“Brakes are Death” says Wilee, the main dude in this frenetic portrait of a NYC bike courier being pursed by a mad-as-a-hatter cliched corrupt NYPD cop who wants to wrest a wee slip of paper, destined for a drop-off across town, from him.
It’s the sort of line you might expect from The Duke in, lets say, True Grit. He’d have added a “pilgrim” or some such thing to make the target feel like the maggot the big fella thought should be self-evident to all.
Wilee is actually trying to impress his love-interest with this without success. Ha, she only realizes he’s right after wiping out in a high speed stack over an out-of-place New York dustbin. Now there’s an oxymoron. She removes her front brake, remounts and heads off again in her quest to thwart the bad guy.
Yeah, there’s plenty of flesh-on-tarmac to keep the ooo-ahhhh meter registering high on the scale. If you’re not into cycling, trust me, there’d be more broken bones than you could shake a stick at in the real world.
Anyhow . . .
there’s nothing special about the plot. Girl has problem: smuggle son to America from China. After several nail-biting hours (in the story, not the cinema) the problem is solved and order is restored. If you are worried about imminent Mayan-predicted apocalypse (now there’s a problem), then you’ll surely forget your troubles here.
Let’s put it this way. If you’ve every lost sleep at night over the following questions, then this flick is definitely for you:
1. Every wondered how SRAM Red shapes up against a fixed gear competitively?
2. Ever pondered how to shake a bicycle cop intent on ruining your ride?
3. Have you thrashed the bedclothes into knots coming up with a way to teach Taxi drivers who cut you off a lesson?
For the answer to the third I am fascinated by the thick steel chain the guys wear around their waists. This is used to lock bikes to posts and the like but is kick-ass effective in–minimally–taking off the outside mirror of an offending taxi. But for this to work you’d best have a colleague backing you up around 5om behind wielding the weapon on your behalf.
Watching it actually took me back to the late 70s. I was happy as a pig in mud with my new treadly (er..”bicycle”). A super lightweight aluminum frame, all-welded, no bolts. And light as ……………. Fill in the adjective. Suuuper light. It was a fixed gear, after all I could hardly afford a newfangled derailleur.
At the crack of dawn I’d cover the 1.5 km downhill run to the beach for a swell check (look it up). Man I thrashed that frame on roads that would have stressed the best mountain bike long before it’s romanticized beginnings in the San Francisco hinterland.
Unsealed 4 wheel drive access roads, leaping rocks, putting it sideways through the loose gravel and then dropping it in the long grass at the base of the dunes. Who’d want to steel it anyway should anyone even chance by? A racer might have: it was a high-end hand-me-down racing frame for the time.
“Fixed Gear, Steel Frame, No Brakes” says Wilee at the end of the story having got the girl and basically covered all the bases that needed covering. A throw away line that certainly has The Duke squirming with envy wherever he is.
Go see it. You’ll enjoy it, bike rider or no.