Under our television, we have a small area dedicated to housing the three photo albums we own. Curiously, next to the albums of vacations and baby pictures, is my 12th grade yearbook. I'm not entirely sure why it's there, but as it's the only yearbook I own, I'm okay with it. And I'm assuming that if you stumbled across it, even if you didn't know me that well, you'd probably open it and at least turn a couple of pages. You kind of half to.
Good or bad, there's something about seeing where it all started.
Like Scotty P, I had no ragrets adding Roadracers to my Netflix queue. I just pressed the button and went on perusing the depths of Movie Hell. But as I actually went ahead and decided to sit down and watch the f--king thing, I was quickly overcome with a sense of panic. Was I really about to dedicate ninety-plus minutes to a made-for-TV movie from the mid-90's? Yes. Yes, I was.
Between you and me, Salma Hayek was enough. Early Hayek + an R rating made me think I was playing with house money. Throw in a young(er) John Hawkes, writer/director Robert Rodriguez, not to mention the timeless intensity of William Sadler and I felt like this one had a chance. And while maybe it wasn't outright horrible, it sure as shit isn't anything you have to see.
It's not very good, nor is it f--king terrible, so essentially I can't recommend it. Oh, and it's nudity free, too. So everyone hoping to see Deputy Dewey's ding-dong? Sorry, fellas. Maybe in Scream 5. But if you can make it past the awful opening title music (I swear Rodriguez has stock in saxophones), and the hyper-active editing (again, thanks RR), you might have a half-way decent time. My wife actually hung in for thirty minutes, so...there's that.
Set in an the 50's when all the rebels rebelled byselling their souls to Satan slicking their hair back and listening to both rock and roll music, Roadracers focuses on the plight of Dude, played that bad-ass motherf--ker himself, David Arquette. Notice I said Dude, and not The Dude, as it appears Dude is his given name. Awesome.
Dude is a real f--ker, with out much going on in his life. He tools around Texas' version of Hill Valley, drinking and smoking (coffee and cigarettes) and driving like an a-hole. He's got a possibly retarded friend, Nixer (a kind-of awesome Hawkes), who's obsessed with Invasion of the Body Snatchers and not much else. But what Dude really has going for him? His girlfriend. The impossibly sexy (and almost thirty [at the time!]) Salma Hayek, playing his main squeeze. And Donna was her name...La Bamba, anyone? I hate you guys.
Anyway, Dude and Donna, when not making out, are consistently harassed by town douchebag, Teddy Leather, and his dickwad friends, Laughing Guy and Other Guy. Teddy just so happens to be the son of Sarge, who may or may not be the local sergeant. Sarge has a real hard on for Dude, and has made it his life's goal to bust Dude. If only it were that easy.
For a police officer. To arrest a teenage hoodlum. If only!
If only we could skip the Yays and the Boos! But alas, even bad traditions are traditions, you know?
Good or bad, there's something about seeing where it all started.
Between you and me, Salma Hayek was enough. Early Hayek + an R rating made me think I was playing with house money. Throw in a young(er) John Hawkes, writer/director Robert Rodriguez, not to mention the timeless intensity of William Sadler and I felt like this one had a chance. And while maybe it wasn't outright horrible, it sure as shit isn't anything you have to see.
It's not very good, nor is it f--king terrible, so essentially I can't recommend it. Oh, and it's nudity free, too. So everyone hoping to see Deputy Dewey's ding-dong? Sorry, fellas. Maybe in Scream 5. But if you can make it past the awful opening title music (I swear Rodriguez has stock in saxophones), and the hyper-active editing (again, thanks RR), you might have a half-way decent time. My wife actually hung in for thirty minutes, so...there's that.
Set in an the 50's when all the rebels rebelled by
Dude is a real f--ker, with out much going on in his life. He tools around Texas' version of Hill Valley, drinking and smoking (coffee and cigarettes) and driving like an a-hole. He's got a possibly retarded friend, Nixer (a kind-of awesome Hawkes), who's obsessed with Invasion of the Body Snatchers and not much else. But what Dude really has going for him? His girlfriend. The impossibly sexy (and almost thirty [at the time!]) Salma Hayek, playing his main squeeze. And Donna was her name...La Bamba, anyone? I hate you guys.
Anyway, Dude and Donna, when not making out, are consistently harassed by town douchebag, Teddy Leather, and his dickwad friends, Laughing Guy and Other Guy. Teddy just so happens to be the son of Sarge, who may or may not be the local sergeant. Sarge has a real hard on for Dude, and has made it his life's goal to bust Dude. If only it were that easy.
For a police officer. To arrest a teenage hoodlum. If only!
If only we could skip the Yays and the Boos! But alas, even bad traditions are traditions, you know?
Yaaaaaaay!
- Dude constantly pisses Teddy off. But what he inadvertently does to Teddy's girlfriend? Hot damn!
- As a contemporary society, it has some to my attention we spend entirely too much time opening car doors. Clearly we should be jumping in and out of our cars. At all possible times.
- There's some pretty extensive roller-skating that is well, f--king brilliant. Especially an oil-slick maneuver unseen this side of Spy Hunter.
- So, tea-bagging has been a thing since the 50's? Whoa. I had no idea that move was vintage.
- I don't know why I'm cheering this, but everything happens at 9:00. I think that was the only time any one knew.
- While all the set-up suggests this movie is like a slightly more hardcore Grease 2, by the end, it's more Evil Dead 2. Dude's a real bad ash, er, ass.
- And finally, the ketchup bottle. Teddy throws a ketchup bottle 900 miles per hour into the back of Dude's skull and let me just tell you, in all seriousness, it's the best f--king thing I have ever seen in any film ever made.
Boooo!
- Might as well just say it: Arquette is kind of a pussy. I'm sure he could kick my ass up and down the street, but as youth in revolt? I wasn't too impressed.
- But at least he was youth. Arquette was 23. Hayek? 28. And Hawkes? Hawkes was f--king 36! I guess that's why he was so over this town. He'd lived there for four decades.
- Dude can play the shit out of a guitar. Well, at least his hands can. Or, obviously someone else's hands can.
- And finally, Robert Rodriguez. I feel like I either love his movies (Planet Terror, Sin City, Desperado) or absolutely hate them (um, everything else). What gives, hombre?
If Roadracers really is that old yearbook for those involved, I guess they should probably look back and smile. I mean, we all did embarrassing stuff when were young, right? Hell, someone of us are doing embarrassing stuff right now.
Yes.
I'm talking to you.
I'm talking to you.