Some films get such a strange cult reputation that eventually you just have to track them down and watch them for yourself. Paul Flaherty’s Clifford is one: filmed in 1990 but released four years later, this comedy casts Martin Short as a dinosaur-obsessed demon child ruining the life of his urban planner uncle (Charles Grodin). Critics loathed it upon release, and audiences failed to even notice it.

‘But wait,’ claim the inevitable cult following, ‘this is a misunderstood comic masterpiece. You have to check it out.’ Truth be told, I have nothing but admiration for cult cinema. I love the idea that a film will be ignored or disliked by the majority, but that a small niche audience will positively fetishize it. They will watch it repeatedly. They can quote all of the dialogue. I think cult appeal also involves the pleasure of exclusivity: one likes a cult film all the more knowing that only a select few really appreciate its merits.

There are definitely merits to Clifford, but they are honestly few and far between, and the majority of the film is not terrible so much as just blandly ordinary. When the film works, it is typically down to Short and Grodin successfully executing the absurd: in one key scene, an exasperated Grodin begs Short to just look normal, and the succession of forced, awkward faces Short pulls are just comically sublime. Elsewhere, where the film simply engages in stereotypical children’s pranks, it is a lot more difficult to sustain the audience’s interest.

Certainly Short and Grodin outclass the material by some distance, and the same is true of the supporting cast. Actors including Mary Steenburgen, Richard Kind, and Dabney Coleman gamely struggle through weak characters and wasted appearances. They have little to do and effectively nothing with which to work, to such a degree that while on screen they almost seem apologetic.

Clifford was filmed in 1990 with an expectation that it would be released into cinemas during 1991. The collapse of Orion Pictures, however, saw that release suspended until MGM granted a limited one in 1994. The delay clearly hurt Clifford‘s chances – not simply because the long delay earned the film the stench of failure, but because by 1994 Dennis Dugan’s Problem Child had not only been released but so had a sequel. The ‘demon child’ format felt a little worn out by the time anyone had the chance to see it.

While there are some glimmers of quality here and there, these are merely highlights that deflect from an overall poor film. The central sales pitch – a 40-year-old actor playing a creepy child – largely results not in comedy but grotesquerie. Enjoying the film means ignoring large tracts of mediocrity in order to appreciate little moments and gags buried among the mess. It is a lot of work for such a small reward. The cult of Clifford may be real, but I suspect for most viewers the cultists will be welcome to it.