Jason Statham seems
to be the go-to guy for silly action movies, and while he’s
certainly not as charismatic as some of his action-movie predecessors,
he does get the job done. In Death Race he’s appropriately
stone-faced and serious, and with a touch of camaraderie and even
a little humor, he creates an antihero that’s easy to root
for. Which is good because there’s little else to cheer for
other than the violent and over-the-top death sequences. Ames’
competition is littered with stereotypes of very angry men fueled
by hatred and a general distaste for life. Tyrese Gibson portrays
a noticeably unintimidating antagonist, one whose menace is relegated
to mediocre taunts and whose sexuality seems to be constantly under
question. All the rest are merely obstacles, as lifeless as the
bullets and juggernaut tanks that hinder our hero’s progress.
Except for Joan Allen’s Hennessey, who is so annoyingly cocky
and overwrought with forced aggression that to see her get what’s
coming to her is barely compensation for her copious screentime.
The very idea of a B-movie has been dragged out of Death Race
and fattened up – to the point that it is anything but second
grade material. Convincing special effects, high definition detonations,
and top quality set designs are but a few of the aspects that
are too good to be bad. Unlike the original film, which rose from
its low-budget status to become a cult classic (chiefly due to
its unusually fun themes of anarchy and nihilism), this new Death
Race tries too hard to go for specific audience reactions. While
director Paul W.S. Anderson force-feeds us the moments that he
wants to be perceived as ultra hip, the more entertaining subtleties
are likely to be ignored. As we’re tantalized by the shapely
Natalie Martinez swaying in slow motion, an interesting stolen
idea from The Shawshank Redemption might be overlooked. Then again,
maybe we’re better off.
Like some twisted hybrid reality TV show abomination of BattleBots,
The Fast and the Furious and The Shawshank Redemption, the new
Death Race is unspeakably cheesy. But crowned with Roger Corman’s
own producer credit, it is perhaps appropriately nonsensical.
Begging to be the ultimate “guy movie” with slow-motion
scantily-clad girls, violent bloody action, explosions, heavy
artillery and fast armored cars, it is also itching to be ridiculed.
From hilariously peaked dialogue to the safety warning at the
end credits (asking the easily impressionable to refrain from
stunt car driving), Death Race can’t and shouldn’t
be taken seriously.
- The Massie Twins
HOw is Paul Anderson still making movies? Each one keeps getting worse and worse