolds the audience for chuckling the next. It is a cheap trick, and jamming the soundtrack with catchy, if baffling, tracks only fuels the film's unintentional chaos. (I'm as much a fan of Laura Branigan's Gloria as the next person, but its use here makes no contextual sense, other than some effort at faux-Scorsese jukeboxing.) At various points, I, Tonya wants to be To Die For. At others, Goodfellas. In the end, its pretensions melt away to nothing at all.
The Neighborhood
By my rough estimation, "filmmaker" Frank D'Angelo is one of the most prolific Canadian directors working today. He's made six "films" in the past four years, and somehow he's managed to rope in such well-known, if no longer top-tier, actors as Danny Aiello, Armand Assante and James Caan. But speed and connections cannot compensate for hubris (D'Angelo "acts" in each film), incompetence (he "writes" and "shoots" as if he has some place else better to be, which, okay, I imagine he does), and an overall lack of originality, artistry and creativity. Perhaps his aggressively bad films are something like performance art – he's a Canadian Tommy Wiseau! Perhaps Frank D'Angelo is onto something we haven't discovered yet. Perhaps, perhaps … but probably not.
Power Rangers
If nothing else, Power Rangers will stand the test of time as exactly what not to do when launching a hopeful franchise. By taking a cheap, irredeemably dumb television series and simply throwing $100-million at it, director Dean Israelite and his producers only succeed in creating an expensive, irredeemably dumb movie. I still have nightmares of Elizabeth Banks' alien-witch villain Rita Repulsa hollering about Krispy Kreme doughnuts. If that sentence makes no sense to you, God bless.
The Snowman
I've been told by trusted friends and colleagues that The Snowman is a real movie, made by real people. I've even been informed I watched it, and then wrote a review. But today, I cannot seem to square the fact that any of this happened, so bewildering is the reality where The Snowman exists and passed through the various hoops of a studio system to make its way to thousands of theatres. Apparently it's all true. After all, the marketing campaign gave me all the clues.
Suburbicon
It is never a bad time to be Matt Damon, but it cannot be especially good to be Matt Damon in 2017, when his best performance came courtesy of a cameo in Thor: Ragnarok. But Suburbicon is not all Damon's fault. The blame mostly rests with director George Clooney, who dusted off a Joel and Ethan Coen script in a failed attempt at Coen Bros. cosplay. At least everyone involved is fabulously beautiful and wealthy. They'll be fine.
Transformers: The Last Knight
Unlike my experience with The Snowman, I can recall each and every detail of the evening I saw Transformers: The Last Knight. My eyes were strained, trying to follow director Michael Bay's CGI-meets-dumpster-fire visuals. My ears were bloodied, abused by the clang and crash of various robotic metals and whatever dialogue was coming out of Mark Wahlberg's mouth. My jaw was dropped, shocked at the stupidity unfolding before me. The Last Knight is not a movie – it is an assault.