Death Race 2000
No, not that one – the earlier one. The car with misbegotten teeth. The old women buttoning their housecoats in lawnchairs in the middle of the highway. Everything going so fast. How you see the boom mic, in that one shot when our hero is holding a man’s head to a spinning sawblade. The makeup around everyone’s eyes – the way it blurs so they seem to have extra eyes. Like someone with a bad acid burn. The way the engines sputter and roar, like suped up lawnmowers. The landscape goes round and round – it’s called “laps”. I was horrible to touch then. Someone was paid to throw blackened gears into the sky, right as the camera focused on the dull hills. A real heat shimmer that no one ever knew how to edit. After the explosion, a mushroom cloud of dust and rock, only two feet high, but filmed to look bigger. The smell of gasoline in my hands. The director and his ten broken arms was just an urban legend – really, it was just a dog, and it lived. It’s probably dead now, though. It was a German Shepherd with a wig. I have its picture in my wallet, right here. Look.