I’m the sort of filmgoer who will defend a three-hour epic over dinner, then buy another ticket for the sequel. If a film gives me something real, I will recommend it to people who had no interest in hearing the case. That is why I’m not afraid to say I dislike a popular movie. This is not about seeking a reaction; it is about trusting my own response when the queue outside the cinema and the reaction on social media suggest enjoyment is the expected outcome.
The example I keep returning to is The Super Mario Bros. Movie. It was a genuine crowd-pleaser: polished enough for adults to tolerate on a school holiday, obvious enough to sell to children, nostalgic fans and parents. I watched it with friends who had a lovely time. I came away irritated by its screenplay. Both things are true. The film is also the sort of project most people would call an easy, uncontroversial success, which makes it a useful test of whether I am reviewing the work or joining the chorus.
Popularity is a distribution story before it is a verdict on craft. Box-office totals, streaming charts and jokes quoted online describe attention, not coherence, structure or earned emotion. A hit can be polished and emotionally hollow; a flop can be memorable to a small audience. The Super Mario Bros. Movie had Nintendo awareness, bright production and easy family appeal. Its popularity made sense; it did not make my dislike puzzling.
What has a huge audience endorsed? Sometimes a great film, such as The Castle or The Babadook. Sometimes a charismatic cast, familiar property or relentless marketing. In Australia, that campaign can fill an Event Cinemas auditorium in Sydney before many viewers form an opinion. The crowd response includes anticipation, convenience and the mood of the room.
That distinction matters because “the public loved it” compresses too much. Viewers may have noticed the animation, cast, nostalgia or childhood memories; mine came from script and pacing. Popularity tells us about reach, while calling a film bad hides the fact that we are comparing experiences. I prefer the honest language: I did not enjoy this film, and here is where it lost me.
The Super Mario Bros. Movie is handsome. The animation is clean, the colours are bright and several images are lovely. My problem is that the screenplay seems less interested in building a story than queueing references. Characters deliver a punch line and make room for the next visual gag. The plot moves between broad missions without giving quieter choices much weight. Flashes of invention remain, but the frantic rhythm often turns character into branding.
I also lost the emotional thread. The film announces its jokes, then uses the score and reaction shots to confirm that we should laugh. When a quieter moment appears, it feels like an interruption. Jack Black’s loud energy has appeal, yet it makes everyone around him feel like a supporting sketch. I understand the family appeal. I simply found it relentlessly busy. Polished movement can conceal a screenplay with nowhere meaningful to go.
None of that requires a general hatred of franchises, animation or family films. My objection is specific, and I enjoy other versions of familiar characters. Personal criticism feels healthier when it stays personal. For readers who enjoy independent voices making their case without pretending a subjective verdict is law, Chumacraju’s online home is worth exploring. The test is whether I can describe the film’s effect on me with enough honesty to be taken seriously.
Disliking a movie and dismissing it are different acts. Dislike means I gave it a fair chance: I bought the ticket, watched the credits and stayed for the trailer. It means I can point to choices that did not work. Dismissal is the reflex to sneer because something is crowded, commercial or tied to a brand I dislike. It looks discerning but skips the work of watching. If I object only to the marketing, I should criticise the marketing.
In Australia, filmgoing carries customs, including the venerable Milo tin passed around at some cinemas. A packed Saturday session can feel like a shared event, with snacks, seat swapping and collective delight at a reveal. That atmosphere is part of the pleasure, but it can make a quieter reaction feel like bad etiquette. I have sat beside friends who were delighted while I checked the time. We both paid for the ticket; neither of us bought a contract requiring identical emotions.
The healthy response is not to spoil everyone else’s fun. I can congratulate my friends without lying about my own. Their enjoyment may reveal something I missed: the humour might land for people who know the games, or the briskness might feel liberating. I can say, ‘I did not get it’, name the problem and accept that another person’s experience was real. Mutual respect beats forced consensus.
The contrarian label is unhelpful because it rewards performance rather than attention. Calling yourself the person who refuses to enjoy the hit can become an identity: every popular choice is suspicious, every sincere fan is naïve and every measured explanation is timid. Online, certainty travels faster than nuance. ‘This is badly written’ is cleaner than ‘the second act repeatedly flattened its own setup’. Independence means being willing to agree when the evidence earns it and to state a disagreement without manufacturing a scandal.
The Australian market makes that pressure easy to feel. Local release timing, holiday programming, celebrity interviews, supermarket tie-ins and franchise advertising can turn a film into a national event before the first review appears. Across the country, viewers meet the same global campaign through local cinemas and social feeds, even when their preferences are shaped by different cities and cultures. A title can dominate because it is everywhere, not because everyone found the same thing valuable. Commercial reach is a guide to attention; criticism is a separate conversation about execution.
I am not anti-popular or anti-family. I will defend The Castle’s satire, the emotional force of The Babadook and the strange confidence of a crowded action film. Those works can be uneven and still hold together because their ambition and execution speak to each other. My standard is not whether a film pleases a crowd. It is whether form, tone and story support one another. The Super Mario Bros. Movie failed that test for me, even though it gave its intended audience a good time.
Disagreement becomes more useful when it gives other people something to consider. A clear complaint is more revealing than a theatrical grumble, and harder to dismiss as bad mood. Before calling a popular film tedious, incoherent or empty, I try to make the criticism answerable.
A grounded complaint usually contains
Those habits do not make criticism polite for its own sake. They make it credible. Precision allows a real reply: someone can explain a choice I missed, supply context I ignored or show that the flaw mattered less than I thought. My view may change. That is not weakness; it is the point of making an argument in public.
A lazy complaint often skips
The difference appears in where the conversation ends. Specific criticism can lead to sharper analysis, a better recommendation or even a changed mind. Lazy criticism creates two camps, louder than before and no wiser. Neither approach needs a grand speech. A sentence about a rushed final act can do more than a page of insults.
| Approach | What it treats as evidence | What it risks |
|---|---|---|
| “Everyone else loved it” | Popularity as proof of quality | Ignoring your actual viewing experience |
| “It was objectively bad” | A personal verdict as universal fact | Making disagreement sound like a ruling |
| “The trailer sold it” | Marketing as the whole work | Avoiding the film itself |
| “I did not enjoy it because…” | Specific craft choices and personal response | Little; the claim stays open to discussion |
Film remains a communal pleasure. After a Saturday at Melbourne’s Prahran Market, a packed cinema can feel like the natural next stop: people share snacks, compare notes and leave with a story to argue about. I value that ritual, but a group verdict should not erase anyone’s own response. The best conversations leave room for delight, doubt and a well-aimed “why did that not work for me?”
So here is the invitation. If a hit left you cold, send the title and the detail that broke the spell: the wasted setup, flattened performance or joke that refused to land. Specificity is more generous than mockery and more persuasive than demanding agreement. You can also send a story pitch built around a contrarian pop-culture take. My own verdict stands: I dislike The Super Mario Bros. Movie while respecting what it gave its audience. Good criticism does not need a crowd, but it deserves a reply.