Worst of Netflix: Octane

Complicating matters are the boy’s home life, a paint-by-numbers tragedy consisting of an autistic little brother who gets seduced into the thrilling world of paint-huffing by the no-good neighbors and an alcoholic father who I am 90% sure is actually Elvis Costello, seen here with a velvet painting of a Bengal tiger.


Eventually, after a bunch of boring nonsense that involves both of the protagonists’ significant others yelling at them for cheating (which, you know, they are), the plot gets neatly tied up when it turns out the baby’s not his, and thus Girl decides not to go to France, and presumably to stop burning herself with a cigarette lighter because Boy made a perfect circle with his tires while doing a donut, and is now the equal to Keats in her eyes.

I swear to God that’s not a joke.  That is what happens.

Either way, the plot threads tie up with the bare minimum of drifting, and while not every movie needs to meet Vin Diesel’s Daily Recommend Allowance of street racing, I’m thinking that maybe you don’t want to title your movie “Octane” if you’re not going to actually bother with it.  Of course, that’s only its US title; the original English title is “Dolphins,” which – while equally inaccurate – at least doesn’t promise sweet drifting, unless they meant on the warm tropical waters of the Virgin Islands. There’s none of that in this movie either.

But you know, unlike a lot of Worst of Netflix movies, this one actually did teach me something, and that is this:  When the English street race, they do it in three-piece suits:


Because they are classy as hell.

Check out the Worst of Netflix archive.

1251216230_chris_sims.jpgChris Sims is a freelance comedy writer from South Carolina. He briefly attended USC before he dropped out to spend more time with Grand Theft Auto, and his career subsequently took the path that you might expect from someone who makes that sort of decision. He blogs at http://www.the-isb.com and creates comics at http://www.actionagecomics.com.