At the press screening for writer-director Daniel Minahan's satirical comedy-drama about a reality-TV game show that pits contestants against each other in a fight to the death, I was seated near two very young men in track suits who howled with laughter all the way through the film. Every time one of the contestants took a bullet, the pair couldn't contain their glee. It was obvious that, for them, Series 7 was not the searing parody the filmmakers intended. Instead-and this is the fault of the filmmakers-the movie came across as little more than a training film for would-be suburban killers. And an annoying one at that.

Reigning champ Dawn (Brooke Smith), eight months pregnant and with ten kills in two tours of duty on the show, finds herself back in her hometown of Newbury, Ct. for the latest installment of America's highest-rated "reality" program. Needing to win this third chapter in order to secure her freedom from the show, she is pitted against five new contenders: Tony (Michael Kaycheck), a coke-snorting asbestos-removal worker whose family is falling apart; Connie (Marylouise Burke), a mid-fifties emergency ward nurse; Lindsay (Merritt Weaver), an 18-year-old girl-next-door with overbearing parents; Franklin (Richard Venture), an older grizzled guy who lives in a trailer; and Jeff (Glenn Fitzgerald), an artist dying of testicular cancer who just happens to be Dawn's old high-school sweetheart. Each of them is assigned weapons and a cameraman, and the carnage begins.

To be sure, Series 7 has a couple of blackly comedic moments, like when Dawn and Jeff face each other on a football field and the show's producers blast Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart" over the loudspeakers. But to be a successful pop culture parody, a film must have at least a couple of interesting ideas running through the twists and turns of the plot. Series 7 grinds to a halt in this area. The gist of the film-American culture is on such a long, slow slide into mindless oblivion that a show like Series 7: The Contenders is the logical final step-is made obvious in the first five minutes and the remaining 80 add absolutely nothing to that premise.

The filmmakers, too, must have been aware of the basic thinness of their plot and the film's dearth of ideas because they trowel on the visual flash in an effort to distract audiences from realizing that, in Gertrude Stein's words, "there is no there there." Whenever the storyline needs a bit of resuscitation-which is frequently-Minahan and co. resort to an extremely annoying "preview" of the next episode, accompanied by pounding music and sporting the breathless narration of the "Real people... in real danger... in a fight for their lives!" sort.

The overall effect of this jumped-up ploy, and the visual aspect of the film in general, is as tiresome as the film's smug tone is disquieting. It is ironic that given the film's obvious critical intentions, it ends up being a good example of the kind of thing it is trying to criticize...