Curse of the Corner Bitch

I've got a small order of fries from the fast food establishment of your choice if you can explain to me, in detail, why I'm supposed to loooove Mad Hot Ballroom.

We watched it last night and I was overcome by exactly two emotions. They happened to me in this order and are defined by these thoughts:

1. Hmm... those kids are kind of cute. I guess.

2. Holy shit! I'm so bored right now that my heart has stopped and I'm floating above my own body, watching Mad Hot Ballroom, and now I'm a bored ghost.

Being a confirmed and accredited film nerd, there's absolutely nothing that I hate worse than watching a critically acclaimed movie that's loved the nation over by absolutely everyone and thinking it the cinematic equivilent of a butt. My fellow film critic and palsy-walsy Buzz (of CampBlood.org fame) came up with a name for this horrible phenominon: being the "Corner Bitch;" otherwise known as the bitch in the corner who's all scowling and snarky while everyone else is dancing the Hora about how great a given movie is. I've been the Corner Bitch way too many times (all the Lord of the Rings movies, Napolean Dynamite, Crash) and, trust me, there's nothing that can you make you feel like bitter crank faster. And it seems I've found myself in these brackish, unpleasent waters yet again.

So, anyone, please tell me why I'm wrong to think Mad Hot Ballroom should be used as a general anesthetic for people undergoing dental surgery.

Save me from myself.