A few years back, panic abounded when Firestone tires began spontaneously exploding, causing severe injuries to drivers. To most people, this is the extent to which tires can be seen as frightening, life-threatening entities. But most people are not director Quentin Dupieux, who apparently thinks that the malice of tires goes far beyond some technical malfunction. Rather, he takes a bold, completely absurd look at the killing possibilities of this common piece of auto equipment—he makes a villain out of a cold-blooded, murderous rubber tire.
Rubber, the film featuring this fantastic premise, fills the vacuum in the modern horror industry for the absurdist comedic slasher flick. Following the story of a homicidal tire and local law enforcement’s scrambling efforts to stop its killing spree, Rubber proves far more inventive than its awful tagline, “Are you ‘tired’ of the expected?”
Unlike the horror comedies of the ‘80s and ‘90s, Rubber flaunts its self-awareness. Rubber offers an immediate, self-aware counter attack: the town’s sheriff, played by Stephen Spinella, breaks the fourth wall and dives into a tirade against the just-as-unrealistic logic behind E.T., The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and The Pianist. “All great films—without exception—contain an important element of ‘no reason,’” he argues.
And with this assertion, Dupieux presents a movie that takes preposterousness to its highest level. Viewers get no explanation as to why a tire came to life, decided (do tires even ‘decide’?) to kill people, and has the power to make people’s heads explode.
However, for those who appreciate a comically cognizant, murderous tire, Rubber proves absolutely delightful. One of the film’s best elements is a group of spectators—armed with binoculars and sleeping bags—who watch the story unfold from afar in the California dessert. These observers no doubt represent the real audience’s reactions to the offbeat film. A group of nerds argue about how the tire kills its victims—psychokinetic abilities ultimately win over telepathic speculation. Behind them, a duo of teenagers ramp up the Valley girl accent, scoffing at the pointlessness of the whole affair. When local law enforcement unexpectedly pulls the spectators into the storyline, one of them protests, “I’m not a character!”
In a wonderfully horrifying scene, the sheriff delivers a poisoned turkey to the group of spectators in hopes that he can stop acting once they have stopped watching. But even after the last of the spectators dies off and the sheriff walks away, Rubber cannot shake off its audience.
Though it may not pack theatres this spring, the quirky allure of Rubber is destined to gather a cult following down the line.
