It should already speak volumes that the IMDb rating for this title is nearly as low as can be mathematically possible (1.1, as of May 2019), considering that users on this site cannot rate anything below a single star, and several other reviewers have already said plenty about how much of an understatement the description "dreadfully terrible" can be.
What really unnerves me, though, is the production title card from some (alleged) studio calling itself the "Actors' Theatre Production Company." Setting aside all of this movie's other numerous faults, failures, crimes, and shortcomings, that production title card (which is the first thing that anybody who'd dare to ever watch this movie would set their eyes upon) gives the impression that this is a vehicle for regional, aspiring ACTORS.
"Sure," I think to myself, "I'm not exactly going to be seeing Sir Lawrence Olivier or Meryl Streep in this thing, but at least the performers on screen would be giving a try, if only for their own sake." I mean, would I be crazy to assume that the good people with the "Actors' Theatre Production Company" would have any regard for ACTING?
Well, surprise! Unless the "Actor's Theatre Production Company" actually happens to be a non-profit whose mission statement is to provide acting gigs for asocial individuals with mental deficiencies and no previous theatre experience, this company couldn't even competently put on a community production of Thornton Wilder's "Our Town."
The acting alone defies comparison to any other "legendarily bad" movie anyone can name. Never before have I seen two people (Johnny James Gatyas and Amy Henry) on screen look less convincing as human beings and lack as much personal chemistry. At least the likes of Tommy Wiseau or even Neil Breen can make an honest attempt at conveying an authentic emotion or make an on-screen "connection" with their cast mates. Here, however, that is a luxury which this film's $3,500 budget cannot afford.
The principal cast of ''The Time Machine (I Found at a Yardsale)'' cannot possibly be comprised of people who have any interest trying to act (for stage or screen), and they cannot even be bothered to hide that fact. About the only person in this entire movie who appears to be an authentic performer is a belly dancer (A belly dancer!), and even she's not worth looking at.
Treat this movie as toxic waste and keep far away before you start growing tumors on your thyroid.
What really unnerves me, though, is the production title card from some (alleged) studio calling itself the "Actors' Theatre Production Company." Setting aside all of this movie's other numerous faults, failures, crimes, and shortcomings, that production title card (which is the first thing that anybody who'd dare to ever watch this movie would set their eyes upon) gives the impression that this is a vehicle for regional, aspiring ACTORS.
"Sure," I think to myself, "I'm not exactly going to be seeing Sir Lawrence Olivier or Meryl Streep in this thing, but at least the performers on screen would be giving a try, if only for their own sake." I mean, would I be crazy to assume that the good people with the "Actors' Theatre Production Company" would have any regard for ACTING?
Well, surprise! Unless the "Actor's Theatre Production Company" actually happens to be a non-profit whose mission statement is to provide acting gigs for asocial individuals with mental deficiencies and no previous theatre experience, this company couldn't even competently put on a community production of Thornton Wilder's "Our Town."
The acting alone defies comparison to any other "legendarily bad" movie anyone can name. Never before have I seen two people (Johnny James Gatyas and Amy Henry) on screen look less convincing as human beings and lack as much personal chemistry. At least the likes of Tommy Wiseau or even Neil Breen can make an honest attempt at conveying an authentic emotion or make an on-screen "connection" with their cast mates. Here, however, that is a luxury which this film's $3,500 budget cannot afford.
The principal cast of ''The Time Machine (I Found at a Yardsale)'' cannot possibly be comprised of people who have any interest trying to act (for stage or screen), and they cannot even be bothered to hide that fact. About the only person in this entire movie who appears to be an authentic performer is a belly dancer (A belly dancer!), and even she's not worth looking at.
Treat this movie as toxic waste and keep far away before you start growing tumors on your thyroid.