Only 3 Steven Spielberg Movies Are Kind of Bad

2 weeks ago 18

Published May 11, 2026, 9:12 PM EDT

Jeremy has more than 2500 published articles on Collider to his name, and has been writing for the site since February 2022. He's an omnivore when it comes to his movie-watching diet, so will gladly watch and write about almost anything, from old Godzilla films to gangster flicks to samurai movies to classic musicals to the French New Wave to the MCU... well, maybe not the Disney+ shows.
His favorite directors include Martin Scorsese, Sergio Leone, Akira Kurosawa, Quentin Tarantino, Werner Herzog, John Woo, Bob Fosse, Fritz Lang, Guillermo del Toro, and Yoji Yamada. He's also very proud of the fact that he's seen every single Nicolas Cage movie released before 2022, even though doing so often felt like a tremendous waste of time. He's plagued by the question of whether or not The Room is genuinely terrible or some kind of accidental masterpiece, and has been for more than 12 years (and a similar number of viewings).
When he's not writing lists - and the occasional feature article - for Collider, he also likes to upload film reviews to his Letterboxd profile (username: Jeremy Urquhart) and Instagram account.
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Steven Spielberg is about as legendary as filmmakers get, and that’s something that should be emphasized right away, before things get a little negative. He’s made a few dozen movies, as a director, across a career that’s lasted more than half a century, and he remains active, as of 2026, with the (currently) upcoming Disclosure Day being one of many blockbuster-scale movies he’s made. It would be great if that movie were great, of course, but it almost doesn’t matter, in the overall scheme of things, because Spielberg’s always going to be a legend because of what he’s already done. Some of the most beloved, enduring, and popular American movies of all time were directed by him (see Jaws, Raiders of the Lost Ark, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, and Jurassic Park, for starters), and he’s also taken on a few films of a more serious nature that are remarkable, and not necessarily the kind of blockbuster fare that he’s most celebrated for, like Schindler’s List, Saving Private Ryan, and Munich.

Again, there’s a lot by way of positive things that can be said about Steven Spielberg, and his misfires aren’t too common, when you consider how many movies he’s made and how long he’s been active for. The ones that aren’t great have to be emphasized here as “kind of bad,” rather than “really bad” or “terrible.” Spielberg’s worst movies are just a bit clunky, and maybe disappointing, but it would be a stretch to suggest those misfires are outright failures, or devoid of anything somewhat redeeming. The ones below just come the closest to being bad, and some of the picks might feel controversial. Similarly controversial is the admission that of the three movies here, the following are not among them: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Always, and 1941, all of them flawed, but not really close enough to be considered bad by this particular writer. The following movies (again, in this writer’s opinion) are worse than those ones, but not by much. Consider those more expected/usual suspects as having received dishonorable mentions, if you want.

3 'War Horse' (2011)

No false advertising here, at least, because War Horse is a war movie and there is also a horse in it. The movie begins as something about that horse and his owner, but then the horse is sold to the Cavalry while World War I is beginning, and so the pair are separated. And the horse gets involved in a whole bunch of battles or, more accurately, is used by various people throughout the conflict, and then the horse’s owner is all sad about it and wants the horse back. It’s in this weird zone, as a movie, because there are ingredients here that might suggest a slam-dunk, but then there’s also a kind of strange premise and some other glaring issues that really don’t suggest anything slam-dunk-y in nature. Like, War Horse is blown up to almost two and a half hours in length, for some reason, and there really isn't a lot of story here… plus, the film is quite episodic in nature, so the stop-and-start feeling of it all, when paired with the epic-length runtime, makes it all feel like quite a slog to actually get through.

When compared to the other war movies Steven Spielberg has directed, War Horse falls pretty short. It’s maybe a little interesting for its supporting cast, because the way the film’s structured, it does lead to a good many characters showing up and dropping out along the way, and a few of those actors were either about to blow up – or were sort of blowing up – in the very early 2010s (namely, Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch, both of whom have supporting roles here). But there are those reasons why War Horse has been kind of forgotten, and it doesn’t boast one standout element that other debatably middling Spielberg films from this period have. Like, one year on from War Horse, Spielberg directed Lincoln, and that movie’s not perfect, and it also has that War Horse problem of being too long, but it does boast an incredible Daniel Day-Lewis performance at its center. War Horse is all a bit too forgettable, though, if one’s being generous, and maybe actually kind of bad, if one’s not being so generous. It’s a little bad, sadly.

2 'The BFG' (2016)

Mark Rylance carrying Ruby Barnhill in 'The BFG'

The BFG sees Steven Spielberg trying to do E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial again, but this time within the bounds of the fantasy genre, rather than the sci-fi one. And that might sound like a bit of a bold or even stupid claim, but The BFG does take that kind of approach to the source material, which was published the same year as E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial came out. Okay, that’s probably just a coincidence. But The BFG (2016) was adapted by Melissa Mathison, and her best-known credit was for writing E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, so with those two essentially re-teaming for The BFG… you can start to see it. Maybe it doesn’t seem like as big of a stretch to say now. Anyway, The BFG does fail in most of the areas where E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial succeeds, and it’s weird to see a family movie mishandled in this way when it’s got a somewhat comparable premise to that 1982 classic (child becomes friends with an unlikely/otherworldly companion) and had some of the same people involved in making it.

There are technically worse family movies out there, and you can recognize that an attempt was made, on a technical front, with The BFG, even if so much of the ambition feels misguided.

There’s just a horror to a lot of The BFG that does not feel intentional. The title character looks so awful throughout, and whatever worked with the computer animated characters in The Adventures of Tintin (2011) was not maintained here, with The BFG. Also, Mark Rylance is not very good, especially compared to the performance he gave in the previous year’s Bridge of Spies (Spielberg’s preceding movie), but he’s also got lesser material to work with here, so maybe not even Daniel Day-Lewis (if Spielberg had kept him around post-Lincoln) would've been able to do much here. There are technically worse family movies out there, and you can recognize that an attempt was made, on a technical front, with The BFG, even if so much of the ambition feels misguided, and that screenplay being so sloppy in the first place makes it harder to see much else here as worthy of being considered a silver lining or whatever. There’s just not much here, and it’s hard to imagine either young or older viewers getting anything substantial out of this one.

1 'The Terminal' (2004)

There was something of a dream team assembled for The Terminal, or at least it might look that way on paper. Steven Spielberg collaborating with Tom Hanks is usually a good thing, and they'd been on a solid streak in the years preceding The Terminal, thanks to Saving Private Ryan (1998) and Catch Me If You Can (2002). John Williams did the score, and maybe that’s not too surprising, but it’s still worth noting, because Spielberg and Williams are one hell of a duo. Michael Kahn was the editor, and he’s either edited or co-edited far more Spielberg feature films than he hasn’t… like, he’s technically collaborated with Spielberg on more movies than Williams has, only just. And then Janusz Kamiński was the cinematographer for The Terminal, and he’s fulfilled that role for about 20 Spielberg movies all up. Sure, those collaborations include the aforementioned War Horse and The BFG, but Kamiński’s contributions to Schindler’s List, Saving Private Ryan, A.I. Artificial Intelligence, and West Side Story are harder to overlook/ignore.

Overlooking and ignoring is just what you should do for The Terminal, though. There were all these great people who came together to make another Spielberg movie, and it ended up, somehow, becoming pretty much the worst Spielberg movie. It’s the one film of his that really goes over the line in terms of being overly sentimental, and it really drags, with the initially intriguing premise (about a man effectively stranded inside the John F. Kennedy Airport terminal) soon giving way to awkward humor, sickly sweet emotional beats, and an overall sense of tedium that doesn’t really feel intentional. Like, The Terminal isn't trying to capture the boredom and tedium that would probably come from being stuck in this situation. It’s trying to be a crowd-pleaser, and it’s not very pleasing. There are so many other Spielberg movies that aim for entertainment value above anything else and really succeed. The Terminal has simply not aged very well, and feels like it should stay nice and forgotten about in the past. It tries too hard to make you feel good, and nothing feels very sincere or effortless about it, the way you likely feel about a great many actually moving and endearing Spielberg films.

Collider Exclusive · Oscar Best Picture Quiz Which Oscar Best Picture
Is Your Perfect Movie? Parasite · Everything Everywhere · Oppenheimer · Birdman · No Country

Five Oscar Best Picture winners. Five completely different visions of what cinema can be — and what it can do to you. One of them is the film that was made for the way your mind works. Ten questions will figure out which one.

🪜Parasite

🌀Everything Everywhere

☢️Oppenheimer

🐦Birdman

🪙No Country for Old Men

FIND YOUR FILM →

What kind of film experience do you actually want? The best movies don't just entertain — they leave something behind.

ASomething that pulls the rug out — that makes me think I'm watching one kind of film and then reveals I'm watching another entirely. BSomething overwhelming — funny, sad, absurd, and genuinely moving, all at once. CSomething grand and weighty — a film that makes me feel the full scale of what I'm watching. DSomething formally daring — a film that pushes what cinema can even do. ESomething lean and relentless — pure tension with no wasted frame.

NEXT QUESTION →

Which idea grabs you most in a film? Great films are driven by a central obsession. What's yours?

AClass, inequality, and what people are willing to do when desperation meets opportunity. BIdentity, family, and the chaos of trying to hold your life together when everything is falling apart. CGenius, moral responsibility, and the catastrophic weight of a decision you can never take back. DEgo, legacy, and the terror of becoming irrelevant while you're still alive to watch it happen. EEvil, chance, and whether moral order actually exists or if we just tell ourselves it does.

NEXT QUESTION →

How do you like your story told? Form is content. The way a story is shaped changes what it means.

AGenre-twisting — I want it to start in one lane and migrate into something completely different. BMaximalist and genre-blending — comedy, action, drama, sci-fi, all in one ride. CEpic and non-linear — cutting between timelines, building a mosaic of cause and consequence. DA single unbroken flow — I want to feel like I'm living it in real time, no cuts to safety. ESpare and precise — every scene doing exactly what it needs to do and nothing more.

NEXT QUESTION →

What makes a truly great antagonist? The opposition defines the protagonist. What kind of opposition fascinates you?

AA system — invisible, structural, and almost impossible to fight because it has no single face. BThe self — the ways we sabotage, abandon, and fail the people we love most. CHistory — the unstoppable momentum of events that no single person can stop or redirect. DThe industry — the machinery of culture that chews up talent and spits out irrelevance. EPure, implacable evil — a force so certain of itself it becomes almost philosophical.

NEXT QUESTION →

What do you want from a film's ending? The final note is the one that lingers. What do you want it to sound like?

AShock and inevitability — a conclusion that recontextualises everything that came before it. BEarned emotion — I want to cry, laugh, and feel genuinely hopeful, even if the world is a mess. CDevastation and grandeur — an ending that makes me sit in silence for a few minutes after. DAmbiguity — something that leaves enough open that I'm still thinking about it days later. EBleakness — an honest refusal to pretend the world is tidier than it actually is.

NEXT QUESTION →

Which setting pulls you in most? Where a film takes place shapes everything — mood, stakes, what's even possible.

AA gleaming modern city with a hidden underside — beauty masking rot, wealth masking desperation. BA collapsing suburban life that opens onto something infinite — the multiverse of a single ordinary person. CThe corridors of power and science at a world-historical turning point — where decisions echo for decades. DThe grimy, alive chaos of New York and Hollywood — fame as both destination and trap. EVast, indifferent landscape — desert and highway where violence arrives without warning or reason.

NEXT QUESTION →

What cinematic craft impresses you most? Every great film has a signature — a technical or artistic element that makes it unmistakable.

AProduction design and mise-en-scène — every frame composed to carry meaning beneath the surface. BEditing and tonal control — the ability to move between registers without losing the audience. CScore and sound design — music that becomes inseparable from the dread and awe of what you're watching. DCinematography as performance — the camera not recording events but participating in them. ESilence and restraint — what's left unsaid and unshown doing more work than any dialogue could.

NEXT QUESTION →

What kind of main character do you root for? The protagonist is the lens. Who you choose to follow says something about you.

ASomeone smart and resourceful who makes increasingly dangerous decisions under pressure. BSomeone overwhelmed and ordinary who turns out to be capable of something extraordinary. CA brilliant, tortured figure whose gifts and flaws are inseparable from each other. DA self-destructive artist whose ego is both their superpower and their undoing. EA quiet, principled person trying to make sense of a world that has stopped making sense.

NEXT QUESTION →

How do you feel about a film that takes its time? Pace is a choice. Some films sprint; others let tension accumulate slowly, deliberately.

AI love a slow build when I know the payoff is going to be seismic — patience for a devastating reveal. BGive me relentless momentum — I want to feel breathless and emotionally spent by the end. CEpic runtime doesn't scare me — if the material demands three hours, give me three hours. DI want it to feel propulsive even when nothing is technically happening — restless energy throughout. EDeliberate and unhurried — I want dread to accumulate in the spaces between the action.

NEXT QUESTION →

What do you want to feel walking out of the cinema? The best films leave a mark. What kind of mark do you want?

AUnsettled — like I've just seen something I can't fully explain but can't stop thinking about. BMoved and energised — like the film reminded me what actually matters and gave me something to hold onto. CHumbled — like I've been in the presence of something genuinely important and overwhelming. DExhilarated — like I've just seen cinema doing something it's never quite done before. EHaunted — like a cold, quiet dread that stays with me for days.

REVEAL MY FILM →

The Academy Has Decided Your Perfect Film Is…

Your answers have pointed to one Oscar Best Picture winner above all others. This is the film that was made for the way your mind works.

Parasite

You are drawn to films that operate on multiple levels simultaneously — that begin in one genre and quietly, brilliantly migrate into another. Bong Joon-ho's Parasite is a film about class, desire, and the architecture of inequality that manages to be darkly funny, deeply suspenseful, and genuinely shocking across a single extraordinary running time. Your instinct is for cinema that hides its true intentions until the moment it's ready to reveal them. Parasite is exactly that — a film that rewards close attention and punishes assumptions, right up to its devastating final image.

Everything Everywhere All at Once

You want it all — and this film gives you all of it. The Daniels' Everything Everywhere All at Once is one of the most maximalist films ever made: action comedy, multiverse sci-fi, family drama, existential crisis, and a genuinely earned emotional core that sneaks up on you amid the chaos. You are someone who responds to ambition, who doesn't want cinema to choose between being entertaining and being meaningful. This film refuses that choice entirely. It is overwhelming by design, and its overwhelming nature is precisely the point — because the feeling of being crushed by infinite possibility is exactly what it's about.

Oppenheimer

You are drawn to cinema on a grand scale — films that understand history not as a backdrop but as a force, and that place their characters inside that force and watch what happens. Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer is a film about the terrifying gap between what we can do and what we should do, told with the full weight of one of the most consequential moments in human history behind it. You want your films to feel important without feeling self-important — to earn their ambition through sheer craft and the gravity of their subject. Oppenheimer does exactly that. It is enormous, complicated, and refuses easy comfort.

Birdman

You are drawn to films that foreground their own construction — that make the how of the filmmaking part of the what it's about. Alejandro González Iñárritu's Birdman, shot to appear as a single continuous take, is cinema examining itself through the cracked mirror of a fading actor's ego. You respond to formal daring, to the feeling that a film is doing something that probably shouldn't be possible. Michael Keaton's performance and Emmanuel Lubezki's restless camera create something genuinely unlike anything else — a film that is simultaneously about creativity, relevance, self-destruction, and the impossibility of ever truly knowing if your work means anything at all.

No Country for Old Men

You are drawn to cinema that trusts silence, that refuses to explain itself, and that treats dread as a form of meaning. The Coen Brothers' No Country for Old Men is a film about the arrival of a new kind of evil — implacable, arbitrary, and utterly indifferent to the moral frameworks we use to make sense of the world. It is one of the most formally controlled films ever made, and its controlled restraint is what makes it so terrifying. You want your films to haunt you, not comfort you. You are not interested in resolution if resolution would be dishonest. No Country for Old Men is honest in a way that most cinema never dares to be.

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