With face carbon-frozen in rage and mid-Atlantic scowl in place, the Brit export is fast proving himself the most reliably fun actor on the scene, standing a good chance of becoming this generation's Charles Bronson if he keeps making movies like this.
Once out of the starting grid, the film proceeds to edit the action so dementedly that one struggles to work out whose car just exploded, who flipped over and who's driving the one with the missile-launcher on the roof.
It's nothing more than an enjoyable, ridiculously macho B-movie romp, but it's Anderson's best movie since the underrated Event Horizon. Perhaps, at long last, he's starting to find his - yep - top gear.
It's brainless fun, but while Anderson's brilliant staging of the flesh-ripping stunts surpasses Bartel's cheap thrills, this update lacks the sardonic wit and satirical bite of the Corman-produced version.
[Anderson] misses out on the original film's theatricality of the racers and the dark humor of making targets out of pedestrians - a satire on the audience bloodlust to which Anderson cluelessly panders.