Shockingly, aggressively bad.
Spit in their audience's eye bad.
Poorly made: Scully, Mulder and Amanda Peet's hair lengths morph from scene to scene, the script is nonsensical and on the nose, it's not an X-File it's a serial killer, the score is terrible, there are no stunts or big scenes that warrant the budget (that could have been made as one of their 1 million dollar TV episodes), and there's an entire close up scene of Scully where she has two different earrings on. Oh, and that awful New Age song on the end credits over the makes-no-sense water shot that leads to Mulder and Scully seductively clothed in swimwear and Scully breaks the fourth wall and waves at us?
They've all lost their minds. I hope the paychecks were fat.
Um...worse though...the movie was disturbingly anti-woman. Gross, unexplained, unnecessarily hateful scenes towards women. Michael noticed it at the exact same moment I did and said it was beyond uncalled for and into the territory of what's pscyhologically wrong now with Chris Carter and did he get a divorce since the last time we heard from him creatively? Michael was freaked out to let me walk into the women's bathroom alone after the random misogyny we'd seen onscreen.
That all being said, Michael and I had a blast. Once we adjusted to it being shite, we were snarky through the entire movie (quietly, of course, in awed whispers and quizzical-eyebrow-raises).
Found it HYSTERICAL that half of our tiny audience got up and left before it was over.
Then the end credits rolled and we both grabbed each other in horror at the dedication card to some poor asshole who died and was hopefully not involved in making the film. So the joke now is: "No YOU'RE going to die first, and I'm going to make the worst movie of all time and dedicate it to YOU!!!!!"
We're both going to have to live a VERY long time. Oh my stars and garters, soooo funny.
Also of high amusement: that we're both primally sexually attracted to Jason Strathairn as one of the few men on the planet who could realistically provide and protect for us after the apocalypse. Mark our words, as children of the 80s we know it's going to happen someday, peeps. And Michael and I are going to be happily tucked right under Strathairn's Mad Max leather-clothed arms. Still afraid to die lest one of us dedicates an Ed Woodian movie to the other.
You're going first, Michael!!! I'm pulling your plug! Just you wait!!!