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Hollywood, Stop Playing With Your Toys: 10 Spectacularly Bad Movies Based on Toys and Games

Matchbox: The Movie is coming. John Cena is driving. And suddenly I’m having Battleship flashbacks.

I was minding my own business the other night when an ad appeared for an upcoming movie.

MATCHBOX: THE MOVIE.

Starring John Cena.

Coming October 9.

I stared at the television for a moment.

Matchbox.

As in…the cars?

The tiny metal cars?

The cars whose entire mythology, as far as I can remember, consisted of pushing one across your mother’s coffee table while making VROOOOOOOM noises until she yelled at you for scratching the furniture?

Those Matchbox cars?

Apparently so.

The official premise involves John Cena playing an undercover CIA agent who reunites with childhood friends and drags them into a globe-trotting adventure to save the world.

Naturally.

Because when I was seven years old and smashing a Matchbox Corvette into a plastic dump truck, I was definitely thinking:

“This needs geopolitical stakes.”

And look, maybe Matchbox: The Movie will be terrific. John Cena is enormously likable. Director Sam Hargrave knows how to stage action. Perhaps they’ve cracked the code.

But Hollywood has been down this toy aisle before.

Many times.

And occasionally it has stepped directly on a LEGO brick.

So in honor of Hollywood’s continuing determination to transform everything we touched as children into a $150 million intellectual property opportunity, let us revisit 10 spectacularly bad movies based on toys, board games and video games.

Not merely disappointing movies.

Movies that made you wonder whether anyone involved had ever actually played with the thing printed on the poster.


10. BRATZ (2007)

There is something almost admirable about making a movie based on fashion dolls and somehow producing something with less emotional depth than the dolls.

The Bratz movie follows four fashionable friends entering high school, getting separated into different cliques and eventually learning important lessons about friendship.

In other words, somebody bought the rights to Bratz and made Discount Mean Girls.

The actual dolls were famous for enormous heads, enormous shoes and the kind of eye makeup usually associated with someone arriving at a nightclub at 1:45 in the morning.

The movie wisely decided human beings couldn’t survive those proportions.

Unfortunately, it replaced them with nearly two hours of aggressively generic tween comedy.

Jon Voight appears in this movie.

Yes.

Jon Voight.

Academy Award winner.

Midnight Cowboy.

Deliverance.

Coming Home.

Bratz.

Every acting career is a journey.

Sometimes the journey ends in the food court at Claire’s.


9. STREET FIGHTER (1994)

Here’s the game:

Two people stand in a street.

They fight.

Hollywood’s response:

“What if we make it an international military geopolitical hostage thriller?”

Perfect.

Jean-Claude Van Damme plays Colonel Guile, leading an international force against General M. Bison, played by the late, wonderful Raúl Juliá.

And God bless Juliá because he approaches this material like he’s doing Shakespeare at the Globe.

Everyone else appears to be making a live-action Saturday morning cartoon after drinking cough syrup.

The strangest thing about Street Fighter is that a movie based on Street Fighter contains surprisingly little satisfying street fighting.

It’s like adapting Pac-Man and spending 90 minutes watching Pac-Man file his taxes.

Still, the movie has achieved something approaching cult status because Juliá is magnificent, Van Damme is Van Damme, and the entire production possesses the unmistakable energy of a movie that knows the building is on fire but decides to finish filming anyway.


8. MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE (1987)

Children of the ’80s were promised Eternia. Count me in that category.

Castle Grayskull.

Skeletor.

He-Man.

An enormous fantasy universe filled with warriors, monsters and magical nonsense.

Hollywood looked at all of that and said:

“How about suburban California?”

Thus Dolph Lundgren’s He-Man spends a remarkable portion of Masters of the Universe wandering around Earth.

Imagine making The Lord of the Rings and deciding halfway through that Middle-earth is too expensive, so Gandalf and Frodo spend Act Two looking for parking at a Ralphs.

Frank Langella, meanwhile, plays Skeletor as though this is the role he was born to play.

And somehow?

It works.

Langella is terrific.

Everything surrounding him looks like someone tried to remake Star Wars using merchandise returned to Toys “R” Us.

Oh, and the 2026 version isn’t much better.


7. JEM AND THE HOLOGRAMS (2015)

Here is a fascinating strategy for adapting an existing property:

Remove virtually everything people liked about the existing property.

The original Jem was gloriously ridiculous ’80s excess: music, fashion, secret identities, holographic technology and hair containing approximately 11 pounds of Aqua Net.

The movie turned it into a fairly standard story about a young singer becoming an internet sensation.

Which raises an important question.

Why call it Jem?

You could have called it Teen Singer Movie #47 and nobody would have noticed.

Fans certainly noticed.

This wasn’t really an adaptation.

It was identity theft.


6. PLAYMOBIL: THE MOVIE (2019)

You can practically hear the studio meeting.

“People loved The LEGO Movie.”

“Yes.”

“LEGO consists of little plastic people.”

“Yes.”

“Playmobil consists of little plastic people.”

Silence.

“My God.”

And thus a cinematic universe was born.

Except it wasn’t.

The LEGO Movie succeeded because it had a clever story, great comedy and something unexpectedly thoughtful to say about childhood creativity.

Playmobil: The Movie seemed to believe the important part was:

Plastic.

It feels less like watching a movie and more like being trapped inside a toy catalog that has learned to sing.

Daniel Radcliffe voices a secret agent.

Meghan Trainor voices a fairy godmother.

Adam Lambert voices an emperor.

And somewhere a child just wants his parents to take him home.


5. SUPER MARIO BROS. (1993)

Long before Chris Pratt bravely asked America to accept him as an Italian plumber, Hollywood attempted Super Mario Bros.

The result remains one of the strangest artifacts of 1990s filmmaking.

Mario?

Bob Hoskins.

Luigi?

John Leguizamo.

King Koopa?

Dennis Hopper.

Mushroom Kingdom?

Apparently a dystopian cyberpunk dinosaur city.

Naturally.

The Nintendo game is bright, colorful and cheerful.

The movie looks like someone poured Blade Runner into a sewer and then released reptiles into it.

Watching it today is almost fascinating because virtually every creative decision seems to have been made by somebody asking:

“What would Nintendo absolutely never do?”

To Hollywood’s credit, decades later we eventually got an animated Mario movie that actually resembled Mario.

It turns out audiences who love a property sometimes enjoy seeing the property.

Revolutionary concept.


4. MORTAL KOMBAT: ANNIHILATION (1997)

The first Mortal Kombat movie wasn’t exactly Citizen Kane, but it understood the assignment.

People fight.

Music goes:

MORTAL KOMBAAAAAAT!

Everyone goes home happy.

Then came Annihilation.

The sequel has the visual sophistication of a regional furniture-store commercial combined with dialogue apparently translated from English into another language and then back into English.

Characters appear.

Characters disappear.

People flip through the air.

Portals open.

Things explode.

Someone announces another piece of mythology.

More flipping.

At one point you begin wondering whether you’re still watching the movie or whether somebody accidentally switched the television to a Power Rangers marathon.

Critics were not kind. Its Rotten Tomatoes score sits in the single digits.

Which somehow feels generous.


3. HOUSE OF THE DEAD (2003)

Director Uwe Boll deserves recognition for accomplishing something extraordinary.

He made a zombie movie based on a zombie shooting game…

and apparently decided the audience might forget it was based on a video game.

So he occasionally inserts actual footage from the game into the movie.

Imagine watching The Godfather and every few minutes Francis Ford Coppola cuts to footage from The Godfather PlayStation 2 game.

“Just reminding everybody what we’re adapting!”

The story involves young people traveling to an island for a rave.

There are zombies.

There are guns.

There is slow motion.

There are rotating Matrix-style shots.

There are approximately 900 editing decisions that should have resulted in someone gently taking the computer away from the editor.

Rotten Tomatoes currently has it at roughly 3 percent.

Three.

Meaning tomatoes themselves have essentially filed a restraining order.


2. BATTLESHIP (2012)

Ah yes.

An old friend.

Readers of my book Crash of the Titans already know my affection for this glorious monument to Hollywood hubris.

Someone looked at the board game Battleship and said:

“Movie.”

Another person presumably asked:

“What’s the story?”

And the answer was:

“Ships.”

“Okay. Characters?”

“Ships.”

“Villain?”

“Aliens.”

“Aliens?”

“ALIENS.”

And somehow $200+ million later, Liam Neeson was involved.

Battleship cost roughly $209 million by Box Office Mojo’s accounting and grossed about $303 million worldwide—which sounds impressive until you remember theaters keep part of the ticket revenue and studios also spend fortunes marketing movies.

The domestic gross?

About $65 million.

That sound you hear is a studio accountant whispering:

“You sunk my quarterly earnings.”

And here’s the thing.

Battleship isn’t even boring.

It’s too magnificently ridiculous to be boring.

At one point the filmmakers actually engineer a sequence resembling the grid-based board game.

You can almost hear Hasbro’s lawyers screaming:

“PUT THE PEGS IN THERE SOMEWHERE!”

This is exactly why Battleship belongs in Crash of the Titans.

It’s not merely a flop.

It’s the kind of movie that makes you fascinated by the decision-making process that allowed it to exist.

Which brings us to…


1. THE ENTIRE IDEA THAT EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BECOME A MOVIE

I’m cheating.

Sue me.

Because Matchbox made me realize the real villain isn’t any individual movie.

It’s the Hollywood belief that brand recognition equals story.

Barbie worked?

Fantastic.

Now open the toy chest.

Matchbox!

Hot Wheels!

UNO!

Magic 8 Ball!

View-Master!

Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots!

I’m barely joking.

At this rate we’re approximately four studio meetings away from:

SILLY PUTTY: ORIGINS

Starring Chris Hemsworth as a former Navy SEAL who discovers the mysterious substance can copy classified newspaper documents.

OPERATION

A disgraced surgeon has twelve hours to remove a tiny plastic butterfly before the buzzer sounds.

Jason Statham stars.

HUNGRY HUNGRY HIPPOS

Four genetically engineered hippopotamuses.

One city.

No survivors.

ETCH A SKETCH

Jake Gyllenhaal wakes up and discovers everything he draws becomes real.

But if someone shakes the universe…

everything disappears.

Actually…

Wait.

I’d watch that.

Dammit.

Now I’m part of the problem.


AND NOW…MATCHBOX

To be fair, Matchbox: The Movie hasn’t earned a place on this list.

Yet.

It could be great.

John Cena is funny. Sam Hargrave directed the Extraction films and certainly knows his way around vehicular mayhem. The supporting cast includes Jessica Biel, Sam Richardson, Teyonah Parris, Arturo Castro, Danai Gurira and Corey Stoll.

There are actual talented people involved here.

But I remain fascinated by the starting point.

Matchbox cars don’t have characters.

They don’t have mythology.

They don’t have a story.

They’re cars.

Which means the screenwriter essentially received a box containing a tiny vehicle and a note saying:

“Good luck. We need 126 minutes.”

And perhaps that’s the secret.

Maybe having almost no mythology gives filmmakers freedom.

Nobody is going to leave the movie furious because John Cena failed to honor the complicated emotional history of the 1978 Matchbox No. 22 Blaze Buster fire engine.

At least I hope not.

There is probably a subreddit.


HOLLYWOOD WILL NEVER STOP PLAYING

The funny thing is, toy and game movies aren’t inherently bad.

Barbie proved you can take a toy and build something ambitious around it.

The LEGO Movie turned plastic bricks into a genuinely clever movie.

Recent video-game adaptations have demonstrated another shocking discovery:

If filmmakers respect the thing people already love, audiences might enjoy the adaptation.

The problem begins when Hollywood works backward.

Not:

“We have a great story.”

But:

“We own this logo.”

That’s how you get Battleship.

That’s how you get Playmobil.

That’s how you eventually get John Cena saving civilization because somebody once sold a 1:64-scale Pontiac at Woolworth’s.

Heck, watch The Studio on Apple TV (also releasing Matchbox) and Seth Rogen did an entire storyline revolving around Kool-Aid: The Movie, which pokes fun at the same premise of taking a well-known licensed property and shoehorning it into a movie.

So yes, on October 9, I’ll probably watch Matchbox: The Movie.

Partly because I like Cena.

Partly because I’m curious.

And partly because anyone who writes books about Hollywood disasters has a professional responsibility to keep an eye on these things.

After all, Crash of the Titans exists because Hollywood has spent decades demonstrating one undeniable truth:

Nobody can crash a $200 million toy quite like Hollywood.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a screenplay to pitch.

It’s called:

CONNECT FOUR: RECKONING

Four pieces.

Three governments.

Two hours and twenty-seven minutes.

One connection…that could save mankind.

Tom Cruise, call me.

— The Unknown Critic

Hollywood Stayed. Now Comes the Hard Part: Welcome to the $110 Billion Skydance Experiment

Paramount threatened to leave California. California sued. Everybody threatened everybody. Now Paramount and Warner Bros. are getting married anyway—and somehow the CEO of Mattel is helping run the household.

Well.

That escalated quickly.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about what appeared to be the beginning of the strangest Hollywood relocation since The Beverly Hillbillies loaded up the truck and moved to Beverly.

Paramount was threatening to leave California.

California was suing Paramount.

Paramount was trying to buy Warner Bros. Discovery.

Politicians were panicking.

Lawyers were billing.

And beginning October 1, a delay in the deal was going to start increasing the price Paramount owed Warner shareholders.

I called the whole thing:

HOW TO LOSE AN INDUSTRY IN 10 DAYS.

Turns out Hollywood didn’t lose the industry.

It just consolidated most of it into one gigantic corporate structure and handed somebody an $80 billion credit-card bill.

So…

Good news?


PREVIOUSLY ON: HOLLYWOOD

For anyone who missed our last episode, here’s what happened.

Paramount Skydance wanted Warner Bros. Discovery.

Badly.

California and 11 other states sued to stop the merger, arguing that putting this much entertainment under one corporate roof could hurt competition, workers and consumers.

Paramount responded with the corporate equivalent of:

“Fine. Maybe we’ll just move.”

Texas was mentioned.

Tennessee was mentioned.

Georgia was mentioned.

And somewhere in Burbank, a studio executive presumably opened Zillow and typed:

NASHVILLE HOMES WITH SCREENING ROOM.

Then everybody sat down.

And made a deal.

On September 30, a federal judge approved the settlement, clearing the path for Paramount’s acquisition of Warner Bros. Discovery.

The merger is expected to close October 6.

Price tag?

Roughly:

$110 BILLION.

For perspective, that is enough money to buy approximately 733 million large movie-theater popcorns.

Or six parking spaces in Beverly Hills.


SO WHAT DID CALIFORNIA GET?

Quite a bit, actually.

The settlement requires the combined company to release at least 30 theatrical movies annually during its first two years, followed by 32 per year during the next three.

It also requires at least $300 million in additional domestic film-production spending annually compared with 2025 levels.

That’s $1.5 billion over five years.

And if the company misses its annual movie quota?

There’s a potential $30 million penalty per missing film.

Which is fantastic.

Hollywood has finally invented something I’ve wanted for years:

A FINE FOR NOT MAKING ENOUGH MOVIES.

Think of the possibilities.

Can we expand this?

Movie is 45 minutes too long?

$8 million.

Movie ends with “PART ONE” even though nobody told us there was going to be a Part Two?

$12 million.

Character says, “So THAT happened”?

Studio loses a parking structure.

We could fix Hollywood by Thursday.

The agreement also requires the physical Paramount and Warner Bros. studio lots to remain in operation and includes workforce investments, labor protections and other conditions.

So that dramatic threat about Paramount packing up the mountain and moving to Tennessee?

For the foreseeable future:

The mountain stays.


BUT HERE’S WHERE THE STORY GETS REALLY INTERESTING

Because after all this fighting about Paramount and Warner Bros…

The company above them apparently isn’t going to be called Paramount.

Or Warner Bros.

It’s going to be called:

SKYDANCE.

David Ellison announced October 2 that the combined parent company will adopt the name of the production company he founded nearly two decades ago.

Paramount remains Paramount.

Warner Bros. remains Warner Bros.

But upstairs?

Skydance.

Imagine buying McDonald’s and Burger King and announcing that the parent company will henceforth be named:

DAVE’S BURGER SHED.

That’s confidence.

And I respect it.


AND THEN THEY HIRED THE BARBIE GUY

This is my favorite development.

Because apparently owning Paramount, Warner Bros., CBS, CNN, HBO Max, Paramount+, DC, Harry Potter, Mission: Impossible and everything else wasn’t interesting enough.

David Ellison needed a partner.

So he recruited:

Ynon Kreiz.

The outgoing CEO of Mattel.

Yes.

The company that makes Barbie.

And Hot Wheels.

And UNO.

And Fisher-Price.

And Masters of the Universe.

Kreiz helped transform Mattel from simply being a toy manufacturer into a company aggressively developing its intellectual property across movies, television, games and other entertainment.

Most notably?

Barbie.

You may remember it.

Pink.

Margot Robbie.

Made slightly more money than the average student film.

Kreiz will become co-CEO of the combined company, handling day-to-day operations and integration, while Ellison focuses on strategy, creative direction and technology.

Which means one of the largest collections of entertainment intellectual property ever assembled will partly be managed by the man who spent the last several years asking:

“Okay, what else in the toy aisle can become a movie?”

I literally just wrote a column about Matchbox: The Movie.

This is getting personal.


WELCOME TO THE BIGGEST FRANCHISE CLOSET IN HOLLYWOOD

Consider what is effectively gathering under this enormous umbrella.

Paramount.

Warner Bros.

CBS.

CNN.

HBO Max.

Paramount+.

DC.

Harry Potter.

Mission: Impossible.

Star Trek.

Yellowstone.

Game of Thrones.

Looney Tunes.

Food Network.

Comedy Central.

MTV.

Nickelodeon.

TBS.

And a tremendous amount more.

This isn’t a media company.

This is what happens when somebody clicks:

SELECT ALL.

The theoretical possibilities are staggering.

Batman on Survivor.

Harry Potter investigates crimes on NCIS.

Guy Fieri visits the Shire.

Diners, Drive-Ins and Dungeons.

I would watch that immediately.


AND NOW FOR THE PART THAT MAKES MY PAPER BAG TINGLE

Readers of my book Crash of the Titans know why giant corporate entertainment bets fascinate me.

The book looks back at famous Hollywood disasters—the movies where studios had enormous resources, recognizable intellectual property, experienced executives and every possible reason to believe they couldn’t fail.

And then…

Battleship.

There is a lesson buried underneath almost every legendary Hollywood flop.

The disasters rarely look ridiculous when somebody approves them.

That’s the important part.

Nobody walks into a boardroom and says:

“Gentlemen, I’ve developed a catastrophic idea that will embarrass us publicly and vaporize several hundred million dollars.”

No.

They say:

SYNERGY.

They say:

SCALE.

They say:

GLOBAL IP.

They say:

EFFICIENCIES.

They say:

STRATEGIC ALIGNMENT.

And eventually somebody puts an arrow on a PowerPoint slide.

Once the arrows appear, it’s over.


THE $80 BILLION ELEPHANT IN THE SCREENING ROOM

Here’s why I’m fascinated by this deal.

The new Skydance enters its next chapter carrying roughly:

$80 BILLION IN DEBT.

At the same time, management is targeting approximately:

$6 BILLION IN COST SAVINGS.

Those are not typos.

Six.

Billion.

Dollars.

In savings.

Now, executives have indicated those savings won’t come entirely from layoffs. Combining technology systems and eliminating duplicate corporate functions can obviously save enormous amounts of money.

That’s the rational explanation.

But I’m the Unknown Critic.

I’m contractually obligated to imagine the less rational version.

EXECUTIVE: We need to save six billion dollars.

ACCOUNTANT: I’ve canceled HBO Max.

EXECUTIVE: That’s one streaming service.

ACCOUNTANT: Fine. Paramount+ too.

EXECUTIVE: We own both.

ACCOUNTANT: Exactly. Synergy.

And this is where the story stops being merely funny.

Because whenever you hear phrases like “operational efficiencies,” thousands of employees hear something different.

They hear:

“Should I update LinkedIn?”


THIS IS THE PART HOLLYWOOD NEVER PUTS IN THE TRAILER

The studios remain.

That’s important.

Production commitments are part of the settlement.

That’s important too.

California has also dramatically expanded its film and television tax-credit program, and state officials say its first year generated commitments representing billions in production spending and tens of thousands of cast-and-crew jobs.

California is clearly fighting to keep production here.

But mergers this large inevitably create overlapping departments.

Two marketing operations.

Two finance structures.

Two distribution organizations.

Multiple streaming infrastructures.

Layers of management.

Technology systems.

Administrative departments.

And now management has promised investors billions in savings.

You don’t need to be Nostradamus to understand why Hollywood workers are nervous.

The buildings may stay.

The more important question is:

Who gets to keep working inside them?


THE GREAT HOLLYWOOD PARADOX

And that’s why this entire saga fascinates me.

Hollywood spent years worrying that technology companies were going to take over entertainment.

Netflix.

Amazon.

Apple.

Silicon Valley.

Algorithms.

Streaming.

Then one of Hollywood’s answers was apparently:

BECOME EVEN BIGGER THAN HOLLYWOOD.

Scale versus scale.

Franchise versus franchise.

Library versus library.

Platform versus platform.

The theory makes sense.

That’s what worries me.

Because the most interesting disasters in Crash of the Titans weren’t usually obviously stupid ideas.

They were reasonable ideas taken to unreasonable extremes.

Battleship wasn’t insane because somebody wanted an action movie.

It became insane when a familiar board-game title somehow justified building a gigantic effects-driven franchise hopeful around alien naval warfare.

Scale becomes its own argument.

The budget becomes proof of confidence.

The investment becomes evidence that the investment must have been smart.

Until opening weekend.


MAYBE SKYDANCE WORKS

And here’s where I disappoint anyone hoping I’ll simply predict disaster.

I can’t.

Because there is also a compelling argument for this combination.

Ellison has money, ambition and an obvious desire to modernize an old studio system.

Kreiz demonstrated at Mattel that old intellectual property can become culturally relevant again.

Warner Bros. possesses an extraordinary library.

Paramount possesses an extraordinary library.

The combined company gains tremendous scale.

California has created stronger incentives for production.

The settlement creates enforceable theatrical-production commitments.

There are legitimate reasons the strategy could succeed.

Which is precisely why it belongs in the Unknown Critic universe.

The fascinating question isn’t:

“Is this stupid?”

It isn’t.

The fascinating question is:

“What happens when an enormous, rational corporate strategy collides with an entertainment business that has become almost impossible to predict?”

That’s the movie I want to watch.


BECAUSE HOLLYWOOD STILL HAS ONE PROBLEM NOBODY CAN MERGE AWAY

You can merge studios.

You can consolidate streaming services.

You can combine technology platforms.

You can cut overhead.

You can acquire libraries.

You can own Superman, Tom Cruise, Bugs Bunny, SpongeBob, Harry Potter and Tony Soprano.

You can build the greatest entertainment arsenal assembled since someone discovered that Walt Disney owned both Darth Vader and Kermit the Frog.

But eventually…

Somebody still has to make something people want to watch.

That’s it.

That’s the whole business.

The audience does not care about your debt structure.

The audience doesn’t know what EBITDA means.

The audience has never once left a theater saying:

“The third act dragged, but I really admired their operational efficiencies.”

Stories win.

Characters win.

Movies win.

Everything else is accounting.


CRASH OF THE TITANS…PART TWO?

That’s why I’ll be watching Skydance very closely.

Not because I’m rooting for it to fail.

Quite the opposite.

Hollywood desperately needs successful movies.

California needs production.

Movie theaters need films people actually leave the house to see.

Workers need jobs.

And audiences could certainly use fewer corporate strategies masquerading as entertainment.

But history teaches us something.

Titanic companies rarely realize they’re standing near an iceberg.

That’s why they’re titans.

So perhaps the sequel to my previous column isn’t:

HOW TO LOSE AN INDUSTRY IN 10 DAYS.

Maybe it’s:

HOW TO BUILD THE BIGGEST STUDIO IN HOLLYWOOD AND HOPE NOBODY DROPS IT.

Because Paramount isn’t leaving California.

Warner Bros. isn’t leaving Burbank.

The lawsuit is settling.

The merger is moving forward.

Skydance is arriving.

And somewhere in Hollywood right now, I guarantee you…

There is a PowerPoint presentation.

There are arrows.

There is the word:

SYNERGY.

And someone has just said:

“What could possibly go wrong?”

I’ve written an entire book about that sentence.

It’s called Crash of the Titans.

— The Unknown Critic