I never thought I’d relate so well with a murderous car tire that barrels around the Californian desert breaking stuff and pissing off the cops, but the second it blew up a rabbit’s head through telepathy, I knew we were one and the lepirophobic same.
Rubber isn’t an outright horror; it’s more of a parody of moviegoing – especially B movies – and a parody of itself, which makes me feel like a moron for having enjoyed it at face value. As soon as you see the tire wiggle and push itself up for the first time, I let out a little chuckle. It was like watching an adorable little baby agent of chaos be born.
It begins with a cop fourth-walling us with a fake list of things that happen ‘for no reason’ in movies and in real life. It goes on a bit too long (we get it/spoiler alert: we’re not going to get an explanation for the tire, ever), only for the movie to show us that there’s an audience on-screen. No matter how far the action goes, the audience is somehow able to see everything via binoculars, and pointlessly commenting on it like the spoon-fed, brain-dead twatfarts that they are.
The plot is a string of awesome special effects and borderline fourth-walling that is just on the right side of self-referential smugness. Despite this being the second movie I’ve watched this month to feature Community‘s Fat Neil (Charley Koontz), nobody’s dialogue or acting is particularly outstanding or memorable, but director Quentin Dupieux (aka Mr. Oizo – remember him?) has an uncanny knack for framing his shots so perfectly that you forget that this stupid giant rubber car-moving-ring-thing isn’t actually a sentient, breathing actor.
This homicidal white trash garden swing ingredient actually goes on a bit of an existential journey; there’s a bit of Hunter S. when it decides to hole up at a motel and watch a bit of telly, maybe have a bit of a wash and spy on its hot chick neighbour while she’s taking a shower. It all adds up to a bit of strangeness that doesn’t add up at all. Maybe there’ll be a sequel where it finds a mate.