"Death Race"

When I say that "Death Race" is an okay flick, it is with the caveat that I am talking about a film titled "Death Race." Produced by schlock master Roger Corman, ("A Bucket of Blood," "Little Shop of Horrors") and directed by Paul W. S. Anderson, ("Mortal Combat," "Resident Evil") most viewers won't be looking for exceptional drama or nuance. Neither should you.

"Death Race" is basically the offspring of "The Road Warrior" and "Rollerball." It takes place in the increasingly curious year of 2012, when all sorts of strange and nasty things are supposed to happen.

In this particular vision, the U.S. economy has collapsed. The common folk, bored with reality TV, have begun watching convicted felons driving supercharged, heavily armed autos around a prison yard track, attempting to blow each other to smithereens. (It's pay-per-view!) A convict who can win five races gets his freedom. Most don't survive their first joyride.

Jason Statham plays Jensen Ames, an exrace driver falsely accused of killing his wife. He finds himself at the mercy of Hennessey (Joan Allen), the ruthless prison warden. She wants Ames to drive for her team. She has her reasons.

He's been framed, of course, and must figure out how to stay alive, beat the system and find time to fall for Case (Natalie Martinez). Case is his navigator because, you know, those prison courses are so fraught with wrong turns, booby traps and things that go boom in the night. She also looks good in denim.

Expect a good deal of gritty, high-speed, high-octane action, prison gangs gnashing at each other, machine guns blazing and cars exploding. This one's a rapinfused, macho-talking, joltingly frenetic thrill ride. Yes, it's done well, but it's a one-race pony.

The first half of the flick is better than the second—because one feels director Anderson starts reaching for bigger, badder things to blow up (unnecessarily, if you ask me). However, if you're addicted to NASCAR or prison buddy films, then yeah, check it out. But if you're a guy on a first date, looking to impress your girl, well . . . don't start here.

"Tropic Thunder" is one part Hollywood spoof and one part warflick spoof. For my money, the Hollywood spoof sputters while the war spoof part soars. Despite a little uneven tendering, "Tropic Thunder" manages to turn out a decent and irreverent look at a goofy movie pretending to be a serious film.

Ben Stiller (who directed) plays Tugg Speedman, an almost overthe-hill actor who gets one last shot at making it big, the lead in a Vietnam action flick called "Tropic Thunder."

Robert Downey Jr., as an Australian method actor playing a black GI, utterly alienates the film's only real black actor, Brandon T. Jackson.

Jack Black plays a very blond soldier with a slight heroin problem. All are selfabsorbed and superficial. Actors playing actors: It's probably better than therapy.

Unfortunately, "Tropic Thunder" is already horribly over budget and failing fast. Not "Tropic Thunder" the actual film, mind you, but "Tropic Thunder" the filmwithin-the-film. So the blundering director, Steve Coogan, turns his fake platoon loose in the jungle in what he hopes will unite the bickering cast with a sense of véritéladen camaraderie. (Remember the cast of "Saving Private Ryan" bootcamping together for months before the shoot? Well, kinda like that, but with the opposite effect.)

Steve Coogan's exit from the film—from both films, actually— is most memorable. When this film is funny, it's really quite good. This might be a good moment to mention that there's some bloodshed involved here. Mock blood mostly, but occasionally not quite mock enough. Just a warning.

The platoon gets lost (of course) and stumbles upon an Asian drug cartel—although Tugg Speedman believes they're part of the cast. Did I mention the spoof part? Stiller does well as both director and actor, but it's the crazy tension between Downey and Jackson that verges on sublime.

Tom Cruise does a stand-up, and occasionally boogiedown, performance as the film's crass producer, but performances by Nick Nolte and Matthew McConaughey go sadly wasted, neither actor having much of a part other than FOBS (friends of Ben Stiller).

While many of the inside jokes may be too inside for most of us not power-lunching at Ago, the film underhands mostly rubber-tipped barbs at the industry. But for warflick buffs, expect a pretty decent lampoon of some classic 'Nam pictures, complete with a regurgitated soundtrack that will bring tears of reminiscence to the cheeks of many an aging hippie. Peace.