Theres something strangely exhilarating and almost heart-warming about reaching the end of a movie as brain-suckingly bad as this one. In fact, Im yet to find a feeling to match the sheer sense of accomplishment that washed over me when I finally reached the end credits of this monstrosity of a film. Sure, it only lasts 110 minutes, but let me tell you, friends there are plenty wholl never make it. Plenty wholl reach for the stop button on their DVD remote long before the full unbearable mix of melodrama and exhaust fumes has reached its unbearable climax. Biker Boyz is my Everest. Its my South Pole. Its my Everest ON the South Pole. Its the bloody nightmare that would have Freddy Krueger quivering under his sheets in fear. Its so terrible, even Vin Diesel pretended not to be in when they came round his house with the screenplay. I just dont like it.
Derek Luke, so hugely impressive in Antwone Fisher, is reduced to whining numbskull as mono-named teenager Kid, a biker who forms his own motorcycle club to race against local hotshot Smoke (Laurence Fishburne). Kid wants a shot at Smoke because: (a) he blames him for the death of his dad (Eriq LaSalle, understandably asking for his name to be left out of the credits) (b) Smokes got a rubbish handlebar tache, and (c) he wants to get his hands on his helmet (ooh-er!).
The only trouble is, in order to get a shot at the big guy, Kid has to work his way up the pecking order, racing against all and sundry (including lank-haired trash-rapper Kid Rock) and incurring the wrath of his maw (Vanessa Bell Calloway) in the process.
Despite the incessant vroom-vrooming in the background, the storylines curiously soap opera-esque, and contains several supposedly-touching moments thatll have you laughing out louder than many of this years comedies. In fact, the unintentional hilarity of it all is about the only positive thing I can say about it.
The script is completely devoid of all wit and irony, and seemingly wholly unaware of its own ridiculousness something I find absolutely incredible. The bikers go about saying their daft slogan burn rubber, not your soul, with STRAIGHT FACES, and Kid even goes as far as to have this moronic catchphrase tattooed on his chest, like some sort of idiotic branding of his own complete ignorance.
Not only is Biker Boyz one of the worst film experiences Ive ever had to endure, its one of the worst experiences Ive ever had to endure full-stop. If anyone ever tells you they like this film, kill them. Seriously.