Editorials
‘Rollerball’ Turned a 1970s Cult Classic into an Early 2000s Studio Disaster [Revenge of the Remakes]
In life, spewing hate comes easy; finding the good takes effort. That’s my mantra for “Revenge of the Remakes.” Get dirty and identify value where others hastily — maybe unfairly — laid harsh criticisms. Any remake, in any genre, faces biased outrage from peanut galleries who refuse to remove their nostalgia goggles. It’s easy to prey on the hate clickers out there, which is why I use this column as a voice for the misunderstood and wrongly delegitimized. A remake isn’t trash because it’s a remake, there’s more to the equation.
That said (and believed), not all remakes are created equal. With soaring highs come subterranean lows. Sometimes remakes are nothing but a copy-and-paste cash grab, devoid of creative ambitions. These examples fuel smear campaigns about remakes at large — and today, we’re dissecting one of the worst.
John McTiernan’s Rollerball is an unprecedented studio disaster that’s inarguably inferior to Norman Jewison’s 70s dystopian classic of the same name. For every compliment I’ve paid a remake when adapting an original film’s social commentary anew or bringing a fresh perspective to visual storytelling, Rollerball (2002) stubbornly does the opposite. Jewison feeds off capitalist anxieties that haunt William Harrison’s short story “Roller Ball Murder” (Harrison wrote the screenplay for Jewison’s film as well), where McTiernan crystalizes, pulverizes, and snorts the sweat of X-Games celebrities for inspiration. It’s a brilliant representation of what we all fear Americanized remakes can look like at their lowest. Rollerball is as bad as y’all think Joseph Kahn’s Torque is.
Am I taking some liberties writing about Rollerball on a horror website? No! Rollerball (1975) imagines a world where corporations have replaced government control and feed the masses televised violence to keep them docile. Thems be heavy dystopian horror vibes. Leave your genre classification pettiness at the door, please.
The Approach
‘Rollerball’ (1975)
Imagine 1975’s Rollerball without all that pesky consumerism analysis, terrifying monopolistic agendas, and genuine warning signs against where American ideals are headed far away in 2018. That’s what McTiernan apparently fought to focus on, the video game version of Rollerball aimed at pre-teens who want to sneak watches on HBO during sleepovers. It’s packed with gawking female nudity and violence for the sake of violence, avoiding worldview stances that’d threaten its rotation in syndicated cable movie marathons. Unknown sources* reported that the script’s first draft was considered to be quite impressive and representative of the original’s themes (before co-writer John Pogue completed a revision overhaul), yet McTiernan wasn’t a fan because it included too much social commentary (parallelling Jewison’s original).
*Rollerball (2002) was plagued by issues behind the scenes, from studio interference to wiretapping scandals that’d send McTiernan to jail, but I could find no specific quote for this attribution. The closest I got was an IGN script review that mentions: “This 99-page draft by John Pogue (The Skulls) is a rewrite of earlier revisions made by David Campbell Wilson & Howard Rodman to Larry Ferguson’s initial draft.” All other information links to then-popular film bloggers like disgraced Ain’t It Cool sex pest Harry Knowles — in addition to MGM’s publicized date changes, reshoots, and test screening comparisons — so it’s worth taking with a grain of salt, despite leaking alongside other confirmed information.
In McTiernan’s outright terrible remake, eventual Benchwarmers 2 star Chris Klein plays NHL hopeful Jonathan Cross. It’s the modern era (2000s), and we meet Cross participating in underground street luge races to establish this thrill-seeking personality. Marcus Ridley (LL Cool J) approaches Cross with an offer to participate in the world’s fastest-growing sport — Rollerball. It’s not long before Cross joins the Zhambel Horsemen in Kazakhstan and becomes Rollerball’s hottest star, impressing owner and promoter Alexi Petrovich (Jean Reno). Cross embraces the high life of nightclub VIP treatment, expensive sports cars, and exceptional protection in countries otherwise ravaged by poverty, until Petrovich’s desire to increase ratings leads to a violent uptick in injuries across Rollerball rosters.
Reading into the myriad of now public boardroom decisions that stripped any cultural flourishes or flakes of personality, you’ll find orders to trash Brian Transeau’s test screening score for being “too Arabic,” replaced by Eric Serra’s industrial alt-2000s rhythms. Ain’t it Cool also reported MGM gutted McTiernan’s first cut for being “too Asian,” and digitally covered much of the nudity McTiernan deemed so necessary to the plot of Rollerball (peep a single locker room image comparison showing the before and after). The goal was to release a PG-13 cut in theaters with the highest probability of mitigating what was sure to be a massive bust. The result was 90ish minutes of whatever skeletal remains were left after reshoots and trimming sessions (the R-rated cut would later hit physical media and digital).
Does It Work?
‘Rollerball’ (2002)
McTiernan handles Rollerball (2002) with the curiosity of a prepubescent teenager who spends their downtime watching “Viva La Bam” or downloading pornographic JPEGs on LimeWire (we were all noisy, horny, obnoxious once). It’s a trainwreck not even fit for ESPN8 The Ocho. Jonathan Cross isn’t worth the gum that Jonathan E. would scrape off his boot. Cross’ crisis of conscience doesn’t develop past “money good, violence bad,” and his relationship with motorcycle maven Aurora “The Black Widow” (Rebecca Romijn) is hardly a new interpretation of Jonathan E.’s stolen marriage. McTiernan doesn’t want to challenge his audience and, in doing so, vaporizes what makes Jewison’s futuristic barbarism so stingingly prescient and despicably evergreen by today’s economic class standards.
The game of Rollerball gets a facelift, but bigger ramps for rad tricks and elevated rabbit holes don’t make for more intense rollerblading action. McTiernan’s drive to promote Rollerball as this “sports entertainment” phenomenon à la WWE is soulless and grotesquely shot, failing to replicate the marathon competitions that James Caan (as Jonathan E.) and his crew endured as Houston ballers. Former ECW CEO and current WWE personality Paul Heyman steals most scenes as America’s commentator (also peep a Shane McMahon cameo), explaining the rules of Rollerball aloud while beating audiences over the head with unsubtle narration that’s otherwise easily understood throughout Jewison’s athletic deathmatches. Rollerball (2002) was supposed to be the electric hyperfixation on league theatrics built on adrenaline-pumping excitement, but that’s a far cry from the result. McTiernan and MGM sand Rollerball (2002) down until it’s a collection of goofy rink gameplay and dunderheaded swerves around anything that could confuse American audiences, sinking continuity and any real point to this woefully misguided revamp.
There’s a pungent ickiness to transporting Rollerball somewhere lawless enough where such deplorable behavior could exist: anywhere international. Jewison holds the world culpable; McTiernan makes a point of plucking Cross and Ridley out of America. Whatever’s left of Ferguson and Pogue’s screenplay sidesteps making any thematic assertions about Petrovich targeting mining territories or the protests raging outside Rollerball arenas. The closest McTiernan gets to political commentary is dressing Petrovich’s exploited hostesses in gilded dictator’s costumes with holes cut out so we can see every boob in the room, and even then, it’s embarrassingly naked. Rollerball (2002) feels like it should be a fictional movie shown in Idiocracy as a 2000s Hollywood satire, and I mean that with the least flattering implications.
The Result
‘Rollerball’ (2002)
Rollerball (2002) drags itself from a toxic cauldron of bad ideas, rampant studio interference, and about seventy Red Bulls. It’s like a thirteen-year-old watched the trailer for Rollerball (1975) and was asked to scribble some storyboards based on what they remembered. It does everything a good remake doesn’t by showing no reverence for the original. McTiernan grasps all the wrong takeaways you could muster from a drunken Rollerball (1975) screening and blends them with heinous signatures born from the nu-age 2000s. On a purely conceptual level, there’s no better case study for how not to approach a remake.
Beyond ideas, beyond the 2000s VH1 reality show levels of objectification, beyond the studio tampering, Rollerball (2002) is just a poorly crafted movie. Klein’s tryout to be America’s next action heartthrob is a monotone whiff, outshined by supporting roles like future Leatherface Andrew Bryniarski as a grunting muscular brute. Where Jewison holds propulsive cinematography on extended rollerskating sequences that inflate the game’s thrills, McTiernan’s visual style is hack-and-chop editing that makes mincemeat of Rollerball competitions. Oh, and don’t even get me started on that grainy-as-sin, marathon-length nightvision chase where Cross and Ridley attempt to escape Petrovich’s organization — what a bafflingly ugly scene that somehow saw the dark of theaters. Between laughably emotionless character deaths, barstools that deflect shotgun blasts, and the amateurish dents all over Rollerball (2002), I don’t know if you can find a worse widely released title in the 2000s.
There are fleeting seconds, mere glimmers of hope, that make us believe there’s a better Rollerball underneath the rubble of McTiernan’s overproduced pile of spare parts. Motorcycles fit a rider’s unique tastes, and player gear exhibits customization from demon masks to frilly tutu’s, which brings a tad more attitude to Rollerball 2.0. Cue Slipknot’s “I Am Hated,” Rob Zombie’s “Feel So Numb,” P.O.D.’s “Boom,” and other aughts nu-metal classics that stack banger after banger for the film’s soundtrack. Like I said, Rollerball (2002) had all the makings to match Torque in its high-speed and unapologetically 2000s ambitions — and now I really wish Joseph Kahn had John McTiernan’s job.
The Lesson
‘Rollerball’ (2002)
Respect. Respect is the magic word when it comes to remakes. McTiernan does not respect Harrison’s literature or Jewison’s adaptation, nor does MGM. If McTiernan denied the essential social commentary of 1975’s Rollerball, he’s to blame. If MGM edited out the plot, that’s their issue.
Either way, Rollerball (2002) forgets where it came from — nay, outright ignores what matters — and pays the ultimate price.
So What Did We Learn?
● Chris Klein wasn’t long for the leading man conversation, no matter how much he looks like Point Break Keanu Reeves in that opening scene.
● If you flashed your talent by directing Die Hard and Predator, it doesn’t matter — you could still bomb as hard as Rollerball.
● If you can’t find the pulse of an original film, your remake will probably die on arrival.
● Even worse, if you’re not even going to try to honor an original with your remake, you better have style for days and execution that’s out of this world.
Imagine going to jail because of 2002’s Rollerball. ROLLERBALL SENT JOHN MCTIERNAN TO JAIL. McTiernan lied to an FBI investigator when asked if he hired infamous Los Angeles private eye Anthony Pellicano to illegally wiretap producer Charles Roven because he disagreed with Roven about the approach to Rollerball. McTiernan served 328 days of his 12-month sentence in one of “America’s 10 Cushiest Prisons,” as per Forbes (in Yankton, South Dakota), before returning to his Wyoming ranch under house arrest. That’s forever on his record. A Rollerball related crime. Well, a Rollerball related crime besides making someone pay to watch Rollerball.
Soon after the New Hollywood generation took over the entertainment industry, they started having children. And more than any filmmakers that came before—they were terrified. Rosemary’s Baby (1968), The Exorcist (1973), The Omen (1976), Eraserhead (1977), The Brood (1979), The Shining (1980), Possession (1981), and many others all deal, at least in part, with the fears of becoming or being a parent. What if my child turns out to be a monster? is corrupted by some evil force? or turns out to be the fucking Antichrist? What if I screw them up somehow, or can’t help them, or even go insane and try to kill them? Horror has always been at its best when exploring relatable fears through extreme circumstances. A prime example of this is Larry Cohen’s 1974 monster-baby movie It’s Alive, which explores the not only the rollercoaster of emotions that any parent experiences when confronted with the difficulties of raising a child, but long-standing questions of who or what is at fault when something goes horribly wrong.
Cohen begins making his underlying points early in the film as Frank Davis (John P. Ryan) discusses the state of the world with a group of expectant fathers in a hospital waiting room. They discuss the “overabundance of lead” in foods and the environment, smog, and pesticides that only serve to produce roaches that are “bigger, stronger, and harder to kill.” Frank comments that this is “quite a world to bring a kid into.” This has long been a discussion point among people when trying to decide whether to have kids or not. I’ve had many conversations with friends who have said they feel it’s irresponsible to bring children into such a violent, broken, and dangerous world, and I certainly don’t begrudge them this. My wife and I did decide to have children but that doesn’t mean that it’s been easy.
Immediately following this scene comes It’s Alive’s most famous sequence in which Frank’s wife Lenore (Sharon Farrell) is the only person left alive in her delivery room, the doctors clawed and bitten to death by her mutant baby, which has escaped. “What does my baby look like!? What’s wrong with my baby!?” she screams as nurses wheel her frantically into a recovery room. The evening that had begun with such joy and excitement at the birth of their second child turned into a nightmare. This is tough for me to write, but on some level, I can relate to this whiplash of emotion. When my second child was born, they came about five weeks early. I’ll use the pronouns “they/them” for privacy reasons when referring to my kids. Our oldest was still very young and went to stay with my parents and we sped off to the hospital where my wife was taken into an operating room for an emergency c-section. I was able to carry our newborn into the NICU (natal intensive care unit) where I was assured that this was routine for all premature births. The nurses assured me there was nothing to worry about and the baby looked big and healthy. I headed to where my wife was taken to recover to grab a few winks assuming that everything was fine. Well, when I awoke, I headed back over to the NICU to find that my child was not where I left them. The nurse found me and told me that the baby’s lungs were underdeveloped, and they had to put them in a special room connected to oxygen tubes and wires to monitor their vitals.
It’s difficult to express the fear that overwhelmed me in those moments. Everything turned out okay, but it took a while and I’m convinced to this day that their anxiety struggles spring from these first weeks of life. As our children grew, we learned that two of the three were on the spectrum and that anxiety, depression, ADHD, and OCD were also playing a part in their lives. Parents, at least speaking for myself, can’t help but blame themselves for the struggles their children face. The “if only” questions creep in and easily overcome the voices that assure us that it really has nothing to do with us. In the film, Lenore says, “maybe it’s all the pills I’ve been taking that brought this on.” Frank muses aloud about how he used to think that Frankenstein was the monster, but when he got older realized he was the one that made the monster. The aptly named Frank is wondering if his baby’s mutation is his fault, if he created the monster that is terrorizing Los Angeles. I have made plenty of “if only” statements about myself over the years. “If only I hadn’t had to work so much, if only I had been around more when they were little.” Mothers may ask themselves, “did I have a drink, too much coffee, or a cigarette before I knew I was pregnant? Was I too stressed out during the pregnancy?” In other words, most parents can’t help but wonder if it’s all their fault.
At one point in the film, Frank goes to the elementary school where his baby has been sighted and is escorted through the halls by police. He overhears someone comment about “screwed up genes,” which brings about age-old questions of nature vs. nurture. Despite the voices around him from doctors and detectives that say, “we know this isn’t your fault,” Frank can’t help but think it is, and that the people who try to tell him it isn’t really think it’s his fault too. There is no doubt that there is a hereditary element to the kinds of mental illness struggles that my children and I deal with. But, and it’s a bit but, good parenting goes a long way in helping children deal with these struggles. Kids need to know they’re not alone, a good parent can provide that, perhaps especially parents that can relate to the same kinds of struggles. The question of nature vs. nurture will likely never be entirely answered but I think there’s more than a good chance that “both/and” is the case. Around the midpoint of the film, Frank agrees to disown the child and sign it over for medical experimentation if caught or killed. Lenore and the older son Chris (Daniel Holzman) seek to nurture and teach the baby, feeling that it is not a monster, but a member of the family.
It’s Alive takes these ideas to an even greater degree in the fact that the Davis Baby really is a monster, a mutant with claws and fangs that murders and eats people. The late ’60s and early ’70s also saw the rise in mass murderers and serial killers which heightened the nature vs. nurture debate. Obviously, these people were not literal monsters but human beings that came from human parents, but something had gone horribly wrong. Often the upbringing of these killers clearly led in part to their antisocial behavior, but this isn’t always the case. It’s Alive asks “what if a ‘monster’ comes from a good home?” In this case is it society, environmental factors, or is it the lead, smog, and pesticides? It is almost impossible to know, but the ending of the film underscores an uncomfortable truth—even monsters have parents.
As the film enters its third act, Frank joins the hunt for his child through the Los Angeles sewers and into the L.A. River. He is armed with a rifle and ready to kill on sight, having divorced himself from any relationship to the child. Then Frank finds his baby crying in the sewers and his fatherly instincts take over. With tears in his eyes, he speaks words of comfort and wraps his son in his coat. He holds him close, pats and rocks him, and whispers that everything is going to be okay. People often wonder how the parents of those who perform heinous acts can sit in court, shed tears, and defend them. I think it’s a complex issue. I’m sure that these parents know that their child has done something evil, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are still their baby. Your child is a piece of yourself formed into a whole new human being. Disowning them would be like cutting off a limb, no matter what they may have done. It doesn’t erase an evil act, far from it, but I can understand the pain of a parent in that situation. I think It’s Alive does an exceptional job placing its audience in that situation.
Despite the serious issues and ideas being examined in the film, It’s Alive is far from a dour affair. At heart, it is still a monster movie and filled with a sense of fun and a great deal of pitch-black humor. In one of its more memorable moments, a milkman is sucked into the rear compartment of his truck as red blood mingles with the white milk from smashed bottles leaking out the back of the truck and streaming down the street. Just after Frank agrees to join the hunt for his baby, the film cuts to the back of an ice cream truck with the words “STOP CHILDREN” emblazoned on it. It’s a movie filled with great kills, a mutant baby—created by make-up effects master Rick Baker early in his career, and plenty of action—and all in a PG rated movie! I’m telling you, the ’70s were wild. It just also happens to have some thoughtful ideas behind it as well.
Which was Larry Cohen’s specialty. Cohen made all kinds of movies, but his most enduring have been his horror films and all of them tackle the social issues and fears of the time they were made. God Told Me To (1976), Q: The Winged Serpent (1982), and The Stuff (1985) are all great examples of his socially aware, low-budget, exploitation filmmaking with a brain and It’s Alive certainly fits right in with that group. Cohen would go on to write and direct two sequels, It Lives Again (aka It’s Alive 2) in 1978 and It’s Alive III: Island of the Alive in 1987 and is credited as a co-writer on the 2008 remake. All these films explore the ideas of parental responsibility in light of the various concerns of the times they were made including abortion rights and AIDS.
Fifty years after It’s Alive was initially released, it has only become more relevant in the ensuing years. Fears surrounding parenthood have been with us since the beginning of time but as the years pass the reasons for these fears only seem to become more and more profound. In today’s world the conversation of the fathers in the waiting room could be expanded to hormones and genetic modifications in food, terrorism, climate change, school and other mass shootings, and other threats that were unknown or at least less of a concern fifty years ago. Perhaps the fearmongering conspiracy theories about chemtrails and vaccines would be mentioned as well, though in a more satirical fashion, as fears some expectant parents encounter while endlessly doomscrolling Facebook or Twitter. Speaking for myself, despite the struggles, the fears, and the sadness that sometimes comes with having children, it’s been worth it. The joys ultimately outweigh all of that, but I understand the terror too. Becoming a parent is no easy choice, nor should it be. But as I look back, I can say that I’m glad we made the choice we did.
I wonder if Frank and Lenore can say the same thing.
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