I Spit on Your Grave

A writer rents a cottage upstate, is assaulted by four local men across a thirty-minute sequence filmed without any distancing technique at all, and then kills them one at a time.

Roger Ebert called it a vile bag of garbage and the worst film he had ever seen. Carol Clover, writing in Men, Women and Chain Saws in 1992, pointed out that the camera in the second half is aligned with Jennifer without exception, that she gets no rescuer and no romantic subplot, and that the grindhouse audiences Ebert was describing were reacting rather differently from how he assumed.

Neither reading has won and serious people hold both. What is not disputed is that the first half is thirty minutes long and extremely difficult to sit through, and that the film has no score, which makes it worse.