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Death Race (2008)
In a highly privatized, desensitized, and exploitative near-future, unemployment is rising, companies underpay workers & violently bust union efforts, and societal bloodlust is a ratings commodity. At this point, I fully expect to see Jason Statham blowing up cars on CNN within the next five years.
A former pro driver is framed, jailed, and coerced to compete in a series of ultra-violent televised death races between insensitive prison stereotypes. An arena where the most rugged, leather skinned, battle hardened individuals as well as the most beautiful, voluptuous, 25 year old supermodels can test their mettle. An arena fraught with cruel traps, product placements, and deadly Mario Kart power ups. The movie will try to get us to fall for at least three incarcerated mass murderers by the end.
Statham is Statham. He does that well enough. For two hours, he holds the expression that I make when my computer crashes. I'm okay with it. He pulls off the stern try-hard badass better than most action-specific actors.
This is a rare movie that I feel would benefit from a higher framerate. Action scenes look ok from afar, but the result of dark contrast and cameramen playing hot potato is choppy looking movement. It's a Guantanamo torture method for an epileptic. Annoying at first, but I got over it eventually. I think I remember this brief period in the mid-2000s when almost every action and horror release with a decent budget thought overly-high contrast cinematography was the way to go, and nearly every piece of text had to look like someone used the letters as a figure-skating platform. I call it the Lionsgateification of cinema.
If Michael Bay made movies for normal teenage boys, Paul W.S. made movies for teenage boys who blew out their ear drums listening to nu-metal and carved S into their desk. I have a soft spot for him. I'm not even that much of an action fan, but I gotta say, the races are pretty f*cking cool. Car gymnastics with a Nine Inch Nails rip-off score successfully summoned my inner 16 year old.
In a highly privatized, desensitized, and exploitative near-future, unemployment is rising, companies underpay workers & violently bust union efforts, and societal bloodlust is a ratings commodity. At this point, I fully expect to see Jason Statham blowing up cars on CNN within the next five years.
A former pro driver is framed, jailed, and coerced to compete in a series of ultra-violent televised death races between insensitive prison stereotypes. An arena where the most rugged, leather skinned, battle hardened individuals as well as the most beautiful, voluptuous, 25 year old supermodels can test their mettle. An arena fraught with cruel traps, product placements, and deadly Mario Kart power ups. The movie will try to get us to fall for at least three incarcerated mass murderers by the end.
Statham is Statham. He does that well enough. For two hours, he holds the expression that I make when my computer crashes. I'm okay with it. He pulls off the stern try-hard badass better than most action-specific actors.
This is a rare movie that I feel would benefit from a higher framerate. Action scenes look ok from afar, but the result of dark contrast and cameramen playing hot potato is choppy looking movement. It's a Guantanamo torture method for an epileptic. Annoying at first, but I got over it eventually. I think I remember this brief period in the mid-2000s when almost every action and horror release with a decent budget thought overly-high contrast cinematography was the way to go, and nearly every piece of text had to look like someone used the letters as a figure-skating platform. I call it the Lionsgateification of cinema.
If Michael Bay made movies for normal teenage boys, Paul W.S. made movies for teenage boys who blew out their ear drums listening to nu-metal and carved S into their desk. I have a soft spot for him. I'm not even that much of an action fan, but I gotta say, the races are pretty f*cking cool. Car gymnastics with a Nine Inch Nails rip-off score successfully summoned my inner 16 year old.