A bold statement: Paul W.S. Anderson (not to be confused with Paul Thomas Anderson) hasn’t made a bad movie. To be sure, he hasn’t made any masterpieces, either. And I have yet to see “Soldier,” an at-the-time reviled Kurt Russell vehicle. Anderson routinely crafts bare genre ideas into heavyweight action gems. He’s like a next generation John Carpenter or Walter Hill, except less auteurist and with a bigger budget.
Anderson started his Hollywood career with 1995’s “Mortal Kombat,” which still stands, along with his “Resident Evil,” as a better video game adaptation. The game series, not known for its deep story, called for a competent kung-fu film with some otherworldly elements, which is exactly what Anderson made. “Mortal Kombat” gets bonus points for boundary-pushing CGI and a memorable, if Jock Jams-esque, soundtrack (remember: MORTAL KOMBAT!!!).
He runs into fanboy trouble with his adaptations of existing franchises and other story-dependent media. “Alien vs. Predator,” a joint prequel and sequel to its respective properties, takes excessive liberties with the “logic” of prior films. At its most offensive, the alien chestbursters take all of one minute to gestate, a process that, according to “Alien,” takes days. Yeah, whatever. It’s called “Alien vs. Predator” and it has aliens fighting predators—and both of them fighting humans. What more do you want? Besides, the “Alien” series already nuked the fridge long ago.
Paul W.S. Anderson’s latest, “Death Race,” takes its cues from no specific video game, although it would make a decent one. Roger Corman’s* “Death Race 2000” serves as the inspiration this time around. Its cross-country, pedestrian-killing extremism has been abridged and strengthened in the new film. Prisoners are the racers, an island of obsolete factories the track. A racer that wins five times is released. This never happens.
“Death Race” is a post-human film; they’re just the squishy centers to the cars, necessary but aggressively disposable. It’s all about the different ways steel can bend, concrete can be destroyed, and weapons can punish. No punches are pulled in exploring every kinetic angle the concept merits. While watching it, if you find yourself thinking, “I haven’t seen a car run through a wall of flames while firing two miniguns,” just wait.
Mention should still be made of star Jason Statham. He’s beefed up even more and looks like he actually can take the delivered beatings. Also, he can act. At this point, Statham’s the first and only choice for this kind of film.
Anderson started his Hollywood career with 1995’s “Mortal Kombat,” which still stands, along with his “Resident Evil,” as a better video game adaptation. The game series, not known for its deep story, called for a competent kung-fu film with some otherworldly elements, which is exactly what Anderson made. “Mortal Kombat” gets bonus points for boundary-pushing CGI and a memorable, if Jock Jams-esque, soundtrack (remember: MORTAL KOMBAT!!!).
He runs into fanboy trouble with his adaptations of existing franchises and other story-dependent media. “Alien vs. Predator,” a joint prequel and sequel to its respective properties, takes excessive liberties with the “logic” of prior films. At its most offensive, the alien chestbursters take all of one minute to gestate, a process that, according to “Alien,” takes days. Yeah, whatever. It’s called “Alien vs. Predator” and it has aliens fighting predators—and both of them fighting humans. What more do you want? Besides, the “Alien” series already nuked the fridge long ago.
Paul W.S. Anderson’s latest, “Death Race,” takes its cues from no specific video game, although it would make a decent one. Roger Corman’s* “Death Race 2000” serves as the inspiration this time around. Its cross-country, pedestrian-killing extremism has been abridged and strengthened in the new film. Prisoners are the racers, an island of obsolete factories the track. A racer that wins five times is released. This never happens.
“Death Race” is a post-human film; they’re just the squishy centers to the cars, necessary but aggressively disposable. It’s all about the different ways steel can bend, concrete can be destroyed, and weapons can punish. No punches are pulled in exploring every kinetic angle the concept merits. While watching it, if you find yourself thinking, “I haven’t seen a car run through a wall of flames while firing two miniguns,” just wait.
Mention should still be made of star Jason Statham. He’s beefed up even more and looks like he actually can take the delivered beatings. Also, he can act. At this point, Statham’s the first and only choice for this kind of film.
*I'm legally obligated to use the word "schlockmeister" here.
Three time Academy Award-nominee Joan Allen.
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