Mike D’Angelo’s turned it into an art form. Several colleagues claim never to do it. I prefer to stick it out, but often find my professional moral code bending irrevocably in the wake of the truly, truly godawful. Todd Solondz’s intentionally crude Palindromes drove me off after its Freaks-inspired dinner scene. Oliver Stone’s The Doors so pummeled me with its sensory bombast that I ran screaming for cover. The insipid animated musical FernGully: The Last Rainforest lost my goodwill after Robin Williams’s Dolby-thudding rap interlude. Not to come off all high-and-mighty, for I suspect that these examples reveal more about my personal hangups and foibles than I normally care to let on. The question (with resultant self-analysis) is therefore begged: What movies have driven you to legs-in-motion revolt?
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