The release of Death Race this past weekend got me to thinking a few things. First, fuck them for remaking it. Second, fuck them for remaking it with Statham and McShane, not to mention Joan Allen, cause now I’m probably going to see it. On Netflix, mind you, but still.
The next thing I got to thinking was my love of the original upon which this latest abortion is based. Loosely. Very loosely. Death Race 2000 is one of my favorite films in the “kinda crappy sci-fi” genre. In order to further introduce you to my definition of that term, allow me to invoke some titles you may know.
The Running Man.
Escape From NY.
And allow me to explain why said titles are invoked.
American Gladiators with kills. And two Governors doing battle.
Shades, man. And how can we forget the fight to end all fights. Seriously, the greatest.
And finally, the whole fucking movie. Not only one of my favorite “kinda crappy sci-fi” films but one of my favorite any kind of films. Ever. Let’s just say that I undertook a serious addiction to alcohol and/or narcotic, Snake might just be my Higher Power to pull me through.
The other thing this points out to me is that John Carpenter is the tits. As if I hadn’t thought that before.
That is all.
Behind every great book adaptation is a forgettable first try. — By Ryan Covey