[Impavido]

Greetings RTers. As some have already stated, the quality of posting and discussion in our favorite film discussion forum has taken a nose-dive in recent months. (years?) Therefore, I shall step forward through the detritus, and make my own effort to make some worthwhile, if not half-assed, film reviews in this thread--as opposed to bitching about there being nothing stimulating.

FILM DISCUSSION COMMENCE. Stand by for my first review. Much pretentiousness is around the corner for those who wait!

MOST RECENT REVIEWS:

CLICK HERE FOR 'INDIE GAME' REVIEW

CLICK HERE FOR 'PROMETHEUS' REVIEW

CLICK HERE FOR 'THE FALL' REVIEW

CLICK HERE FOR 'THE INCREDIBLES' REVIEW

Other Film Reviews:
Aguirre: The Wrath of God (Herzog, 1972)
Memento (Nolan, 2000)
Matchstick Men (Scott, 2003)
Rubber (Dupieux, 2010)
Timecrimes (Vigalondo, 2007)
Melancholia (Von Trier, 2011)
Yojimbo (Kurosawa, 1961)
Re-Animator (Gordon, 1985)
Love (Eubank, 2011)
The Incredibles (Bird, 2004)
The Fall (Singh, 2006)
Prometheus (Scott, 2012)
Indie Game (Pajot & Swirsky, 2012)

[Rock]

I will be reading and possibly commenting.

[Neclord]

I will be commenting and possibly reading.

[inn0centbystander]

I came for the pretentiousness.

[Thief12]

I will be reading and being incoherent (occasionally)

[Impavido]

"If I, Aguirre, want the birds to drop dead from the trees... then the birds will drop dead from the trees. I am the wrath of god. The earth I pass will see me and tremble."
-Don Lupe de Aguirre

Aguirre: The Wrath of God, the film that put both director Werner Herzog and actor Klaus Kinski on the international map, is enigmatic and haunting. I've seen a lot of cinema viewers compare Aguirre to Coppola's Apocalypse Now, as the journey of the Spanish conquistadores drifting down a savage and untamed river in search of El Dorado only to delve further and further into madness mirrors that of Captain Willard as he progressed towards his objective. True, there are a lot of coincidental thematic and visual similarities, particularly with menacing natives that remain hidden, the cast adrift on an untamed river, and the clearly established core theme of madness driving the actions of men. That is where I feel the cursory similarities end. Aguirre, as I see it, is much more focused on the selfish motivations of the characters on this ill-fated journey, which can be tantamount to madness. Where Apocalypse Now is a thematic exploration of how violence and warfare can devolve human psyche and society, Aguirre: The Wrath of God is specific in exploring how the individual motivations of men can drive them to madness or allow them to be exploited by others. Apocalypse Now's journey has a clear and tangible end to the journey: Colonel Kurtz. Aguirre is directionless and endless as the goal of El Dorado is non-existent, essentially a fantasy made up for the sole purpose of driving men mad. Like a moth to an unseen flame, people are driven towards El Dorado. In Aguirre, the madness is with them every step of the way as opposed to it being the end of the journey.

The title character Aguirre, played by legendary German actor Klaus Kinski, places himself as the fulcrum upon which every other person's hopes and dreams of finding El Dorado hinge. At the start of the film, Aguirre is cunningly quiet; watching from the periphery like a predator. He waits for the opportune moment to seize control, which he does by tapping into the driving forces behind those around him. Each significant character has some form of wistful dream of achieving through the expedition successfully finding El Dorado. The noble-man Guzman, who is used as a puppet figure-head by Aguirre, entertains a certainty that he will become emperor of a vast Christian kingdom. The monk Gaspar de Carvajal quickly abandons the tenants of his faith for wealth. And the lowly African slave Okello (I'm not versed in German, but I'm assuming this is a play on the name Othello) dreams of something more basic: freedom. It is these desires that Aguirre taps into to propel the expedition forward, using his dominating force of will to direct the journey through figureheads and proxy leaders while seemingly keeping a 'hands-off' approach and ruling by fear. The fear Kinski prompts from the other actors is firm and believable--probably due in no small part to it being genuine. According to many articles and interviews, the conflict and tensions among the cast and crew were unrelenting, and Kinski lived up to his reputation as being unpredictable and the instigator of most of the conflict. Kinski terrorized the cast and reportedly clashed with Herzog on a daily basis. However, Herzog found use for this unchecked rage and turned it to his advantage. Initially, Kinski wanted his character to be a raving madman, disagreeing with Herzog who wanted Aguirre to be quiet and dangerously brooding. To manipulate Kinski, Herzog would purposely infuriate him on a regular basis before shooting and allow his legendary temper tantrums to die down to a slow burn. During this time, when Kinski had tired himself with his own fury, Herzog successfully filmed the brooding version of the character he desired.

The journey itself becomes increasingly perilous as the Conquistadores face cannibals, starvation, disease, and each other. Through all of this, Aguirre continues to stalk like a menacing vulture, circling and waiting. 'Menacing' is a word frequently dropped to describe a character in film, its over-use has inadvertently muted the impact in film reviews the world-over. So let me be absolutely clear in this: the character Aguirre is menacing in the very truest sense of the word. Kinski moves about in a hunched and uneven stride, as if each step causes Aguirre pain, yet he carries forward driven by will alone. He refuses to be deterred. Aguirre is not motivated by the materialistic fantasies of some of those he manipulates, he stays the unwavering course towards what he feels will lead to greatness. Aguirre is willing to sacrifice everyone to achieve this goal, even his own 15-year-old daughter. He sees himself as a man destined for conquest, with or without El Dorado, and nothing will stop him. He progresses towards this goal like a force of nature. He cannot be stopped; only delayed. He carries forward without concern for those cast aside or caught underneath, much like the river which they navigate. There is only one character who stands his ground against Aguirre; the deposed noble-man Ursua, who pays the ultimate price.

On my first viewing, I did not fully appreciate the impact of the characters of Ursua and his mistress Inez. Upon the success of Aguirre's mutiny, Ursua falls silent. He lays motionless, bleeding, and not uttering a single sound; becoming the proverbial sacrificial lamb waiting for the slaughter. Only his mistress Inez defends him. This silence and seeming inconsequence may make some discount Ursua as a strong character, as I initially did. However, after repeat viewings, I've grown to see Ursua as the strongest character who was able to resist Aguirre's machinations. Ursua is the only man on the expedition who is selfless, as shown by his desire to help the men trapped on the raft early in the journey--where men like Aguirre would have cut them loose without a second glance. In essence, being the only moral man on the journey, Ursua becomes more Christ-like than the petty and easily-manipulated monk Gaspar de Carvajal. And like Christ, Ursua is destined to suffer at the hands of his captors after a flimsy trial on fictional charges. However, not once does he submit or break. He accepts his end with a distinct level of courage and grace, which gives his final moments impact and meaning. This sense of loss is palpable as Inez takes her own life in one of the most simplistic yet haunting character exits I've ever seen in cinema.

Aguirre: The Wrath of God is one of my favorite examples of what I like to call 'Cinema on the Edge'. The environment which serves as the setting for the drama is ever-present and tangible, as it was filmed completely on location deep in South American jungle in the shadow of Machu Picchu. This environment does not allow for carefully established lighting or staging, therefore the camera inhabits the set in a very documentarian style. This camera is not deterred by water droplets on the lens or the jostling of the raft on which it sits. This style may take some viewers out of the experience, but I've grown to love it in these circumstances. As opposed to a passive and omniscient 3rd person observer, the corporeal camera is in the middle of everything. The audience is constantly at eye-level with all characters throughout most of the film. And during dialogue scenes, the camera finds itself as one of the observers listening. Herzog then takes this a step further with bending one of the core guide-lines of cinema: having actors look directly into the lens. For obvious reasons, this is usually avoided, but Herzog employs it multiple times in Aguirre: The Wrath of God at key moments. This method is used to particularly chilling effect during Kinski's key monologue.

This eye-level documentarian style permeates the experience so effectively, that the smooth and gliding 360-degree shot of the closing sequence feels ethereal and unnatural. As we rotate around the raft of dead and dying at the feet of Aguirre, it feels like a near-death or out-of-body experience. And we see first-hand the directionless madness that has brought the characters to this disturbing end.

Aguirre: The Wrath of God is an entirely unique film experience. It delves into its theme, cast conflict, and environment with profound drive and vision. If challenged with these same obstacles, I'm confident a vast majority of working independent and main-stream directors would have declared them insurmountable and walked away, not looking back. The stress and obviously real dangers the crew faced at the whim of Werner Herzog begs the question: Just how crazy was Herzog when he filmed this? Maybe, as shown by cunning manipulation of Kinski in this unforgiving environment, Herzog was one-step closer to the character of Aguirre than some would have been comfortable admitting.

[Rainbro Crash]

Ugh, my brother rented Aguirre from Netlfix but sent it back before I got the chance to view it.

Anyways, I'll be following along, Imp.

[Harry Caul]

Great movie

[Thief12]

Since I haven't seen Aguirre, I'll fulfill my promise to be incoherent, and bat a home run into a lemon's tree vagina.

[Rock]

I've been meaning to revisit Aguirre. (When the hell is it coming out on Blu-ray?) A couple of thoughts:

The use of Ursua as a Christ figure went over my head when I saw it but you make a compelling argument.

It's one of my favourite examples of films completely immersing themselves in their environment. The shooting style is a big part of why it works. I know Herzog's talked a lot about the "voodoo of location", and he really knows how to recreate the feeling of really being there in the jungle.

[Dead and Messed Up]

Excellent look at an excellent film. I watched this for the first time two years ago, and it's an unforgettable film. Stunning and harsh. Tempted to buy it now.

[TheArshMan]

You made me want to watch Aguirre again, will have to pull out my copy of it tonight perhaps! Very good write up Impavido, I enjoyed reading it. Perhaps I'll come back and comment with a few thoughts after I watch it again. It will only be my second viewing, saw it last year for the first time; it was indeed an awesome film. The beginning and end of the film are still startlingly vivid in my mind, as well as certain moments, but your write up makes me think another viewing would really etch the film in my mind, since the film is just that powerful.

[billtheburger]

Well, that's me subscribed.
Aguirre is my favorite.

Everyone with more than 10000 posts should be doing threads and write ups on this scale.
I want to see more.
I want to read more.

[Runawayrunaway!]

I need to watch Aguirre again. That raft of monkeys has yet to leave me alone.

It is good that you are doing this. I have wandered this strange and desiccated wasteland for many days and nights, mind-mouth parched for lack of threads that are not about flying tightpants pictures.

[CRISTINE C.]

Good thinking..

[Impavido]

This review is intended to be SPOILER-LIGHT. They are there, but do not take away all of the surprise in my opinion. Proceed with caution if you want to avoid any spoilers.

"We all need mirrors to remind ourselves who we are. I'm no different."

Memory is a funny thing. We always remember the things we wish to forget, and forget things we deem important. The main character of Memento, Leonard Shelby (Pearce), is cursed with this exact human attribute, albeit to an extreme degree on both counts. The opening sequence of Christopher Nolan's Memento establishes not only the direction the narrative of the film will flow, it puts the protagonist's failing memory in the forefront; the developing polaroid filmed in reverse fades to white, as it will in Leonard's memory.

Memento, in addition to being one of my personal favorite films, has a very special distinction that makes it stand out amongst thousands of films: It succeeds in bringing the audience into the perspective of the character. This should be the goal of any story, either in print or on the screen, but Christopher Nolan executes it with a degree of success that I've very rarely seen even skimmed. This is achieved by the backwards narrative flow of the story. Some try to dismiss it as a gimmick, but it is far beyond that. With this unique narrative format, the audience is feeling the same disorientation and confusion as the character--literally. Every time a scene starts in which Leonard is unaware of where he is or what he is doing, the viewer is also at a complete loss. Sometimes this is used for the obvious mystery and suspense, but it is even used at opportune times for humor. In the end, I find it extremely rare for a film to directly--and I stress the word 'directly'--put the audience in the same experience as the character on the screen. This is a special achievement in cinema in my opinion. The only film that comes to mind as I am typing this is Doubt, as it cultivates its namesake emotion.

The unique narrative and editing style does not begin and end with the backwards flow of the scenes. The entire film is divided into two narratives that eventually converge. The core narrative with Leonard interacting with characters and conducting his investigation is only the after-effect of the background narrative, which is filmed in black and white to differentiate. These two narratives converge seamlessly in the final act of the film as the actions of Leonard and those manipulating him become clearer. What would be the traditional 'big reveal' is what has guided and driven him in his investigation. Leonard suspects early that someone may take advantage of his ineffective memory, so he trusts fully in his system of investigation. He trusts that if he follows his self-created system of notes, follows his instinct, and focuses only on the facts, he will succeed in finding the mysterious figure behind traumatic memories of losing his wife. This trust in himself is what gives such weight to the revelation that Leonard is the manipulator; of all the characters that are trying to mislead him and feed him false information, Leonard himself is the main offender.

In addition to having a very effective and controlled narrative, Memento succeeds firmly as a mood piece. On a subjective level, I experience this with multiple of Nolan's films, and I'm not sure I can accurately nail it down and describe. I feel that a major contributor to this is Nolan's frequent original score collaborator David Julyan. Julyan's music is profoundly ethereal and amorphous. It fills the viewing experience with emotional weight without the audience always being aware of it; his music is very unobtrusive and does not distract in the least. These include the gentle hum that will succumb to the main musical theme, or the frantic but still sublime muted heart-beat-like rhythm of panic and fear. ( I highly recommend that you consider listening to Julyan's work on The Prestige) I feel this mood is also partially product of the rhythm of the narrative. Nolan's films always rely heavily on narrative, and therefore large doses of exposition. This reliance on exposition is often a crux for many writers and film-makers, but Nolan seems to have a masterly understanding of keeping an effective rhythm of revelation-exposition-mystery. The mystery of the film, and I do feel that Memento fits safely in that genre, permeates the narrative from beginning to end without getting stale, over-used, or gimmicky. It feels natural and perfectly timed.

Memento always made me feel introspective each time I view it. I feel that Nolan, in addition to making an amazing film, really succeeded in tapping into the way memory flows. The flash-back sequences Leonard experiences always strike me as the uncontrolled stream of memories that I find being triggered in myself. I am the type that always confronts myself with unpleasant memories; maybe I should have said something differently, maybe I should have treated someone better, perhaps I could have avoided the painful mistake, it goes on. I find myself to use the painful memories to drive myself, both for good and bad reasons. I've also found that my ability to remember the good things is not nearly as effective as the seemingly crystal-clear memory of regret. I remember every class in undergraduate school that I failed but struggle to remember the names of instructors I liked. I remember the day a family member died but the memories of what we did together while they were alive is elusive. The first response to the character of Leonard is always one of pity, but I would be lying if there was not a small part of me that is envious of him.

[Thief12]

Great writeup. I might contribute later but, if anything, Memento is one of the few films that I've actually seen back-to-back right after it finished.

[Harry Caul]

I watched Memento again a couple of weeks ago, it had been a while.

It's remarkable.

Like you said, we're with Leonard, in his shoes, but at the same time the Nolan guys use the fact that we, unlike their lead, knows what is going to happen really well too. I think it's this constant mix between surprise, suspense, confusion and comprehension that makes an otherwise depressing and bleak story, so bloody entertaining.

I do think there may be something to the cold as ice complaint I have sometimes seen thrown at Nolan, he's a Swizz watchmaker that happens to make movies, but he's got a knack for getting the kind of actors that bring some humanity to his machines. Pearce is carrying this thing, without him it would've maybe, perhaps, dare I say it... Felt like a gimmick.

[Rock]

I think I like Memento more each time I see it. The film's structure works less and less as a gimmick each time I see it and it helps me better appreciate the poignancy of Leonard's story. It's grown to be my favourite Nolan.

[Impavido]

Originally Posted by Harry Caul

he's got a knack for getting the kind of actors that bring some humanity to his machines. Pearce is carrying this thing, without him it would've maybe, perhaps, dare I say it... Felt like a gimmick.

I'd have to agree with you on this. There is a fine balance of acting and writing that makes the exposition in Nolan's films work. Inception would have limped along without carefully orchestrated exposition delivered by great actors.

[Impavido]

Originally Posted by Dead and Messed Up

Excellent look at an excellent film. I watched this for the first time two years ago, and it's an unforgettable film. Stunning and harsh. Tempted to buy it now.

Did you give in and buy it? Too bad there is no BR version.

EDIT: New copies on amazon for less than $8 bucks. Not bad.

[Harry Caul]

Originally Posted by Impavido

This one should be brought up if there's ever one of those best opening shots threads again.

[billtheburger]

Memento is the only Christopher Nolan film that truely resonates within my reality tunnel.

[Impavido]

Originally Posted by Harry Caul

This one should be brought up if there's ever one of those best opening shots threads again.

It would definitely qualify.

Hop to it Harry. In the words of Jean Luc Picard, "Make it so."

[Steveland. The Danger]

I was finally going to watch Aguirre last night but stayed up until 12:30 making a cat video for youtube instead. Tomorrow I will watch it.

[Impavido]

"You don't seem like such a bad guy."
"That's what makes me so good at it."


(This review is intended to be very spoiler light)

At the time of my writing this review, the GD forum has been awash with threads about Ridley Scott's Prometheus. Some directions the script and film went were divisive for many and there was a long list of people ready to pounce on Ridley Scott's reputation. Firstly, some of my most favorite films have been directed by Mr. Scott. However, I'm sure many would agree with me that the films across his career have been a big hefty bag of mixed results. Especially at a time when some were upset due to their own unrealistic expectations of Prometheus, some make wildly over-vitriolic claims about Ridley Scott's skill and craft. There are always claims to the contrary of recent years, such as his Kingdom of Heaven Director's Cut. And Scott's lesser-known drama Matchstick Men is also an example of when Ridley Scott "Gets it right"-so to speak.

Nicolas Cage is Roy, the OCD-afflicted agoraphobic con artist. Uh oh, did you see that? I just said the magic phrase, 'Con-artist'. Yes, it's a film about a con-artist, so people know what to expect. Much like a tipsy college co-ed being coaxed into visiting her date's bachelor pad, the audience should already know what is coming around the corner. So settle down and just accept that thought, we'll touch on it later. Back to business: Roy is a con artist. He and his partner Frank (Sam Rockwell) operate out of a small rented office conducting small time phone-contest scams for a few hundred bucks a day. Roy is methodical, as his OCD requires, but Frank starts to get the itch for a bigger scam. Roy is resistant to the idea and is content playing it safe. Then a sudden loss of his supply of OCD medication acts as a catalyst for a series of events that change his life. The first of such major events include reuniting with his long-lost teenage daughter (Alison Lohman).

The character of Roy is a careful concoction of protagonist, anti-hero, comic-relief, a dash of cliche, and then finished off with a heavy dose of Nicolas Cage hysteria. Those who are particularly fond of Cage in roles such as Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans or the villain (Hero?) in Face/Off will more than likely enjoy his performance in this film. Cage embraces certain modern film cliches such as OCD disorder and makes it work in a way that is both believable and just downright comical. Much like Mr. Scott, Cage has a modern filmography that is wildly unpredictable in quality, but in this script and this role I feel he was a perfect choice. Ridley Scott also succeeds quite brilliantly in bringing the audience into Roy's OCD/Agoraphobic world with some very well executed and deceptively simple tricks such as filming in over-exposures, time-lapse, under cranking the camera speed, and awkward jump-cuts in editing. Through these cinematic flares, the audience relies less on exposition to understand what is going on in the character's head. For similar reasons, the OCD and neurosis of Roy becomes less of a cliched Hollywood ploy to make the audience giggle, it brings impact and relevance to what the character is feeling and what he is experiencing. The set of Roy's suburban LA home reflects his situation in life. It is closed off form the outside world, there are very few windows except for the sliding glass door facing his immaculate and un-used pool. The light from the pool peeks through the venetian blinds making the home feel like an underwater prison with a bar pattern-shadow and the glimmer of water permeating the rough subterranean-looking rock walls. As Roy engages in an unexpected relationship with his daughter, he grows and experience changes before the audience's eyes, which again is done through acting and cinematic deft instead of exposition, and makes the character arc feel significant.

Okay, lets move on to that big thing we skimmed over earlier; yes that. There is a twist. Yes, I know. Shocking, in a movie about a con-artist of all things! Some will disagree with me, but I find that the twist thematically adds depth to the story and the character's journey. In a logical sense it may be a bit of a stretch to buy-into, but that is besides the point. The final act of the film is not just a cheap "Surprise!" as we've come to expect from many films. The big reveal really impacts the story in a meaningful way and brings multiple character arcs full-circle. Much the way that the ending to Unbreakable defines the title character, the ending to Matchstick Men does not insult your intelligence, is well executed, and relevant to the story. I might even go so far as to say that it is well camouflaged in the script as the audience focuses on the dramatic changes in Roy's life. For fear of spoilers, that is all I will discuss in this immediate review without spoiler tags.

In the end, I find Matchstick Men to be a thoroughly satisfying and well crafted film. Ridley Scott utilized his strengths in set design and making the audience buy into the characters inhabiting that believable world, whilst also capitalizing on the clear strengths of his fantastically chosen cast. I may go so far as to say it is one of the best 'Con-game' films out there. Not because of the thrill of the big caper but because it has an emotionally captivating journey running parallel that adds to the experience. Even if you are the type that "figures it out before everyone else", Matchstick Men still has a lot to offer.

[Thief12]

Yeah, Matchstick Men was pretty good. Too bad it doesn't get mentioned that much.

[Rock]

Haven't seen Matchstick Men (except for a scene with Cage and his daughter that was fairly compelling), but I'm a fan of Nicolas Cage (especially in those films you mentioned), so I've been meaning to check it out.

[Impavido]

Originally Posted by Thief12

Yeah, Matchstick Men was pretty good. Too bad it doesn't get mentioned that much.

I don't really know why not. Every couple of months some newbie starts a "Wow, the Kingdom of Heaven DC really is good!"-thread. Matchstick Men deserves some attention as well.

I think Matchstick Men might be Ridley Scott's best non-epic film in a while, in addition to being one of my personal favorite 'con-game' flicks. The old adage of 'this film is underrated' is appropriate.

[Impavido]

"Ladies, gentlemen, the film you are about to see today is an homage to the "no reason" - that most powerful element of style."

The film Rubber opens with a peculiar scene in which a cop car slowly drives down a dusty desert road, turning from side to side to knock over a series of awkwardly placed chairs. Once stopped, a Sheriff crawls out of the trunk, takes a glass of water from the driver, and looks directly into the camera. He addresses the audience directly, asking questions pertaining to logical leaps and the suspension-of-disbelief issues from a number of popular films by name. He closes his address with the line selected above and pours the water onto the ground--for no apparent reason... I can admire the desire to engage the audience in a different way, so I take it as such. After all, the catch-line of 'Are you TIRED of the unexpected?" on the original poster for Rubber clearly implies a desire to deliver something strikingly new. As the audience becomes increasingly more familiar with the typical film-making tricks and tomfoolery, we should always be on the lookout for films with new concepts and ideas. Well, if a film about a tire with psychic powers murdering people is what it takes to be original these days, I guess very few other films will fit the bill. Unfortunately, Rubber really fails in just about all other critical aspects of film-making.

Immediately following the above monologue, we are introduced to the audience characters. I **** you not, this movie has a cast of audience members watching the film with you. The characters, about 9 or 10 people, are provided binoculars by an Usher character. And with this, they scan the horizon and the show begins. Now this peculiar set-up begs a question: Why are we watching an audience who is watching the same film? Is this a comment on how a viewer can become emotionally and psychologically entwined in the viewing experience? Is it a gag that will pay off later? Oh wait...that's right. No reason. Got it. Well, the movie just came out and told me its theme. Isn't that considerate? Boring, but considerate.

Then the film gets rolling with the introduction of the main character. HA, see that? Funny right? C'Mon...just a little. Well, I have a firm stance that the lame joke I just pulled on you is funnier than a good portion of what (I think) is supposed to be comical in Rubber. Okay, back on track: Robert awakes in the middle of the desert. He then begins, uh, rolling around in the desert. He rolls over a plastic bottle. He rolls over a scorpion. He has difficulty rolling over a glass bottle, so we are then introduced to Robert's psychic powers with which he shatters the glass bottle. These fantastic powers are then turned on a hapless wild rabbit and a crow. All the while, the audience watches from afar with their binoculars. Some audience members chat amongst themselves, some are confused; a young boy in the audience is suddenly gripped by these developments. Then Robert encounters a road in which he uses his powers to sabotage a pretty young girl's car. Before he can make contact with the girl, Robert is run off the road by a redneck in a truck and the girl drives off unaware. Now, you see those sentences I typed above? This short paragraph? This paragraph accounts for almost 30 minutes of the 1-Hour and 22-Minute running time of Rubber. The first 20-or-so is covered with the monologue and watching a tire roll around in the dirt. Why such embellishment in this opening act? Is it a thematic nod to the magic of cinema, by attempting to captivate the audience with an inanimate object for longer than needed? Is watching the tire interact with inanimate objects and critters add a lot to the story? Did the director really love tires? Oh, wait. Silly me. No reason.

Eventually, the tire catches up with the redneck who ran him off the road and explodes his head. The entire film, even when dealing with the audience characters, is shot in a very serious manner. The head-explosion effects and editing around them are seemingly intended to be serious, except for the fact that the main character is a tire. This approach reminds me of films like Slither and Shaun of the Dead, in which the characters are facing a very real monstrous threat. When a character dies, aside from any situation humor or gags, it is a rather realistic and serious matter. These films are not making fun of the zombie or monster-horror genres, they are trying to have fun with them. And in this (sometimes) effective formula is a charismatic character actor to carry the comedy through what is in effect a terrifying situation, such as Simon Pegg or Nathan Fillion. What do we get in Rubber? A ****ing tire. Why did they go with a tire? Why not a toy robot? A tumbleweed? Oh. No Reason. Maybe the gimmick would have been passable if we had another character to carry us through, but we have nothing. A pretty French chick who barely speaks? Certainly not the audience. The sheriff guy? Maybe, he was the closest thing to a competent actor in the whole damn thing, but he features no emotional investment in what's going on. He doesn't care, neither do I.

I could give a point-by-point synopsis of the rather boring psycho-killer tire and the marginally more interesting audience sub-plot, which do converge. So I'll just skim over the big parts. (I guess these are spoilers....whatever) The audience, who had been starving from staying out in the desert watching the show, are fed a turkey by the Usher. They fall upon the turkey and rip it apart like zombies descending on a meal, which I guess was intentional. Woopdee-****in' doo. However the Usher was under orders from a sinister unseen agent on the phone to poison the audience. (I know what you are asking, and the answer is, 'No Reason'). Only one audience member refuses to eat. So then, after the audience dies, the Sheriff and the other actors investigating the odd head-exploding murders stop caring. This is hard to explain--they are not actors--but the Sheriff explains to them how things are not real. In what might be the scene that comes the closest to well-executed humor, the Sheriff tries to find ways to convince the cast that it's all not real. However he fails, and as the Usher discovers, there is one audience spectator still alive. So the cast are like actors....but don't really know they are actors... I wonder if this is some clever play on the illusory nature of cinema. Maybe it's a film version of that old saying: 'If an actor gives a performance and there is no audience, is he really acting?'. Or maybe...just perhaps...there is no reason. Wow. Did you get chills up your spine? Good, neither did I.

Jumping to the conclusion of the film: The tire, who I am told is named Robert, is defeated but reincarnated as a tricycle. Just when I thought it was over, much like the achingly-long opening, we are treated to another 5 or so minutes of the tricycle rolling down the desert highway. Then other lone tires rise up, and start following it. The final shot consists of the ticycle and its small army of tires stopping on a California road looking at the iconic 'Hollywood' sign. What is this? Hinting at a sequel of a tire apocalypse? Is it a tounge-in-cheek jab to provoke 'Hollywood' to produce more daring or creative projects? I've got an answer, and it's not the one you're thinking of: Select the black box below with your cursor to view the spoiler text

I DON'T ****ING CARE.

Maybe this project could have been better executed as a short film. MAYBE. Sitting through the 1-hour and 22-minute run-time was excruciating. Despite some of the odd and borderline clever ideas with the audience being on-screen characters, I cannot find anything terribly redeeming to warrant my recommendation that anybody watch this film. The only additional thing it had going for it was the 'No reason' theme, which it blew its load early by telling you first thing, and then reminding you of it. Again. And again. It begs one major thought different than the theme: If you have no real reason to make a film, don't make one.