Looper Staff Predicts: The Biggest Disappointment Of 2023 Will Be...

Let's set the scene. This huge movie you've been waiting to watch for ages is just about to come out. You went on Fandango and you picked your seats — smack in the middle, obviously, because you are not going to be using the bathroom during this experience — and you arrive at the theater, starry-eyed and optimistic. You get your jumbo popcorn and smother it in salt and butter, because eating healthy is overrated. You fill up your large Coke, bathroom needs be damned. You take your seat, you watch Nicole Kidman tell you that "heartbreak feels good in a place like this," and when the movie starts, you realize ... Nicole Kidman is a liar.

The movie was terrible. It broke your heart. It did not feel good, despite the physical place you are in (an AMC, if you were lucky enough to observe award winner Nicole Kidman attend the movies in a very sparkly suit). You left dejected, disappointed, and demoralized. This is just an example, though; take Nicole Kidman out of the equation and imagine spending eight hours on a series that turns out to be a dud. Don't let this happen to you, my friend. Looper's experts have used their clairvoyant powers to come up with picks for the movies and TV shows to avoid in 2023.

Charlie Day, my good sir, my "Nightman Cometh"-penning king: Who blackmailed you into doing this movie? (Just kidding; I get it. It's money. It's like, a truckload of Nintendo money. A potential boatload. Maybe even a yacht. I'm told you can buy things with money. If it keeps "Always Sunny" afloat longer, it's fine.)

I don't know that the new "Super Mario Bros." film will truly disappoint anyone, because I honestly can't imagine that anyone is excited about it in the first place. In an age where original movies are frequently passed over for soulless cash grabs based on existing intellectual property, we're all pretty cynical. (At least, I am. I'll speak for myself here.) That said, this cast — aside from Chris Pratt, who has worked overtime to become the worst of the Chrises — deserves better. Anya Taylor-Joy, what are you doing? Keegan-Michael Key, I know your best bud won an Oscar, but you don't have to be here. Jack Black and Seth Rogen, I like you both, and you shouldn't do this. Fred Armisen ... this makes sense. Honestly, you belong here. Go off, weirdo.

Again: this movie might not disappoint anyone outright; I'm just disappointed that it exists. Remember "The Emoji Movie," you guys? The movie that made Jordan Peele quit acting and maybe indirectly led to Keegan-Michael Key doing this one?! This feels like the second coming of an "Emoji Movie," in that nobody expects it to be any good but it cost a studio a fortune regardless. (At least Sir Patrick Stewart isn't playing a piece of poop this time.)

Anyway, we already HAVE a "Super Mario Bros." movie, and there are at least six people at Looper HQ ready to defend that one at literally any second. Go watch that one instead.

I've watched micro-budget horror movies long enough to know a turkey when I see one, and "Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey" is already off to a bad start. While the concept of turning a beloved children's character into a bloodthirsty homicidal maniac is admittedly brilliant, history has shown that these types of gimmick movies rarely succeed. Yes, I'm looking at you "Pinocchio's Revenge" and "The Curse of Humpty Dumpty."

While I'll go into "Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey" with an open mind, it's already clear that the movie is one big missed opportunity. For a start, Winnie and Piglet look like dudes in cheap masks, as opposed to the anthropomorphic animals from the Hundred Acre Wood. What makes this movie different from any horror movie about masked killers? I understand that this is a low-budget affair and authentic costumes cost money, but the film doesn't seem interested in making us suspend our disbelief at all. Why not use puppets for the homicidal non-human characters instead?

In an ideal world, "Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey" would be an animated movie in the style of the "Woodland Christmas Critters" episode of "South Park." This caper depicts adorable talking animals as flesh-eating miscreants who want to usher in a new age of the Antichrist. It taps the innocence of childhood before unleashing a twisted tale of terror that's both disturbing and hilarious. Sadly, "Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey" looks neither funny nor disturbing, but maybe it'll deliver some decent gore and carnage.

Someday, a filmmaker will come along and make a true "Winnie the Pooh" horror movie. Until then, we'll just have to settle for 2018's "Christopher Robin."

Apparently, the "Scream VI" team never learned — as the rest of us did in "Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan" (or, a ferry to it) — that no setting, not even the Big Apple itself, can perform narrative necromancy.

"Scream" (2022) gave us a lot of things: a little closure, some up-and-coming talent, a few solid one-liners and practical effects. But there's a lot it didn't give us, too. Like: a horror movie, a reason to watch past Act I, or fresh commentary. Where its abundant acclaim speaks to what it actually does — that is, immunize itself by lumping legitimate critique in with toxic fandom rants, mock or eye-roll the things it knows it can't do well, and ironically reject the very nostalgia on which it relies — it's at least somewhat warranted. After all, convincing so many people that a lengthy Twitter thread is, in fact, a movie, is a pretty cool magic trick. But you know what they say: Fool us once, franchise...

I see you, "Scream" (2022). In middle school, I too was a big fan of the 'ol "OH HEY WHAT'S UP I'M WEARING THIS 'XENA' SHIRT AS A JOKE, ACTUALLY? SO LIKE?? SORRY YOU DON'T GET IT?" The best defense, as any tween worth her rock collection will tell you, is a good, pro-active, distroffense (or offtraction; take your portmanteau pick). And that's exactly what "Scream" (2022) is — an hour and fifty-four minutes of beating criticism to the punch, all in the distracting guise of "saying something."

Unfortunately, it's a technique with diminishing returns. There's just no way Regina George is going to believe your entire wardrobe is a clever commentary. Eventually, she might even suspect that none of it is. The original "Scream's" sequels failed because "Scream" already did the thing, by being the first one to do it. The idea that a sixth installment might somehow succeed where all (all) others have failed is as naïve as going to the basement fridge alone, while a masked killer is on the loose. I promise you, that same-great-taste-less-filling-beer will not be worth it.

If you asked me what video games would be impossible to adapt into satisfying television shows, my second answer would be Quantic Dream's sci-fi sociopolitical drama "Detroit: Become Human." It may strike some as an odd answer — after all, it has an emotional, character driven narrative, a world lush with possibility and hidden lore, and would lend itself quite seamlessly to Hollywood's best actors and directors. Still, the most vital aspect of the game would remain untranslatable: participation. How do you adapt such a player-driven narrative by taking away their agency? How do you improve a work of art by forcing its audience to be more passive consumers?

My first answer to this prompt would be "The Last of Us."

Don't mistake my apprehension for pessimism — to call the trailers for the upcoming HBO adaptation "faithful" would be a disservice to how well these brief sizzle reels so effectively evoke the atmosphere and aesthetic drama of the original game. My worry is not that Craig Mazin will fall short in his attempts to depict the story ("Chernobyl" was nothing short of a bleak masterpiece), but that just depicting it will feel empty to former players.

It will be truly fascinating to see how Mazin and co-writer/creator Neil Druckmann (the visionary behind the source material) face this problem. It seems impossible that Druckmann, at least, could be unaware of how important participation is to this story, having so brilliantly engineered it into the fabric of his game. In fact, the magic of "The Last of Us" ultimately winds up being the attachment players feel to choices they don't really make. In an interview with screenplay analyst Michael Tucker, Druckmann describes quite viscerally how the player learns the basic mechanics of gunplay by being prompted to euthanize an innocent man. In the tutorial, players have already agreed to something impossible. With each complicit sacrifice, it becomes hard to distinguish between the character's selfish desires and your own. Without feeling responsible for Joel's best decisions — and culpable for his worst — capturing that magic will be incredibly difficult. (Runner up? "Cocaine Bear.")