Smokey and the Bandit (1977, Hal Needham)

Gearjammer: Adventures in Chase

Originally published 9/16/22 on Substack

Inevitably, there are spoilers here, but really, unlike Deep Red, this isn’t that kind of movie. You know how it’s going to play out within the first minutes. Still, as always, read with care. Thanks!

What is it? Smokey and the Bandit, directed by Hal Needham, written by James Lee Barret and Charles Shyer & Alan Mandel, starring Burt Reynolds, Sally Field, Jerry Reed, Jackie Gleason, Pat McCormick, Paul Williams, and introducing Michael Mann But Not That Michael Mann as Branford’s Deputy.

First viewing? No; last viewed 20 August 2022 and 18 December 2021. Before that, probably caught bits and pieces of it, if not the whole thing, on HBO sometime in the late 70s and/or early 80s.

What’s it about? Legendary truckers Bandit (Reynolds) and Snowman (Reed) must pick up a load of beer from Texarkana and take it back to Atlanta, via semi and Pontiac Firebird Trans Am, in 28 hours, all the while dealing with Sheriff Buford T. Justice (Gleason) and accidental passenger and runaway bride Carrie (Field).

What are your thoughts about it? Ah, truckin’. Whether up to Buffalo or down on Bourbon Street¹, the romance of haulin’ goods ‘n’ ass down the open road is undeniable, to me at least. You’re the captain of what may as well be a starship, tasked with getting important cargo across a frontier², guided only by your best judgment and the community that surrounds your profession — a community that is both omnipresent (they’re there at every truck stop) and invisible (on the airwaves). It’s a life of adventure (at least in this romantic view³) that somehow combines rugged individualism and a social, if not safety net, then supportive web. And at the center of this is the eighteen-wheeler, both a phallic symbol and an irresistable force: get out of the way, I’m coming through. Is it any wonder that people, including me, are entranced by this fantasy?⁴

Jerry Reed really is terrific in this. He’s got an easy rapport with Reynolds, even when Burt’s not even in the shot.

Smokey and the Bandit understands this from the jump. It opens with a series of shots of a semi, close-ups that abstract the vehicle into a symbol of mechanical power. A semi is pretty damn big; this intro makes one feel like a leviathan. On top of this is a song performed by co-star Jerry Reed, “Legend,” which just doubles down on the romance of the open road. It also introduces us to the main character, Bandit. According to the song, he’s got icewater in his veins and a literal lead foot and the proverbial nerves of steel. He once lost his brakes going down a steep incline, and ended up jacknifing the truck and going backwards, out of control. But not to worry, as he slowed it down to a stop by “running along beside it and dragging his feet.” 

This stunt freaks me out every time I see it. This last time, I thought maybe it was a mannequin in a wedding dress, but they move right before the shot cuts. Still, it’s definitely a dummy.

This song is key. It tells us that what we’re about to witness, despite appearances, isn’t realism. It isn’t even merely fantasy. It’s a myth. It’s a fable. It’s folklore. 

Field is adorable in this, and it’s no surprise she went onto greater stardom. Also, it just now occurs to me that Frog may have been the inspiration for Sutton Foster’s character on the great one-season TV show Bunheads (2012-2013).

There are a number of unusual choices in Smokey and the Bandit, at least from the perspective of a guy who puts a lot of stock into conventional notions of dramatic conflict. These choices, though, make sense in the context of folklore. Bandit is a mythic hero in the tradition of Paul Bunyan or John Henry — John Henry actually gets a shout-out in “Legend.” There’s also a touch of Greek myth to him as well; when we first meet him, Bandit is doing what a lot of gods and heroes are doing at the start of their adventures: absolutely fuck-all. (Big Enos: “You see, son, old legends never die. They just lose weight.” Little Enos: “I guess a legend and an out-of-work bum look a lot alike, Daddy.”) As a legend, he has no needs or cares, and has to be prodded into action. And while the prize is certainly a motivator (around $350,000 in 2022 money), it’s the idea of doing “what they said can’t be done” that is the real engine here. 

Hey kids! It’s Hank Worden! He’s here for one shot and one shot only. Will we see him again on Against the ’70s? All signs point to yes.

As such, the story has the lackadaisical air of a tale told for centuries, the enjoyment coming from the telling and not the tale itself. Bandit is every supernatural trickster in the book: Coyote, the Fox, Loki, Prometheus, only with beer instead of fire. He’s Bugs Bunny, as made overtly clear by the fourth-wall-breaking “ain’t I a stinker?” smirk after dispatching the first obstacle in the journey, a lone cop on his tail. Carrie, later renamed “Frog,” has the whiff of Persephone or Eurydice about her, this bride trying to stay ahead of a malevolent force, this one with the ironic name of Justice. “Frog”: the nickname inevitably evokes the creature who turned back into a prince with a kiss. And there is a transformation here. Most film narratives revolve around a protagonist who changes; it seems like that’s not true here, that Bandit is the same at the start and the end. When Carrie joins Bandit, we get many indications that they’re very different people: urban vs. country, Stephen Sondheim vs. Richard Petty. These differences are explicated, not to create drama or conflict, but only to suggest that there simply aredifferences. Carrie is there as a character to suggest that Bandit isn’t complete, that she is the yin to his yang. He’s the one that has to change (as small and subtle as that change is) and she’s the one who initiates it (“Take your hat off.”) And with a kiss, a “Frog” becomes a princess.

Death Proof (2007, Quentin Tarantino)

As a piece of folklore-style storytelling hidden within the veils of “realistic” cinema, Smokey and the Bandit seems pretty airtight. But for me, that’s a problem. This folkloric style leaches the drama and stakes from the conflicts. Whenever Bandit or his fellow mythologicals Snowman and Frog face a problem or conflict, they take the most obvious action to thwart it, and it works. Put another way, there are conflicts in this movie, but no complications. This is foreshadowed when Bandit and Snowman reach the beer warehouse, and have to move hundreds of crates by themselves while the clock ticks down. The film treats this as comedic beat, not as a complication to be overcome. And then, in case we haven’t figured out by now that our heroes have what people today call “plot armor,” near the end of the film, Snowman is, for no reason, set up by a biker gang. He does his best, but they beat the shit out of him. Does this threaten the quest? No, he gets back into his truck, runs over the gang’s bikes, and continues on his merry way. It’s not a bad scene by any measure. I like it a lot, particularly because it is implicitly about protecting his adorable dog Fred. But it is pointless, unless the point is to underline that these characters are more myth than human. 

This is not the director of Thief (1981), Manhunter (1986), The Last of the Mohicans (1992), Heat (1995), Ali (2001) and Miami Vice (2006). But isn’t it pretty to think so?

This ends up hurting the film overall — it’s difficult to emotionally invest in the situation if the filmmakers haven’t. If you’re on the film’s wavelength, Smokey and the Bandit can feel warm, inviting, inclusive. If you’re not, though, it’s the opposite — the lightness curdling into smugness. This is especially true at the climax. As they come within a mile of the finish line, the cops hot on their tail, Bandit announces to Snowman, “We ain’t gonna make it, son.” Except, it isn’t clear why this would be so. Absolutely nothing up until this point has fazed either of them, whether it was moving hundreds of crates by themselves, having an entire sheriff’s department chasing them down, or coming to face to face with Buford T. Justice himself. Suddenly, a couple cop cars parked outside the gate to the fairground is an unscalable wall that Bandit and Snowman are helpless against. Of course, they aren’t helpless; Snowman immediately takes the lead and smashes through the blockade. Why then, this brief feint towards stakes, towards difficulty, towards failure? Look: either the heroes are unfallible, or they have to struggle against antagonistic forces. Pick, as they say, a lane.

How many stars out of five? Three black Trans Ams out of five.

Where can I stream it? As of this writing⁵, you can rent it from Apple, Amazon, YouTube, Google Play, Microsoft, Redbox, DirecTV, AMC on Demand and Vudu-Fandango, and you can purchase it from any of the above, plus Spectrum On Demand.

What can we take from it? Nothing too outré today, just a little ol’ Descriptor, it don’t a-meanin’ no harm. (That’s a different franchise — Ed.)

LEGENDARY

You’re legendary. You’ve accomplished a deed in the past (or several deeds!) that have spread your name far and wide across the land. People you’ve never met know your name. Recently, you’ve tended to lay low and enjoy life, but you’ve found yourself pulled, by either circumstance or some inner desire, back into a life of adventure.

You gain the following characteristics:

They Say You’re The Best: +4 to either your Might, Speed or Intellect Pool, your choice.

Skill: You are considered trained in initiative.

Inability: Any tasks involving being unrecognized (disguise, stealth, etc.) are hindered.

We’re Gonna Do What They Say Can’t Be Done⁶: Once per tier, if you are faced with a task with a difficulty of 7 or greater, for that roll you can set the difficulty at 6. Anything that eases the difficulty (skills, abilities, etc.) is subtracted from 6, and hindrances are ignored. If you make a character who starts at a higher tier, you may start with a number of “banked” points equal to your tier minus one. You may permanently spend one of your “banked” points to use this ability at any time. You may spend as many “banked” points as you like during the same tier, adventure, session, or situation, however you choose. Once they are all spent, however, you are once again restrained by the “one use per tier” rule. If you advance a tier without using the ability, you gain one “banked” point.

Old Smokey’s Hot on Your Trail: You have a nemesis who wants nothing more than to bring you down, whatever that might mean in the context of the campaign (jail, death, social embarrassment, etc.). Once per session, the GM will introduce your nemesis into the game, like a GM Intrusion, in order to complicate the current situation. Once the nemesis is defeated in some way (combat, avoided through stealth, etc.) through a single roll or action, the nemesis will not show up again that session.

Initial Link to the Starting Adventure:

1. You were called upon to accomplish a mission of great importance, or possibly one of slight consequence. What are all these other PCs doing in your vehicle?

2. The PCs came to you because they needed your legendary skills and/or presence, and who are you to deny them?

3. You’re retired, but you’ve come out of retirement to help the PCs in their quest. But helping them isn’t your real goal; it’s to take care of something personal along the way. What is it?

4. You’ve tried to put the past in the past, but your nemesis just won’t let you. You are on a quest to eliminate your nemesis once and for all, and in the PCs, you’ve found a number of allies to help you.