Why did the critics bestow upon Speed Racer such scathing reviews? Why did they cast such snooty dismissal on the only thing of worth that the Wachowski Bros. have produced since The Matrix? When I endeavoured to find the answer to this question, it lead me to straight to the answer, not to mention a point of hilarious irony. You see, the majority of critics that disliked Speed Racer gave a glowing appraisal to the mind-numbingly average Cloverfield, despite complaining that the former feature gave them... a headache... Hang on?
I felt nauseous during Cloverfield but not so during Speed Racer, but hey, that's just me. You can't account for the unpredictability of critics. Or should that read: grumpy old men critics? It seems that sumptuous visuals with an underlying warmth of heart only work in Pixar films such as Ratatouille and Finding Nemo, whereas elsewhere they are laid under the magnifying scope and heavily scrutinised. I felt fine with what Speed Racer served up to me; it was a suitably friendly tale of guarding your own integrity against the evils of selling out to the corporations, maaan. This was filtered through a familial lens as the likes of Speed himself Emile Hirsch, John Goodman, Susan Sarandon and Christina Ricci co-existed as a strong unit throughout - the only point of irritation being the obligatory annoying younger brother and his pet monkey.
It would be a shame to dwell on what didn't work for the cynical old men (or how they didn't get what they want), but what of the children? After all, this appears on the surface to be one for the
sprogs, and one would not be incorrect in that assumption. As far as youngsters go, the undeniable flaws include the runtime (well over 2 hours), repetition of techniques (broadcasters fly across the screen constantly) and the over-complicated mechanics of corporate evil. When Roger Allam - looking, sounding scarily like David Mitchell in mid-rant - burst into his third monologue in a row on where Speed Racer's interests should truly lie, I'll confess it went completely over my head.
One could count the problems on their fingers, but they wouldn't get past one hand. There's a wealth of enjoyment to be had with this one, and its flaws are easily subsided by frequent action and racing madness that literally feels like you're being raped in the eyes with skittles. The races are squeaky-clean delicious, and one fight scene in particular was bursting with such creativity and innovation that my eyes widened as if to utter the title of Pavement's third album. ;)
When I left the cinema, well, I felt like I'd watched something innocent and charming; something that took my mind off the wrongs in the world. It was a nice-looking film without a debased morality. It was a head-warmer, not a headache.
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