I never thought I would type these words, but I have a new appreciation for Synecdoche, New York. Yes, that film is an uber-pretentious piece of masturbatory tripe that crawls so far up its own ass it disappears into a parallel universe. But at least it tries hard and puts a lot of brain power into its willful oddity. Rubber is like Synecdoche, New York's lazy, mentally challenged half-cousin. It's just as pretentious and masturbatory but doesn't have the energy or intelligence to scratch its own ass, let alone venture up in there. Here's what I actually thought while watching this movie.
10 minutes in - "Oh, good lord."
20 minutes in - "This was a mistake."
30 minutes in - "Am I missing something?"
40 minutes in - "I don't care if I'm missing something."
50 minutes in - "Nope. There's nothing in here to miss."
60 minutes in - "This is like one of those films they would show during Sprockets on Saturday Night Live."
70 minutes in - "Well at least Wings Hauser got a paycheck out of this. I've always kind of liked him."
80 minutes in - "This is almost over, right?"
82 minutes in - "Yes, it's over and I'm 82 minutes closer to death."
Rubber is about two things. There's a tire that comes to life and rolls through the desert landscape, blowing up things with its psychokinetic power and developing a taste for television and this dark haired girl (Roxane Mesquida). There's also a group of spectators in the desert watching the tire's antics through binoculars like they're the audience viewing a test screening in a movie theater. All but one of them is killed off by a guy with a bad haircut and a bicycle (Jack Plotnick) while Stephen Spinella gives a remarkable performance of an actor stuck in an insipid production that will not end, which is perhaps the greatest instance of art imitating life, simultaneously intentionally and unintentionally, in all cinema.
The more unconventional your storytelling, the smarter you have to be to pull it off. Writer/director Charlie Kaufman is very smart and it's reflected in Synecdoche, New York. Even though that movie is pointless, meaningless, self-indulgent blather, it's complex and detailed blather that occupies your time. "Writer"/"director" Quentin Dupieux is not smart at all and Rubber is pointless, meaningless and self-indulgent, but in an adolescently shallow and simplistic way. I'd bet the folks who are impressed with this film are the same ones whose minds were blown by that philosophy class they took freshman year in college and wouldn't shut up about for 6 months afterward.
I mean, outside of Spinella, none of the cast get a chance to do anymore acting than they would in a commercial for chewing gum or switching to a new wireless provider. The best dialog in the film all belongs to the tire, which is completely mute the whole time. The direction looks like it belongs in 30 second promo spots for some 5th tier cable movie channel that only shows Mexican wrestling flicks and film school projects. And I hope Dupieux sent a royalty check to the guys who made Scanners.
If you've ever wondered why Hollywood beats the Euro film industry at the box office like a rented mule, watching Rubber will explain it to you. If you've ever wondered why the immensely more successful Hollywood continues to look to Euro douches like Quentin Dupieux for artistic validation well, Rick James said it best. "Cocaine is a hell of a drug."
10 minutes in - "Oh, good lord."
20 minutes in - "This was a mistake."
30 minutes in - "Am I missing something?"
40 minutes in - "I don't care if I'm missing something."
50 minutes in - "Nope. There's nothing in here to miss."
60 minutes in - "This is like one of those films they would show during Sprockets on Saturday Night Live."
70 minutes in - "Well at least Wings Hauser got a paycheck out of this. I've always kind of liked him."
80 minutes in - "This is almost over, right?"
82 minutes in - "Yes, it's over and I'm 82 minutes closer to death."
Rubber is about two things. There's a tire that comes to life and rolls through the desert landscape, blowing up things with its psychokinetic power and developing a taste for television and this dark haired girl (Roxane Mesquida). There's also a group of spectators in the desert watching the tire's antics through binoculars like they're the audience viewing a test screening in a movie theater. All but one of them is killed off by a guy with a bad haircut and a bicycle (Jack Plotnick) while Stephen Spinella gives a remarkable performance of an actor stuck in an insipid production that will not end, which is perhaps the greatest instance of art imitating life, simultaneously intentionally and unintentionally, in all cinema.
The more unconventional your storytelling, the smarter you have to be to pull it off. Writer/director Charlie Kaufman is very smart and it's reflected in Synecdoche, New York. Even though that movie is pointless, meaningless, self-indulgent blather, it's complex and detailed blather that occupies your time. "Writer"/"director" Quentin Dupieux is not smart at all and Rubber is pointless, meaningless and self-indulgent, but in an adolescently shallow and simplistic way. I'd bet the folks who are impressed with this film are the same ones whose minds were blown by that philosophy class they took freshman year in college and wouldn't shut up about for 6 months afterward.
I mean, outside of Spinella, none of the cast get a chance to do anymore acting than they would in a commercial for chewing gum or switching to a new wireless provider. The best dialog in the film all belongs to the tire, which is completely mute the whole time. The direction looks like it belongs in 30 second promo spots for some 5th tier cable movie channel that only shows Mexican wrestling flicks and film school projects. And I hope Dupieux sent a royalty check to the guys who made Scanners.
If you've ever wondered why Hollywood beats the Euro film industry at the box office like a rented mule, watching Rubber will explain it to you. If you've ever wondered why the immensely more successful Hollywood continues to look to Euro douches like Quentin Dupieux for artistic validation well, Rick James said it best. "Cocaine is a hell of a drug."