And so contented that I had found the worst possible translation of anything, I downloaded the file and settled back with a fine bottle of whiskey and a vintage bag of paint to enjoy two glorious hours of watching Asians beat the shit out of each other for reasons that I have never, nor will ever, comprehend.
The Raid starts with our hero, Rama, praying fervently. The entire opening sequence is poignant, reserved, solemn and dramatic. And it was really starting to harsh my paintbuzz. And then the first line of dialogue popped up ...
... and I knew that the rest of this movie's runtime would be spent chronicling the confused and brutal rampage of the world's deadliest stroke victim.
Sometimes -- very rarely, mind you -- one will come across a subtitle file so bad that the "translator" quite obviously ran the script through BabelFish and just pasted the gibberish it spat out. Somewhat counterintuitively, it's actually pretty hard to find somebody who tries that little in this modern era of enthusiastic amateurs. But after Rama and a mysterious elderly gentleman exchange severe looks fraught with meaning, and then punctuate them with a grim:
... it became obvious that this translation was the abysmal failure of both man and machine alike. This movie was a cyborg of ineptitude, a biotech monstrosity of retardation. But like Frankenstein's monster, you can't help but love the poor, misshapen bastard -- not in spite of, but because of his horrible deformities.