Wall of Paul

I was at the movies on W. 68th St. a couple weeks ago, enduring the predictable head-wallop of booming, cookie-cutter trailers, when I suddenly experienced what was almost certainly the single most disturbingly idiotic thing I’ve ever seen in a theater. The culprit was the trailer for “Death Race,” a so-called remake of Roger Corman’s 1975 drive-in cheapie, “Death Race 2000.”

The new “Death Race” is about a futuristic prison where the warden (played by Joan Allen, for heaven’s sake) encourages histrionically snarling inmates to race fire-breathing, machine gun-fortified hot rods against each other in order to gain their freedom. There’s beatings, explosions, catch phrases, more beatings, more explosions, more catch phrases, and major cleavage action! And asses. There’s also a lot of hot asses.

“Death Race” is incredibly dumb, of course, but arguably no dumber than 70% of what hits our theaters every single summer. What struck me was just how intentionally despicable the whole thing seemed, as if a team of researchers based the look, sound, and feel of the film on a series of graphs centered on the mega-screwing of the unenlightened. It didn’t just seem like a bad, violent movie. It seemed like a bad, violent movie aimed at America’s collective underbelly.

Yeah, yeah, I know— I haven’t even seen it yet, as if the filmmakers would dare to put anything on the screen that isn’t repeatedly conveyed with a shit-filled sledgehammer in the trailer. I’m telling you, this two-and-a-half minutes of footage gave off an odor, and it didn’t happen organically. Scores of technicians were hired to apply it, which they gladly did.

By now, millions of filmgoers - not you, of course - have been convinced by the studios that it’s their civic duty to fondle and embrace The Big Stupid once temperatures outside reach the mid-80s. Why this is, none of these viewers can say. Because they’re stupid. But it’s gotten so out of hand, several of my fellow audience members on W. 68th St. all but squealed at the promise of being played like brain-damaged violins by the makers of “Death Race.” Finally, someone was paying attention to them. Again.

Usually, movies that are wall-to-wall with lens changes, CGI effects, multiple film stocks, stretch printing, slo-mo, fast-mo, and every other kind of mo are called “techno-porn.” But this trailer moved several steps beyond such a quaint concept. This was hardcore, full-penetration, KY-dripping “stupid-porn.” There’s absolutely nothing left to the imagination, because, frankly, the target audience hasn’t got any imagination. Expecting them to supply some is as futile as hoping they’ll magically generate their own popcorn.

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This viewing experience had been periodically churning around in my mind during my quiet moments when, yesterday, I stumbled across an interview in “The Daily News” with Paul W.S. Anderson, the very interview-worthy director responsible for “Death Race.” The article was written by a guy named Joe Strike, and I honestly feel sorry for him. Imagine having to sit there and listen intently while Anderson rolls out his sweet memories of seeing “Total Recall” back in 1990:

“Anderson particularly remembers the scene in ‘Total Recall’ where Arnold Schwarzenegger is about to shoot Sharon Stone, who has been trying to kill him. ‘When (Stone) said, ‘You wouldn’t shoot me, I’m your wife,’ two girls stood up and started screaming ‘Kill the bitch! Shoot her in the head!’ at the screen,’ says Anderson.”

”When he did, the audience erupted for so long you missed the next scene. For me, it was a shot in the arm— like, wow! After that, I’ve tried to fashion my movies to get that kind of response from the audience.”

Awwwww. What a remarkable moment of inspiration. It’s enough to bring dollar signs to your eyes.

“The Daily News,” of course, didn’t print the entire word “bitch,” because they’re a family newspaper. But they did print the entire part describing how invigorating it is to see whooping kids stand up in a theater and implore characters to shoot someone in the head.

So here’s what I’m thinking. Even if you’re stumbling out of a bar, drunk off your ass, don’t let this lowbrow prostitute Anderson draw you into the theater because he’s made a conscious effort to push your animalistic buttons. He doesn’t deserve your money, and you don’t deserve to be humiliated by sitting there pretending he’s actually accomplished something.

Let somebody else shout, “Kill the bitch!”

Paul Tatara