Smokey still fun, and funny
Smokey and the Bandit (1977)
Directed by. Hail Needham; with Burt Reynolds, Sally Field, Jerry Reed, Mike Henry, Paul Williams, Jackie Gleason, Pat McCormick. They are all funny, and over the top. No sensible viewer would mistake this for real life, but no audiophile would reject it just out hand, for it is fun to watch a reckless driver, paired with an attractive female, go through the countryside of several states, between Texas and Georgia, wrecking whatever is in front of him (though, considering, there isn't much wrecking), followed by a redneck sheriff and his stupid son, eluding pursuing troopers, equally stupid and causing most of the havoc, trying to with $80,000 on a bet of breaking a record never broken before, driving 900 miles in 28 hours--transporting Coors beer along state lines.
Totally anarchic, and practically meaningless, but worth watching for its sheer funniness. Also, in a small compass, character analysis which dissects essential elements (and even unessential ones) of American character. Gleason is paternal (to his own son), brutal to the same son, shocked to the core that his "loins" have produced such a nincompoop who cann't hold a wife until he gets married to her, and can only hold on to his dad's gallon hat as they ride roofless through lanes and highways pursuing a fugitive from justice. And "Justice" (Brandon T.) is Gleason's name. He's got to catch this one, for has never failed to grab a "pursuee," as he calls Reynolds, when he is the pursuer. The film ridicules Gleason's character, in a way lauding him for his determination, for determined to catch his prey he is. The film also highlights Reynolds at his best/worst. He is a bad actor, but one made to please, for he has no fear of any cop following him, but, deep down, he knows he is doing this not for the money--or the challenge--but the opportunity to show off; for he has countless fans, who swarm the roadside cafes or other stops when he passes cheering him on. Reynolds embodies the reckless spirit of the American driver--at least the driver in the open road. He is today's equivalent of the horseman of past ages. The cowboy, no less of a braggadocio, knew how to make his horse fly--Tom Mix, Buck Jones, Will Rogers, and other early heroes of the saddle who raced in the open country pursuing or being pursued. This was a right of passage, from boyhood (cowBOY means that) to some kind of over-grown adolescence. These men remained boys; they wanted to show off to females, to their male buddies--here Harry Reed does the honors--to the crowds that cheer them. Forrest Gump was slow-witted, but he could run. Burt Reynolds, smarter but not by much, is guileful enough to evade the man with the broad-rimmed hat, under which there was no trace of a brain, but one doomed to be the crowd's foil--the object of ridicule and laughter. Such action requires comedic talents, and Reynolds--and a good-looking Sally Field next to him--can manage, thank you. He is not a brawler, just a showman. Nobody in the movies--not even Steve McQueen--could drive like him. Lines on the pavement have no meaning, and neither do curves on the road; it's 110 miles per hour, either way. And when helicopters threaten to put an end to this havoc, he turns to his pal on the rig--and Reed takes over and smashes of what remains of the road blocks. The two go together--but Reynolds has the luck, the Cadillac, and the girl.
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