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