Film critics get asked what movie they hate the most almost as much as what movie they love the most. Such superlatives are more about defining your tastes than objectively separating the bad from the abysmal. The Life of David Gale has served as my go to answer for that question for the last few years, so revisiting it had its own trepidation. It couldn't possibly be that bad, could it? And if it wasn't, would I have to find a new whipping boy?