Have you ever stumbled upon a film so bizarre, so unconventional, that it completely defies expectations? That’s precisely what happened on a rainy Sunday when I set out seeking cinematic cheese and unexpectedly discovered a savory, thought-provoking meal in the form of “Rubber.” Initially, my expectations were set low – envisioning a brainless B-movie romp akin to “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.” I was prepared for some gloriously bad movie fun, the kind that makes you question your life choices in the best possible way. Little did I know, “Rubber” was gearing up to pump much more than low-grade octane into my movie-loving engine.
What unfolds in “Rubber” transcends the typical horror spoof or gimmick film. The movie throws you headfirst into its peculiar world right from the opening scene: a desolate desert road, inexplicably dotted with wooden chairs facing every which way. A car then enters the frame, systematically crushing these chairs in a bizarre act of vehicular vandalism before screeching to a halt. Emerging from the trunk (yes, the trunk!) is a sheriff who, in a move that shatters the fourth wall, addresses the audience directly. He speaks of the “no reason” principle in iconic films like “E.T.”, “Love Story,” and “Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” immediately evoking the quirky narration of the criminologist in “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” At this point, any preconceived notions about “Rubber” began to deflate like a punctured tire.
To delve too deep into the plot would be a disservice. Suffice it to say, “Rubber” masterfully blends elements of B-movie schlock with the surreal artistry of David Lynch and a dash of Hitchcockian suspense. Yes, you read that right. My first viewing was captivated by its sheer style. The film’s camera angles, the subtle nods to “Psycho,” and the unsettlingly effective soundtrack all conspired to build genuine suspense – quite a feat when your antagonist is, well, a generic tire. This atmospheric cinematography is brilliantly juxtaposed with a generous helping of absurdity and dark humor. This creates a viewing experience that’s constantly shifting, lurching from moments of tense anticipation to outright laughter, often landing squarely in bewildered confusion.
The sheriff’s assertion that there is “no reason” for this film is, ironically, the biggest deception of all. Reason permeates every frame, from the chair-smashing opener to the ironic Nascar race sequence, even in the poignant use of “Just Don’t Want to be Lonely.” And let’s not forget the turkey – yes, the turkey makes perfect sense in its own nonsensical way. Irony is layered upon irony, even as the on-screen heroine declares the dialogue to be utter garbage. It’s a film that winks at itself, constantly playing with your expectations.
On a second viewing, the true genius of “Rubber” emerges. The film isn’t just about a killer tire; it’s about movies themselves and, more pointedly, about us – the audience. Pay close attention to the scenes featuring the roadside bystanders, and you’ll realize they are the real focus. Robert, the killer tire, becomes a surprisingly well-developed character. He learns, sleeps, recreates, dreams, and even experiences flashbacks to his past life as a regular tire on a car. Observe the film’s structure, the symbolic use of reflecting glass, and the incineration scene as key moments of transformation. You’ll be astonished by the layers you missed on your initial watch.
Astonishingly, “Rubber” became my unexpected favorite film of 2011. It’s a cinematic experience that lingers, prompting discussion and demanding repeat viewings. For lovers of film who appreciate the unconventional and enjoy having their expectations delightfully subverted, “Rubber” is an absolute must-watch.
So, where can you watch this cinematic oddity? While “Rubber” might not be dominating the front pages of streaming services, it’s readily available on platforms like Amazon Prime Video, Apple TV, and for rent or purchase on YouTube Movies. Do yourself a favor and seek out “Rubber.” Prepare to have your cinematic palate expanded, and perhaps, just perhaps, gain a newfound respect for sentient tires.
