For me it was Birdemic

If Hitchcock raised his head, he would beg the hopeful aspiring masters of suspense to stop paying homage to him. Neither in the cinema nor in the life the illusion disguises the inexperience, and this film remembers to those rajajos and palotes with which, in the kindergarten, the children draw their families as a gift in the day of the mother. It even awakens the same tenderness. A disastrous script and a photograph and a technically calamitous sound are crowned with a flock of murderous birds that seem stuck on the screen as a collage. Your goal - what a novelty! - to destroy humanity.