Like food, cinema can be appreciated in different ways depending on mood or taste: there is the "popcorn" movie (sometimes even "fast-food," quickly eaten and quickly forgotten), the "auteur" film, the "classic" film... and then there is the schlock movie, called "nanar" in France, whose fans recognize each other through obscure references and cult quotes ("Philip, I know you there! Come out you bastard!" or "I don't step on toes, Littlejohn, I step on necks.").
The world of "so bad it's good" movies has been popularized for the past twenty years by websites, events and special screenings.
What is a "Nanar" exactly?
The word "nanar" is derived from "panard," which referred to an old man in the 19th century. A "nanar" would thus be an old, worthless item, and by extension, a forgotten old film due to the poor quality of its content and craftsmanship.
For this reason, a "nanar" would be a pariah from a bygone era, a marginal film that cinema history has not recorded in its encyclopedias, one that didn't win Oscars, isn't studied in school, and isn't shown on TV or Netflix.
Schlock movies are most often genre driven: adventure, action, crime, science fiction, horror. A "nanar" is a work of entertainment, even if it achieves its goals through unconventional means. But this is not an immutable rule, as no comedy by Max Pécas or the famous The Room by Tommy Wiseau belongs to the genre film category. French cinema, in its sporadic participation in the history and culture of "nanar," seems to focus on crime films (Le Faucon with Francis Huster, La Nuit du risque with its "right-wing" hero).
There is, however, a high degree of "nanardise" in exploitation films, that is, low-budget derivatives of major Hollywood action films. If a title drove the public crazy in the USA, one can be sure that around the same time, several countries seized the concept to adapt it. Thus, the knowledgeable audience collects Turkish versions of "Star Wars" or "Indiana Jones," Indian versions of "Superman" or "Terminator," or simply the countless zombie and post-apocalyptic warrior films produced in Italy in the 70s and 80s.
Can studio films with sumptuous budgets be classified as schlock? Regardless of the extent of the disaster, is the term "nanar" applicable to Howard the Duck, Exorcist II, Super Mario Bros., Batman & Robin, or Postman? The Razzie Awards, awarded annually ahead of the Oscars to the so-called worst films of the year, actually only focus on blockbusters.
However, Battlefield Earth, a mega-independent film financed by Scientology celebrities to promote the founder's SF literature, might earn the title of "nanar" as the public discreetly shunned it despite a massive release organized with great advertising.
We can even debate the "Encyclopedia of Nanars" published by Frédéric Forestier, a French journalist for Le Nouvel Observateur: does Terence Fisher's Curse of the Werewolf really deserve to be included in this classification? One may not like the kitschiness of Les Demoiselles de Rochefort or consider Hithcock's Marnie as a flop, but to label them as nanars...
The Nanarland website, launched in France in 2001, quickly gained popularity, leading to the organization of "Nuits Excentriques," later renamed "Nuits Nanarland," as well as the publication of several books supervised by François Cau. The people who run the site are invested with a sincere love for the genre, and do not hesitate to interview actors, profile directors, or dissect the script of a "nanar" even if it is nonsensical.
Heroes of the "Nanar": Ed Wood, Uwe Boll, Juan Piquer Simon, Jean-Claude Van Damme...
Just as there are big names in mainstream cinema, there are big names in the "nanar" universe: certain actors and directors have entered the legend for their contribution to this sub-genre.
Among the actors, it is the stars of direct-to-video action films who have amassed the most "nanars" in their filmography: Chuck Norris, Jean-Claude Van Damme, and Steven Seagal have made one to two films per year for several decades, with their share of absurdities in terms of script and direction.
Among the directors, the master of the "nanar" in the 1950s is undoubtedly Ed Wood, this director revered by Tim Burton who dedicated a biography to him in 1994. Ed Wood's madness, more than his sense of directing, allowed him to convince modest investors to finance curious bric-a-brac like Bride of the Monster, Night of the Ghouls, and especially Plan 9 from Outer Space. Ed Wood put down the camera during the 1960s, and his comeback in the 1970s resulted mainly in a series of pornographic short films, which were a sad end to his career before his death at age 54.
In France, Max Pécas poured torrents of dubious humor in the 1970s and 1980s: Marche pas sur mes lacets, Embraye bidasse... ça fume or Deux enfoirés à Saint-Tropez are among those titles that have never made the cover of Positif or Cahiers du Cinéma. Still in France, but on the horror and eroticism side (mixed), it is towards Jean Rollin that one must turn, for his ability to feature both Brigitte Lahaie and Howard Vernon - himself a regular in Jess Franco's B-movies in Spain. In Spain, we will remember the name Juan Piquer Simon, capable of delivering superheroism (Supersonic Man), animal horror (Slugs), or underwater adventure (The Rift).
In the last 20 years, the names of Tommy Wiseau and Uwe Boll have imposed themselves on "nanar" enthusiasts, the first thanks to his magnum opus The Room, the second with his botched adaptations of successful video games.
But what about Brett Kelly, Mark Polonia (survivor of the Polonia brothers), or Jeff Leroy? Stakhanovists of nanobudget exploitation films, these improbable filmmakers are less often highlighted despite the regularity with which they produce shark films, horror films and mockbusters.
Top of schlock: Plan 9 From Outer Space, White Fire, The Room...
If we had to find a common ancestor to all schlock movies, it would undoubtedly be Reefer Madness (1936), a film about the dangers of drugs that depicts such incongruous excesses of violence that they become burlesque.
But it is in the 1950s, with the unbridled development of science fiction, its aliens, and robots, that "nanars" proliferate with the most enthusiasm. In 1953, the astonishing Robot Monster was presented in 3D, a process that apparently absorbed 99% of the budget (an anomaly that will be repeated several times in the future of genre films).
In 1957, the famous Plan 9 from Outer Space directed by Ed Wood briefly features a dying Bela Lugosi, replaced by a double using crude subterfuges, while space invaders decide to wake our dead for somewhat obscure reasons.
Without claiming to be exhaustive, let's jump straight to 1970 to meet Arnold Schwarzenegger at the dawn of his career. By accepting the lead role in Hercules in New York, he had no idea that the result would be so lamentable that it would take him ten years to return to the top of the bill.
Among the eccentric filmography of Jean-Marie Pallardy, White Fire (1984) is probably the most striking opus, crowned during its screening at the Nuit Nanarland in 2018. Between cult lines ("My patience has limits, but let's not exaggerate") and incestuous impulses treated with staggering frivolity, the film ticks all the expected boxes.
In 1988, Hobgoblins stands as the younger brother of a lineage of Gremlins clones. After Critters, Ghoulies, Munchies, and Trolls, all relatively bearable, this new plagiarism stands out for its use of completely empty sets, totally amateur actors, and creatures represented by simple stuffed animals, 
thrown into the camera field by a props man (who, according to legend, was just out of a psychiatric hospital). Like its colleagues Samurai Cop, Deadly Prey and Birdemic, the film had a late sequel, which incorporates in its narrative the idea that the first film was an object of ridicule.
If one had to choose a film in Chuck Norris's career, it would undoubtedly be Delta Force 2 (1990), in which we find the wonderful dialogue: "Cota killed her husband in front of her, then he killed her baby and used the corpse to smuggle cocaine, then he raped her. I wouldn't mention any of this when you meet her-- she's probably still a little touchy about it."
In 2003, the famous The Room made its way into the circles of nanar enthusiasts. Written, produced, and directed by the mysterious Tommy Wiseau, the film aspires to be a complex human drama but only reveals the staggering incompetence of its creator, who was later portrayed by James Franco in The Disaster Artist.
From 2010 onwards, it has become more challenging to award schlock movies a badge of honor. Like classic films, "so bad it's good" movies need some time to embed themselves into the collective unconscious. It is expected that Birdemic, The Amazing Bulk, Jurassic Shark, Rise of the Black Bat, Aliens vs Titanic, Alien Crystal Palace and the productions of Neil Breen will leave an indelible mark on their era.