B Movies That Are Actually Awesome

The qualities that define what a B movie is can be difficult to pin down, and no two people will agree 100% on what does or doesn't constitute a true B movie. The most common consensus is that the movie needs to either be low budget or at least have a scrappy feel, there must be a certain amount of cheesiness to it, and the whole thing should feel like it was a labor of love on behalf of everyone involved. 

Those are the main criteria we used for all of the movies in this feature. Most of them are, in fact, very low budget — some weren't even distributed by a major studio. They all have a certain scrappiness. And they all have their fair share of cheese. But one thing that wasn't on the table here were actual bad movies. A lot of B movie fans celebrate films that are so bad they're good, movies that are unintentionally funny, and so on. While there is a definite charm to that, what we wanted to spotlight here are movies that really did try to be great and actually achieved that goal. 

These movies aren't awesomely bad. They also aren't critically hated movies that are actually awesome. They are B movies that audiences and critics alike tend to agree are genuinely awesome, period — even if critics needed some time to come around on some of them.

"The Rocky Horror Picture Show" isn't just a B movie. It's the B movie. A modest film based on a modest stage musical that didn't make a huge splash upon its initial release, it very quickly achieved the kind of cult status that most other films can only dream of. One particular theater in Portland has had uninterrupted weekly showings of the movie since 1978, even continuing the tradition through the COVID-19 pandemic, when most theaters nationwide were ordered to close. 

Sure, the iconic midnight showings of "Rocky Horror" are pure camp fun, with fans acting out the movie in costume, throwing props on cue, and talking back to the screen. Because the movie's legacy is so intertwined with its audience's participation, it's easy to lose sight of the fact that "Rocky Horror" truly is a good movie. It's got incredible songs, fully committed performances by huge talents like Tim Curry and Susan Sarandon, and a story that goes in genuinely interesting and unexpected directions. 

The story of a young couple (Sarandon and Barry Bostwick) who find themselves at the castle of not-so-sweet alien transvestite Dr. Frank-N-Furter (Curry) after their car breaks down — and are quickly taken in by both him and his merry band of dancing misfits — could have easily just felt like cheap glue to hold things together until the next musical number. But it never stops being entertaining, and remains a wonderful love letter to all of the sci-fi and horror B movies that came before it. 

Long before the "Fallout" video game series was influencing or inspiring TV shows and movies — including its own Prime Video adaptation and even "The Dark Knight Rises" — it had influences of its own. One in particular was a little-known sci-fi movie called "A Boy and His Dog." Jess Heinig, one of the designers of the original "Fallout" game, told The Escapist in 2009, "'A Boy and His Dog' inspired 'Fallout' on many levels, from underground communities of survivors to glowing mutants." 

As many devoted "Fallout" players know, dog companions have long played pivotal roles in the games, which is also a clear nod to the cult classic 1975 film. Starring Don Johnson as Vic, "A Boy and His Dog" takes place in a then-far off 2024, when nuclear war has turned the world into a wasteland. Vic has a dog that he can communicate with telepathically, and the pair wander the land initially looking for a woman to satisfy Vic's carnal desires. But those desires eventually get the duo ensnared by an underground society that has more sinister aims than they let on. 

The dark comedy elements of "A Boy and His Dog" aren't for everyone, particularly in the way the movie makes light of Vic's mission to have sex without any particular need for consent. But if you can look past that — and it helps that it's those same selfish urges that get him and his dog in trouble — then you'll find a scrappy and pioneering sci-fi/comedy classic in "A Boy and His Dog." 

If the name Thom Everhardt sounds familiar to you, it's more likely that you know the filmmaker for his family-friendly '90s comedies like "Captain Ron," "All I Want For Christmas," and "Honey, I Blew Up the Kid." But he actually began his career making subversive B horror movies with a sci-fi twist, most notably the cult classic 1984 film "Night of the Comet." Built heavily around poking fun at valley/mall girl culture of the first half of the decade, "Night of the Comet" sees the world threatened with the same intergalactic event that is said to have caused the extinction of the dinosaurs — Earth passing through the tail of a comet. 

Of course, rather than simply wiping humanity off the face of the earth as it did the dinosaurs, the comet's radioactive dust instead turns those exposed to it into zombies. Among the survivors are valley girls Reggie (Catherine Mary Stewart) and Sam (Kelli Maroney), who largely treat what seems to be the apocalypse with disaffected bemusement. When you learn that they were among Joss Whedon's inspirations for creating the character of Buffy Summers, it makes perfect sense. 

One of the things that both sets "Night of the Comet" apart and elevates it above many of its '80s B movie contemporaries is the way it doesn't treat its premise, or the stakes therein, too seriously. In keeping with the Gen X teenager perspective that the movie is largely viewed through, the end of the world is met with a resounding shrug and a gum-smacking "whatever."

Though its place on the list of Sam Raimi movies ranked worst to best is typically reduced, largely because what its star called its "requel" improved upon it in almost every way, 1981's "The Evil Dead" is still considered plenty iconic on its own terms. And more to the point, it has much more of that B movie spirit than the more polished, higher-budgeted "Evil Dead II." It helps that it was the feature film debut of one of the genre's biggest stars in Bruce Campbell, who would go on to do the impossible by becoming a household name and starring in many major mainstream productions while somehow never losing his cred as a B movie icon.

While the type of schlocky horror that "The Evil Dead" revels in is typically underappreciated by critics of the day, this is the rare B horror movie that got strong reviews right from the start. For example, in his contemporary review, Kevin Thomas of the Los Angeles Times (via newspapers.com) proclaimed the movie "an instant classic." The movie's legend has only grown over time, rediscovered by each new generation of horror fans doing their due diligence of the genre's history. Those fans immediately understand how magical it was that first-time feature filmmaker Sam Raimi and his ragtag cast and crew were able to create what they did with almost no money and completely outside of any Hollywood conventions — a model B movie for the ages.

One of the most prolific B movies genres, particularly in the 1970s and early '80s, was the martial arts movie. Shaw Brothers Studio was the zenith of that particular niche; there's a reason why Quentin Tarantino put the studio's logo at the front of "Kill Bill," after all. Its output is definitely an automatic inclusion in any discussion of the best king fu movies of all time. Anytime you've seen a martial arts movie that has exaggerated kick/punch sound effects, plenty of screaming, a lot of quick zoom-ins, and loads of overacting, you were likely either watching a Shaw Brothers film or at least one that was directly inspired by it.

There are several Shaw Brothers movies that fit the criteria of this list, with "The One-Armed Swordsman," "Five Deadly Venoms," "King Boxer," and "The 36th Chamber of Shaolin" all worthy of mention. But 1982's "Five Elements Ninjas" just feels like the best representation for not only what Shaw Brothers did best, but for B martial arts movies as a whole.

There is a legitimate plot here about rival masters in ancient China going head to head and their respective students going at one another in kind, but none of that is really the point. The filmmakers know what you're there for — brutal, over the top action; overwrought melodrama; ridiculous costumes; and wonderfully schlocky sound effects — and they serve it up on a platter as shiny and golden as the outfits worn by the title warriors.

To most of the mainstream filmgoing audience, some guy named Peter Jackson seemed to come out of nowhere and grab the reigns of the massive undertaking that was the live-action "The Lord of the Rings" film trilogy. He did make 1994's "Heavenly Creatures" and 1996's "The Frighteners," but neither got the kind of attention or box office tally needed for a rising director to make a name for himself. If anything, most of the eyes that those movies have had on them weren't until years later, after the success of "The Lord of the Rings" caused people to see if Jackson had a back catalog at all.

Fans of B movies, however, were already fans of Jackson. Not so much because of his bizarre black comedy musical with puppets, "Meet the Feebles," but for his zombie gorefest "Braindead" — released in North America as "Dead Alive" — from 1992. It follows an overbearing mother who is turned into a zombie by an infected monkey, with her adult son initially choosing to keep her locked up and sedated rather than finishing her off.

Naturally, this decision ends up being bad news for everyone, and the ensuing rampage involves some of the most delightfully disgusting imagery ever seen in a theatrically-released film. Honestly, it even rivals masters of gore like Lucio Fulci and George A. Romero. But unlike a lot of other B horror movies that push the envelope this hard, "Dead Alive" still manages to be an engaging, funny, and legitimately solid movie as well — not to mention impeccably well-made.

Filmmaker Russ Meyer was mostly known for sexploitation films, and rarely even attempted to rise above the sleaziness of that genre. Upon its initial release, 1965's "Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!" was dismissed as exactly that. Few critics even bothered to review it at all, lumping it in with the softcore "skin flicks" of the day — and those that did, had nothing nice to say about it. All they saw was a movie featuring three buxom women who frequently took off the little bit of clothing they had on for the titillation of what was presumed to be an entirely male audience who was only there for the topless babes and little else.

However, as time went on, "Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!" began to get reappraised, with some even saying that the movie actually champions feminism. The three main characters — Varla (Tura Satana), Rosie (Haji), and Billie (Lori Williams) — dance at bars during the day and take to the desert for vehicular adventures at night, taking full advantage of the effect they have on men but in ways that never compromise their own goals or agency. 

It's now come all the way around to a respectable 75% on Rotten Tomatoes, with the critical consensus declaring that "director Russ Meyer's infectious affection for camp gives this anarchic joyride exhilarating flair." It might not be as well-known as his "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls," one of the biggest NC-17 movies of all time at the box office, but "Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!" is arguably the better representation of Meyer's cinematic vision. 

It sounds like the plot of a video game — a gang known as the Warriors have to take on one rival gang after another, each with an over-the-top gimmick and outlandish costumes to match, culminating in an ultimate showdown at the film's climax. But when "The Warriors" was released in 1979, there weren't any video games like that around to copy. Instead, it was "The Warriors" that went on to inspire pretty much every beat-em-up and fighting game that came out in the 1980s and beyond. 

Director and co-writer Walter Hill would later find greater mainstream success with movies like "48 Hrs." and "Red Heat," but "The Warriors" is clearly him in his element — gritty, stylized B action movies. Given the size of the cast, the fact that said cast was divided into over 20 different gangs, and the impressive cinematography that expertly captured late-'70s New York City grime, it's shocking to learn that "The Warriors" was made for under $5 million. 

Sure, there is a definite scrappiness to the proceedings, and most of the outfits look fittingly homemade, but the sheer scope of the adventure seems to suggest a movie that cost at least three times what "The Warriors" did. And if it were ever remade, the first thing a studio would do is throw tens of millions of dollars at it — and it wouldn't come anywhere close to the spirit of the excellent original as a result. 

Few inherently B movie genres have ever made the cultural impact that Blaxploitation films did. The genre got so big, in fact, that the James Bond movie released just as that scene was taking off — 1973's "Live and Let Die" — even shamelessly took a stab at being a pseudo-Blaxploitation film (well, as Blaxploitation as a movie starring a fortysomething white dude in a tuxedo could possibly be, anyway). And while the genre made stars of several of its male leads, the women who fronted their own Blaxploitation films often struggled to achieve that same level of notoriety — except, that is, for Pam Grier.

Grier's most well-known Blaxploitation movie is likely 1974's "Foxy Brown," a legacy that was further cemented when Quentin Tarantino made the similarly-named "Jackie Brown" 23 years later with Grier again in the title role. But it's easy to make the case that Grier's best movie of that era was "Coffy," a film that can also arguably count itself among the last pure Blaxploitation B movies before major studios began to get involved and the genre stepped up its mainstream game. Grier plays Flower Child "Coffy" Coffin, a nurse who moonlights as a prostitute so she can find the people who killed her sister.

Revenge was a common trope of the Blaxploitation genre, but "Coffy" got in before that trope had overstayed its welcome — and before it was made slightly less impressive by a succession of large, gruff, burly men doing the revenging.

John Carpenter has spent most of his career living in that perfect space between B movies and major studio productions, having just enough of the support of the latter to get his visions put on screen but still retaining the scrappy, labor-of-love spirit and creative control of the former. Along the way, he also created some of the most iconic anti-heroes in movie history — with perhaps the best and most influential being Snake Plissken (Kurt Russell), protagonist of "Escape from New York."

Snake is a convicted criminal who's about to be jailed at a state-of-the-art prison colony which encompasses the entire borough of Manhattan. He's given the chance to reduce his sentence if he rescues the president (Donald Pleasance), who's taken hostage by other inmates after Air Force One crashes inside the city walls. What follows is a series of inventive action set pieces held together by the unique glue of Carpenter's signature offbeat humor and overall quirkiness, with Russell understanding how to play a Carpenter action hero better than anyone else ever has.

It's the rare Carpenter movie to get a direct follow-up made by the director himself, but 1996's "Escape from L.A." is better left untouched on a dusty shelf next to other sci-fi movie sequels you had no idea existed. If you want further adventures with Snake, you're better off playing one of the acclaimed "Metal Gear Solid" video games, whose main protagonist — Solid Snake — doesn't even hide that he's directly inspired by Snake Plissken.