Uncle Don’s Views of Nil Repute
It may be that a rolling stone gathers no moss, but unfortunately the
best that one could wish for “Rollerball” was that it be “no mas.” If
this remake of “Rollerball” got any cheesier, it’d be Velveeta, and that
ain’t even real cheese.
It opens on a scene that Grantland Rice might recognize. Outlined
against a blue-gray October sky, the four knuckleheads ride again. In
dramatic lore they were known as, well, nothing actually. They probably
had aliases, but only to mislead the cops. Their real names should be
Larry, Curly, Moe and Shemp.
The four are on these street luges on the most deserted streets of San
Francisco I’ve ever seen in an attempt to get from point A to point
sea-level without getting rousted by the fuzz, hitting dump trucks,
running into immovable objects or getting squashed by the random
irresistible force. It should have resulted in the most memorable San
Francisco chase scene since “Bullitt” if it wasn’t so uninteresting,
predictable and boring.
As you might imagine, everybody crashes except our hero, and he’s in
big trouble, big time for kicking one of his racing buddies through a
plate glass window at the obligatory excessive rate of speed. It’s time
to bail, and where to go is the choice for our poor boy, who’s just
committed murder, multiple property crimes and countless traffic
violations.
How about one of them funky little Asian countries that ends in
“stan.” Like Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Stupidistan or Moronistan? Off it
is to the fun and games for our hero, Chris Klein -- kind of a stumpy
Keanu Reeves look-alike -- and his sidekick, LL Cool J, a stumpier
looking Shaquille O’Neill knockoff. They head for fame and riches as the
stars of a rogue sport called Rollerball.
Banned in more venues and countries than Mike Tyson, Rollerball
consists of several teams who chase a ball around a figure eight, throw
it against a metal pie pan for points and maim, mangle and mutilate each
other along the way. But hey, this is PG-13, so there ain’t that much
maiming, mangling and mutilating.
The field of play is inhabited by the usual assortment of thugs and
thugettes who seem to have all visited a Ministry of Funny Hats. They
chase the ball with motorcycles and kitchen utensils while bouncing off
Plexiglas, jumping over jumps and rolling through Habi-trails your
hamster would love.
As this game schleps through the assorted third world “stans,” it
becomes evident that the promoters are in it only for the money. Isn’t
that a surprise. As the violence level goes up, so do the TV ratings and
so does the money.
And who’s in charge of all this mayhem? Our favorite bug-eyed Frenchy,
Jean Reno, he of the harpoon nose that Capt. Ahab would find too large to
use. Overacting to the point of obnoxiousness, Reno plays some ex-Soviet
torturer with a French accent and evil capitalist intents pandering to an
audience of grungy derelicts who speak in funny accents, wear cheap
clothes, sport bad haircuts and drunkenly bet all of the money they earn
in the coal mines on fixed games. Now, that’s no stereotype of your
typical Eastern European, is it? Naaah.
Sure enough Chris Klein and LL Cool J figure they’re being ripped off
and head for the border, only this ain’t a Taco Bell commercial. Reno and
the rest of his flunkies look to head them off at the pass, because like
the Munich Olympics, the games must go on.
Well it’s one uninteresting chase scene after another. LL Cool J gets
picked off by a sniper from a distance of a zillion meters or so, and
Klein is hauled back in chains because tomorrow is another game.
This finally cheeses off Klein, he gets mad, challenges authority,
kills all the bad guys and leads the peasants in a revolt. A veritable
George Washington he is, without the intelligence, education, vision or
talent.
Although “Rollerball” makes “The Fast and the Furious” look like “The
Slow and the Tepid,” this ball went flat real fast.
“Rollerball” is rated PG-13 for violence, extreme sports action,
sensuality, language and some drug references.
* UNCLE DON reviews b-movies and cheesy musical acts for the Daily
Pilot. He may be reached by e-mail at ReallyBadWriting@aol.com
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