Film is Pwn

Rollerball is bad.  (This is the part where you’re supposed to say, “how bad is it?”) Every DVD sold ought to come with a spoon with which one can gauge out one’s eyes. It’s so dreadful it cannot be enjoyed on any level by any sane person with a basic understanding of what it feels like to witness motion pictures.  I have my doubts that even a comatose man could endure Rollerball and I would encourage doctors to try showing this film to catatonic patients to see if this film’s terribleness could provoke them to rise from slumber, even if only to race until Rollerball is no longer within earshot.

Am I being harsh?  Consider, for a moment, that one of the film’s stars LL Cool J, while appearing on the Late Show with Conan O’Brian with the specific purpose of promoting Rollerball admitted that it “sucked.”  If you need corroborating evidence, understand that I — the man who embraces wretched movies — only managed to slog through Rollerball in three sittings.  Why did I keep going back to Rollerball despite the physical and mental toll it took on me?  I believe the condition is called “Cinematic masochism”.

Rollerball takes place in what was then the near future of 2005 and revolves around a dense pretty boy Chris Klein who is recruited by old friend LL Cool J to join the blossoming, fake sport on wheels Rollerball that is a growing fad in Asia.  What is Rollerball, you naively ask?  Rollerball is essentially a jazzed up version of Roller Derby; if you can’t picture what that might look like, I and everyone who has seen so much as a second of it envy you.

There’s an extended Rollerball game in the first few minutes that lasts for an eternity.  I’m not certain whether I didn’t know what was going on at any point of the “match” because of confusion or indifference; probably a combination of both.  One thing I know for sure, if there are seven levels of hell, one of them must involve attending a Rollerball event that never ends.  There are pro wrestling style announcers (including an actual former pro wrestling announcer, Paul Heyman) hype the thing in every language, but I honestly think they are just trying to convince themselves to dull the realization that their lives have been reduced to promoting Rollerball.

Naturally, there’s more going on than the pure competition of men and women wearing outrageous costumes on roller skates while trying to throw a metal ball at a horn.  Rollerball is run by an ex-KGB operative who dresses like a demented pimp (played by great actor Jean Reno who would later lose the tattered remains of his dignity to Pink Panther remakes) who tries to spice things up by arranging accidents and incidents.  This strategy works flawlessly, as every time someone is horribly injured the “instant global ratings” monitor shows the viewership doubling within seconds.

Let’s think about this for a moment, something I am sure the screenwriter never did.  The ratings are average, as a decent but unspectacular number of viewers embrace the event for the purity of the bizarre pseudo-sport for reasons known only to them.  Then, in a flash, something horribly violent happens – a dreadful yet spectacular accident causing potentially fatal injuries.  In twenty-two seconds, every single person appreciating the majesty of Rollerball has turned into a bloodthirsty gossip and called up a friend and successfully convinced them to tune in to witness the carnage?  In the words of Ralph Wiggum: “Unpossible!”  I’m not sure how such a massive, instantaneous response to a stunt could be achieved, though I strongly suspect twittering was somehow involved.

Once they realize the sport that aspires to be pro wrestling on wheels run by an ex-KGB guy may not be on the level, LL Cool J and Chris Klein make a run for the border.  No, they are not desperate for a Taco Bell Gordita (has anyone ever?) they seek the sanctuary of Russia.  Yes, that Russia.  LL Cool J, being about two seasons shy of retirement, doesn’t make it, and the evil Rollerball pimp forces Chris Klein to return to the Rollerball arena by threatening the life of Klein’s Rollerballin’ girlfriend/Russian dominatrix played by Rebecca Romijn.  I’m not sure what attracted a beautiful woman and capable actress like Rebecca Romijn to a film like Rollerball, but I can speculate that she really connected with the character who did topless bicep curls in the gym as she waited for her boyfriend to arrive for a midnight tryst.

In the end, somehow Chris Klein – as bland an actor as you’re likely to find this side of Keanu Reeves – manages through Rollerballin’ to inspire the downtrodden Asian miners in a revolt of the corrupt Rollerball promoter.  Shortly after this comes my favorite scene: the credits.

Bottom line, Rollerball stinks and should not be seen unless you are Jack Bauer attempting to extract crucial information from a suspect.  Five minutes of Rollerball and they’ll cough up anything you want to know.

–Daniel J. Roos wonders if the original Rollerball movie from the 70s starring James Caan is half as bad as this version, but as he has grown fond of life he is reluctant to find out for himself. Even Cinematic Masochists have to draw the line somewhere.