Driven
You may recall that I'm sometimes not the most optimistic guy on the planet - in fact, a few of you have called me downright gloomy from time to time, but doggone it, every now and again, I'm forced to polish up my rose-colored glasses and venture forth in search of cinematic magic, just for you. As it turns out, my advance pessimism for "Driven" was more than appropriate, and now I feel as though I've thrown myself on a Hollywood Hand Grenade. But for you, babies, no sacrifice is too great. Don't worry about me, it's only a flesh wound.
Parenthetically, and in parentheses at that, I have obviously not given up the Moovie cause, as many had feared - or hoped - I simply became overwhelmed by the many choices that lay stretched out in front of me. Moovies, while a favorite 120 minute vacation destination for yours truly, slip down the priority list when the other choices include real work - which in turn, allows me to live indoors, eat warm food and eventually get back out to the moovies. Sorry I've been gone so long, but fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, photographers gotta suck up to clients.
So, he said, inhaling deeply, "Driven" with Sylvester Stallone, Kip Pardue, Til Schweiger Gina Gershon and Burt Reynolds. Written by Sylvester Stallone, directed by Renny Harlin. MPAA Rating PG-13. Run time, a couple hours, seemed like more.
The short list of subjects that should never, ever be molded into moovies of any kind is growing, kids. Last year we permanently added Mars to the list - this year, Sly Stallone drops open-wheel motor sports in our laps, and frankly, it would have been much nicer had he lobbed in some nice Sarin nerve gas instead - the pain would be over instead of lingering like an A.J. Foyt-administered black eye. What is it with car moovies? What is it with Stallone? How do these people keep their jobs? Why couldn't the Hollwood Writer's strike have been made retroactive? And how, he asked, did we get tricked into watching this thing, this horrible Faustian deal gone bad that might have been pretty good with the addition of Adam Sandler, or maybe Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp. Believe me, no one would notice.
That Stallone and Company can make Indy-cars and the people who race them seem terminally boring may well be a form of genius that I've simply never been exposed to - but I don't think it would have mattered much if they had been doing hyper-slow motion of an Anna Kornikova wet t-shirt backswing - it would have looked like The Grim Reaper serving up Salmon Mousse.
"Driven" is the worst sort of formula flick - the kind where every nuance is explained, every detail is pointed out, every idea is flattened by repetition and telegraphed so far in advance that it's a relief when it ends as it was supposed to, exactly on cue. The only salvation might have been the racing action itself, but so much of the racing was created in the computer that it feels more like something from a Playstation title. They don't even try to hide the fact that a great deal of the "racing" footage is empty track footage taken from a nose camera, with the "action" added in post. A few thunderously gratuitous 200 MPH crashes and a love-addled Indy Car chase through the streets of Chicago later, (PLEEZE) the moovie ends, exactly as you knew it would, but not before you actually start to feel embarrassed that someone you know might see you in the theater. Now you know how the actors feel.
Sylvester Stallone elevates his career-limiting-moves to an art form in "Driven", to be outdone only by Burt Reynolds' lizardly countenance as a racing team owner with lots of money, no scruples and a really good toupee man. The only moustache in history with cleaner borders was Groucho's stenciled-on grease paint. What this moovie needed was a guest appearance by Speed Racer and Sparky. What it didn't need was one more image of a racer's boot doing a heel and toe from gas to brake and back - the horror.
A personal note - apparently someone at Warner Brothers didn't care for well-known racing safety equipment sweetheart of a guy Bill Simpson - every racing firesuit, harness and scrap of Nomex in this flick carries a Sparco label, not the Simpson tag. Yeah, right. (Sorry, it's an ego thing.)
If you want racing done well, and you don't mind thinly veiled references to really old guys like Jackie Stewart and Chris Amon - ask your folks who these people are - see if you can find a widescreen VHS copy of the 1966 John Frankenheimer classic, "Grand Prix". Compared to "Driven", "Grand Prix" is sheer poetry - European F1 racing brought to life through innovative cinematography, brilliant editing and realistic sound. There's even a story.
Sorry, no cows. They're not speaking to me right now.
Parenthetically, and in parentheses at that, I have obviously not given up the Moovie cause, as many had feared - or hoped - I simply became overwhelmed by the many choices that lay stretched out in front of me. Moovies, while a favorite 120 minute vacation destination for yours truly, slip down the priority list when the other choices include real work - which in turn, allows me to live indoors, eat warm food and eventually get back out to the moovies. Sorry I've been gone so long, but fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, photographers gotta suck up to clients.
So, he said, inhaling deeply, "Driven" with Sylvester Stallone, Kip Pardue, Til Schweiger Gina Gershon and Burt Reynolds. Written by Sylvester Stallone, directed by Renny Harlin. MPAA Rating PG-13. Run time, a couple hours, seemed like more.
The short list of subjects that should never, ever be molded into moovies of any kind is growing, kids. Last year we permanently added Mars to the list - this year, Sly Stallone drops open-wheel motor sports in our laps, and frankly, it would have been much nicer had he lobbed in some nice Sarin nerve gas instead - the pain would be over instead of lingering like an A.J. Foyt-administered black eye. What is it with car moovies? What is it with Stallone? How do these people keep their jobs? Why couldn't the Hollwood Writer's strike have been made retroactive? And how, he asked, did we get tricked into watching this thing, this horrible Faustian deal gone bad that might have been pretty good with the addition of Adam Sandler, or maybe Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp. Believe me, no one would notice.
That Stallone and Company can make Indy-cars and the people who race them seem terminally boring may well be a form of genius that I've simply never been exposed to - but I don't think it would have mattered much if they had been doing hyper-slow motion of an Anna Kornikova wet t-shirt backswing - it would have looked like The Grim Reaper serving up Salmon Mousse.
"Driven" is the worst sort of formula flick - the kind where every nuance is explained, every detail is pointed out, every idea is flattened by repetition and telegraphed so far in advance that it's a relief when it ends as it was supposed to, exactly on cue. The only salvation might have been the racing action itself, but so much of the racing was created in the computer that it feels more like something from a Playstation title. They don't even try to hide the fact that a great deal of the "racing" footage is empty track footage taken from a nose camera, with the "action" added in post. A few thunderously gratuitous 200 MPH crashes and a love-addled Indy Car chase through the streets of Chicago later, (PLEEZE) the moovie ends, exactly as you knew it would, but not before you actually start to feel embarrassed that someone you know might see you in the theater. Now you know how the actors feel.
Sylvester Stallone elevates his career-limiting-moves to an art form in "Driven", to be outdone only by Burt Reynolds' lizardly countenance as a racing team owner with lots of money, no scruples and a really good toupee man. The only moustache in history with cleaner borders was Groucho's stenciled-on grease paint. What this moovie needed was a guest appearance by Speed Racer and Sparky. What it didn't need was one more image of a racer's boot doing a heel and toe from gas to brake and back - the horror.
A personal note - apparently someone at Warner Brothers didn't care for well-known racing safety equipment sweetheart of a guy Bill Simpson - every racing firesuit, harness and scrap of Nomex in this flick carries a Sparco label, not the Simpson tag. Yeah, right. (Sorry, it's an ego thing.)
If you want racing done well, and you don't mind thinly veiled references to really old guys like Jackie Stewart and Chris Amon - ask your folks who these people are - see if you can find a widescreen VHS copy of the 1966 John Frankenheimer classic, "Grand Prix". Compared to "Driven", "Grand Prix" is sheer poetry - European F1 racing brought to life through innovative cinematography, brilliant editing and realistic sound. There's even a story.
Sorry, no cows. They're not speaking to me right now.
