Ma (dir. Tate Taylor, 2019). 

In Defense of “Gaffe Track Films”

Ask a random person what their favorite film is, and there’s a good chance they’ll give you a title from the 1990s. Pulp Fiction (1994), Jurassic Park (1993), Titanic (1997), and Forrest Gump (1994) are some of the biggest crowd favorites in recent decades. While these films are widely loved, they’re also relatively riskless in terms of challenging their respective genres’ potential for ridiculousness. It makes sense that these films were massive box office successes, as audiences usually aren’t too keen on films taking liberties with reinventing filmic tropes or signifiers. However, an often overlooked subsect of cinema that catapulted to infamy in the ‘90s stands in stark contrast to the decade’s most popular releases. These films—undoubtedly entertaining and wildly chaotic—are, in this writer’s opinion, just as deserving of a place in cinema history as any Oscar winner. I call them “Gaffe Track Films.”

In order to be classified as a Gaffe Track Film, one must adhere to a cocktail of elements: it must (usually) star unequivocally hot actors, display an insanely unrealistic plot that drastically escalates to the point of absurdity in the final act, and deliver a script with some of the most unintentionally hilarious lines the audience has ever heard. Hence, a blunder in the film’s lack of tone or awareness for its depicted situations elicits unexpected laughter from viewers who find the film’s “serious” scenes riddled with comedy.

The Crush (dir. Alan Shapiro, 1993). 

The less-remembered films of the ‘90s—like The Crush (1993) or Fear (1996)—are some of my favorite examples of this subgenre. For example, The Crush stars Cary Elwes as an enticing new neighbor opposite a Lolita-framed Alicia Silverstone, a minor intent on luring in her new obsession. The events that transpire, though, dramatically crescendo to an apex that involves a disturbingly creepy carousel in the attic of Silverstone’s character’s home. Her attempts to woo her neighbor fail, and her desperation turns to rage as she assumes the role of the lustful villainess we all know 14-year-olds to be.

Fear similarly features an all-too-common premise of a good girl (Reese Witherspoon) falling for a bad guy (Mark Whalberg). As he leads her down a path ne’er primrose-lined, his actions escalate from questionable to outright illegal. See: Whalberg pounding his chest in rhythm to bruise himself and blame it on his girlfriend’s father, long before Matthew McConaughey improvised the movement in The Wolf of Wall Street (2013). Much like The Crush, Fear depicts a volatile relationship so rare in real life that its presence in a film setting feels hilariously silly.

What makes these films stand out in their respective genres is their unintentionality. You may be wondering if these films could be considered campy, to which I’d say: maybe. I believe an argument can be made that movies often regarded as “bad” because of their absurdity, unrealistic climaxes, or corny dialogue have some elements worthy of defending as campy. But that distinction should ultimately be determined by the viewer. As the original definer of “camp,” Susan Sontag argues, “In naive, or pure, Camp, the essential element is seriousness, a seriousness that fails. Of course, not all seriousness that fails can be redeemed as Camp.” These Gaffe Track Films fall into the overarching umbrella of the drama genre. Maybe they’re erotic thrillers, psychological thrillers, or procedural dramas, but their core themes revolve around somber topics. These films aren’t trying to make the audience laugh, but they unintentionally do so because of their failure to take their own serious subjects seriously, whether deliberately or not.

Fear (dir. James Foley, 1996).

While they may seem less frequent now, Gaffe Track Films aren’t just exclusive to decades past. Some contemporary examples include the Twilight franchise (2008-2012), The Happening (2008), and one of my personal favorites, Ma (2019). Ma makes exquisite use of Octavia Spencer’s singular acting abilities and places her in some of the most ludicrous situations ever depicted on screen. This film, in my opinion, is much easier to define as both Gaffe Track and camp. Spencer herself participated in memeing the film and recently altered one of her character’s catchphrases—“Don’t make me drink alone”—to “Don’t make me vote alone” to endorse Kamala Harris for president. The film itself feels aware of its golden opportunity to let Spencer fully depict Ma’s unhinged behavior to the point where her facial expressions alone can evoke guttural laughs. By risking a reputation as a serious piece of art, Ma instead crafts a story so unbelievable that its surprises keep you coming back again and again.

Films like these are objectively mediocre. They don’t win awards, land on end-of-year lists, or rank too high on Letterboxd. However, they are undoubtedly entertaining. As a film lover, I’ve struggled with wanting to watch movies because they sound good to me and wanting to watch movies to seem impressive to others. I’ve learned through exploring my own taste that Gaffe Track Films offer a kind of freedom rarely captured in other movies. They give the viewer permission to laugh at them, not just with them. Their uninhibited nature feels freeing in that it’s wholly vulnerable. Their honesty welcomes laughter and judgment because it feels good to gawk at something you can’t look away from.

I never label anything that brings me joy as a “guilty pleasure,” because I never feel shame about something I like. Gaffe Track Films are no different. They may contain questionable components or material that doesn’t age well, but they serve as a wholly captivating and ultimately memorable experience that I always return to. I enjoy epics, thought-provoking documentaries, and ambiguous head-scratchers just as much as the next person, but I also believe Gaffe Track Films are essential balances to cinema’s more austere titles. In a way, they’re like rocks: unassuming until you break one open. You may just find a diamond.