This is probably the coolest thing you will read all week. The writer who wrote the screenplay for BATTLEFIELD EARTH apologizes for it and says he only got into Scientology in the hopes of getting laid.
The disaster that was Battlefield Earth actually makes a lot more sense now. For years, most Americans have blamed John Travolta for Battlefield Earth—after all, he was the be-wigged, be-nasal-tubed Scientologist standing at the messy, dank, gray center of a movie based on an L. Ron Hubbard book. To think, all this time we should have been blaming the screenwriter, a desperate man who wears his desperation on his sleeve in the form of a giant rubber chicken; a man who thinks calling his penis "my Willy Wonker" is the height of hilarity.
I'd rather see something immensely enjoyable if not utterly profound like LMS get nominated than something embarrassingly faux sagacious like Crash. Not that I'm comparing any of the ones you listed to Crash, having not seen them.