THE ELIMINATOR
* * * (2004, 90 minutes, Rated R)
Kills nameless bad guys, dead.
Remember the good ol' days of action movies? The kind of movies where nobody needed a
motivation or backstory, and all of the violence was completely bloodless? The kind of movies
where seemingly any 98-lb. weakling can kill a man from behind by snapping his neck?
If you're thinking to yourself, "Ah yeah! Good times!", then this is definitely a movie for you.
We start right off with what I'm sure was meant to be a riveting powerboat race. Couple
problems there: First off, we don't know who is in the race. At all. Sure, we get exactly one close-
up of Bas Rutten (only later do we learn that he plays the absurdly named Dakota Varley, who
has "some gambling debts" – the beginning and end of his character development). But if
you're not a UFC fan, you're in the dark here. Even if we did know who was in the race, everyone
in the race wears a full helmet with face shield, meaning we have no idea of who's who anyway.
If that's not bad enough, the whole race is punctuated with halting tough guy talk through those
Push To Talk cell phones (not that any of the racers are actually using one). And it certainly isn't
the good kind of halting tough guy talk, like you’d find in Predator. To wit:
"Lemme give you a crash course in my rules. (overly long pregnant pause) Rule #1: Ah always
win." And the snappy retort? "Yeah right."
It's not until after our hero wins the race that this movie shows it's true colors. Another
contestant picks a fight with the absurdly-named Dakota Varley, they scuffle for about 15
seconds and then the absurdly-named Dakota Varley sends the sore loser flying about 20 feet
with a karate kick. Bitchin'.
The race is organized by a strangely bookish Michael Rooker, affectionately known as "The
Rook" in one of my favorite DVD commentaries. Before you can say "Don't drink the water," The
Rook has drugged Varley and had him thrown out of a plane along with a half dozen other bad
asses for a little Most Dangerous Game action. And we're off to the races.
By day, the bad asses fight each other with spectacularly dated sound effects. By night, they're
hunted by spandex-clad hunters using the world's worst night vision goggles. Soon enough, the
good guy bad-asses start to band together and snap spandex necks while the bad guy bad-
asses prowl around solo, growling like jungle cats.
Yes, it is exactly that kind of movie. In addition to the jungle cat growls, it has oodles of
bloodless fights filled with pro wrestling moves, guns that are always out of bullets, H U G E
explosions, more snapped necks than a chicken farm and quite possibly the world’s first fully-
clothed sex scene. Throw in The Rook gravelling at everyone – that's right, I used "gravel" as a
verb – and there are plenty worse ways of spending the evening than checking out this film.
* * * (2004, 90 minutes, Rated R)
Kills nameless bad guys, dead.
Remember the good ol' days of action movies? The kind of movies where nobody needed a
motivation or backstory, and all of the violence was completely bloodless? The kind of movies
where seemingly any 98-lb. weakling can kill a man from behind by snapping his neck?
If you're thinking to yourself, "Ah yeah! Good times!", then this is definitely a movie for you.
We start right off with what I'm sure was meant to be a riveting powerboat race. Couple
problems there: First off, we don't know who is in the race. At all. Sure, we get exactly one close-
up of Bas Rutten (only later do we learn that he plays the absurdly named Dakota Varley, who
has "some gambling debts" – the beginning and end of his character development). But if
you're not a UFC fan, you're in the dark here. Even if we did know who was in the race, everyone
in the race wears a full helmet with face shield, meaning we have no idea of who's who anyway.
If that's not bad enough, the whole race is punctuated with halting tough guy talk through those
Push To Talk cell phones (not that any of the racers are actually using one). And it certainly isn't
the good kind of halting tough guy talk, like you’d find in Predator. To wit:
"Lemme give you a crash course in my rules. (overly long pregnant pause) Rule #1: Ah always
win." And the snappy retort? "Yeah right."
It's not until after our hero wins the race that this movie shows it's true colors. Another
contestant picks a fight with the absurdly-named Dakota Varley, they scuffle for about 15
seconds and then the absurdly-named Dakota Varley sends the sore loser flying about 20 feet
with a karate kick. Bitchin'.
The race is organized by a strangely bookish Michael Rooker, affectionately known as "The
Rook" in one of my favorite DVD commentaries. Before you can say "Don't drink the water," The
Rook has drugged Varley and had him thrown out of a plane along with a half dozen other bad
asses for a little Most Dangerous Game action. And we're off to the races.
By day, the bad asses fight each other with spectacularly dated sound effects. By night, they're
hunted by spandex-clad hunters using the world's worst night vision goggles. Soon enough, the
good guy bad-asses start to band together and snap spandex necks while the bad guy bad-
asses prowl around solo, growling like jungle cats.
Yes, it is exactly that kind of movie. In addition to the jungle cat growls, it has oodles of
bloodless fights filled with pro wrestling moves, guns that are always out of bullets, H U G E
explosions, more snapped necks than a chicken farm and quite possibly the world’s first fully-
clothed sex scene. Throw in The Rook gravelling at everyone – that's right, I used "gravel" as a
verb – and there are plenty worse ways of spending the evening than checking out this film.
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