This movie starts off with a monologue about movies and the things in the movies that happen, or in some cases don't happen, for no particular reason. We are then "introduced" to the audience, representing the viewer. They start looking through the desert with binoculars, until a tire pops up and starts rolling. It blows up a bunny, and we learn that this tire has the ability to blow up stuff using psychokinetic powers. It falls in love with a girl, and follows her into a hotel. It starts killing off people at the hotel. "Police" (although not really police) chase it down, until it stops at a small house. They corner it, as it's watching racing, and devise a trap for it. They rig a mannequin with dynamite, while the lady from earlier reads off lines. The tire blows it up, but doesn't die. The "sheriff" goes in with a shotgun, "kills" the tire; however, the tire comes out as a tricycle. It kills the sheriff and rolls off, a gang of tires following it as it reaches Hollywood.
This would be a pretty good plot for a movie, but the problem with the movie comes with little segments of the audience. The movie gets too self aware during these parts, as well as some other parts during the main story arch, that only serve to please the person making it, and pretentious movie snobs. It takes the viewer out of what is happening, reassuring them that, yes they are watching a movie, and no they do not have any interaction with the movie itself. It seems so mindlessly indulgent; the only people who could possibly enjoy these segments are those who call themselves "intellectuals" while they sit around at Starbucks. What could have been a decently campy "horror" film, is turned into a pretentious art-house film.
This leads to the biggest setback of the movie, it doesn't know what it wants to be. It's too schlocky to be a art-house, too intelligent to be a campy b-horror, and not funny enough to be a comedy. It just kind melds into something that really has no true identity. Sure people throw "unique" around, but that doesn't really benefit this movie in any way. It's attempt at being different is its major drawback, it alienates too much of its audience by trying to be some many different things, while not truly being any.
I could only recommend this to those looking for something different, or those who like looking too deep into a movie, thinking it makes them smarter. It would only appeal to a small demographic of horror/comedy/or art films. Rubber just tries too hard to be unique, but it ends up suffering because of it.
This would be a pretty good plot for a movie, but the problem with the movie comes with little segments of the audience. The movie gets too self aware during these parts, as well as some other parts during the main story arch, that only serve to please the person making it, and pretentious movie snobs. It takes the viewer out of what is happening, reassuring them that, yes they are watching a movie, and no they do not have any interaction with the movie itself. It seems so mindlessly indulgent; the only people who could possibly enjoy these segments are those who call themselves "intellectuals" while they sit around at Starbucks. What could have been a decently campy "horror" film, is turned into a pretentious art-house film.
This leads to the biggest setback of the movie, it doesn't know what it wants to be. It's too schlocky to be a art-house, too intelligent to be a campy b-horror, and not funny enough to be a comedy. It just kind melds into something that really has no true identity. Sure people throw "unique" around, but that doesn't really benefit this movie in any way. It's attempt at being different is its major drawback, it alienates too much of its audience by trying to be some many different things, while not truly being any.
I could only recommend this to those looking for something different, or those who like looking too deep into a movie, thinking it makes them smarter. It would only appeal to a small demographic of horror/comedy/or art films. Rubber just tries too hard to be unique, but it ends up suffering because of it.