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Without question, the most celebrated bad director is Ed Wood. He is the portal through which so many people discover the joys of the terrible film. He stands out from so many contenders because his films are not ordinarily bad. They are deeply felt, deeply earnest. He meant what he was saying, whatever that was. And his style, particularly his screenwriting style, is unmistakeable. Insanely purple, banal, and incomprehensible, it cannot be mistaken for anyone else’s work. It is as individual as the writing of the Co...n Brothers, but for all the wrong reasons.

But Wood is far from being the only deity in the badfilm pantheon. There are other directors who vie for his throne. And it is one of those I’m here to tell you about today: Doris Wishman.

Let us sing a hymn in praise of bad movies. Not ordinarily bad, of course. There is very little joy to be had in anything touched by Martin Lawrence. No, the crap that brings warmth to the heart of the badfilm fan can be the B-movie so inept that the set falls down. But there is also the big-budget, A-lit pic that pulls a Hindenburg, and those are to be treasured as well.

I have this latter type of badfilm in mind because I saw Lady in the Water over the weekend. Now, I cannot recommend this film if ...ou want to see something good. It is a megalomaniacal mess that is also, taken straight, paralyzingly dull (one of the people I saw it with bailed after an hour, and I can hardly blame her for walking out). However, when viewed as a slo-mo career catastrophe, it becomes quite fascinating. It is also so silly that it just begs to be rediscovered as an unintentional comedy. Let’s think about the names of things: “narf,” “scrunt,” “tartutic,” “Madame Narf.” This is gold, people. Imagine screening the film and yelling “Narf!” every time the somnabulant Bryce Howard shows up. Or do as one critic did, and Google the word “scrunt.” Go ahead, do it now. I’ll wait.