“To hell with their speed limits and bootlegging laws and bottomless hunger for interfering in our life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. “Screw the guys taxing and regulating and mismanaging us to death,” the film seems to say. In dozens of little ways, Smokey delineates a vast social network within rural Southern society based on charity to neighbors and longstanding notions of tradition and culture. Smokey and the Bandit‘s script didn’t resort to suicide by cop, or to Russian Roulette, or to wallowing in cynicism over our society’s failure to right every wrong. But unlike so many other 1970s films, their message to audiences was not morose acceptance and surrender. Even many partisan Democrats realized by then that things had veered dangerously out of control.įor all of their comedic, stunt-happy antics, Hal Needham and the makers of Smokey were all-too-aware of the growing fear and outrage gripping middle America. It is perhaps worth noting that by the time Reagan rescued the country from Jimmy Carter’s economic death spiral, the screenwriters of 1980’s Smokey and the Bandit II had taken Carter’s massive inflation into account by raising the Bandit’s prize money from $80,000 to $400,000. “Taking the wheel” can be interpreted in both a literal and figurative sense. Smokey and the Bandit seems both an authentic and exuberant expression of how much taking the wheel means to Americans. It might not be a bad idea if the Carter administration also took a look, because the film is in touch with certain deep-felt national preferences. It will probably turn out to be one of the year’s most popular and profitable films, and the potential appeal should have been obvious, even from New York. But what’s interesting about Arnold’s essay is how he goes beyond mere cinematic merit and expands his analysis into the realms of culture and politics:Īlthough it opened to indifferent reviews and business in New York two months ago, Smokey and the Bandit has already grossed close to $25 million in the South and Southwest. Given the movie’s success and the CB phenomenon, an article about the picture was a no-brainer. Along with Star Wars, Hal Needham’s film was dominating the domestic box office, especially at the drive-in theaters that were still fairly common in rural America. Let’s return for a moment to the film critic Gary Arnold, who in the summer of 1977 penned a lengthy appreciation of Smokey for The Washington Post. And so it happens that light-footed entertainments like Smokey sometimes have lessons to teach, if only we can muster the wisdom to listen. Father Time has a sneaky way of giving even erstwhile pop-culture artifacts a rich patina of nostalgia and meaning. The passage of years highlights a film’s vintage regardless of pedigree or awards. A movie’s effect on the culture is often independent of intellectual considerations. Despite featuring popular stars Burt Reynolds and Sally Field, and supporting actors Jackie Gleason and country music star Jerry Reed, the execs at Universal were so convinced that the film was destined to be a flop that the promotional budget afforded the film was virtually nothing.Well, I disagree. Produced by Rastar Pictures, and distributed by Universal Studios in 1977, Smokey and the Bandit was directed by legendary Hollywood stuntman, Hal Needham. The car I’m talking about is the unforgettable, dusky “Screaming Chicken” in the film Smokey and the Bandit!
Perhaps at no time in any of my columns has the word been more apropos in its usage than in describing the four-wheeled star of this month’s iteration of Rob’s Car Movie Review. More than once, I’ve also used it in conjunction with a memorable vehicle that managed to burn its visage into my, and the collective audience’s, memory. It’s a seminal word for me, one that I’ve used to denote a superlative movie, a stand out performance, or a momentous scene. If you’ve been following my monthly movie reviews for a while, you’ve noticed the word iconic pop up quite a bit.