The Car (1977)

I don’t drive. I’ve never wanted to learn, and I don’t plan on ever doing so. Even my Barbie Dream Car had a chauffeur. The idea of being behind the wheel of a vehicle has always been about as appealing as tribal tattoos on skinny white arms to me (which is slightly ironic as I adore vintage muscle cars, enjoy riding in cars, and have a weakness for movies involving car chases), but as I have a teensy issue with anger (Granted, I have found it to be more of a problem for other people than for me), and a burning hatred of human kind in general, I realise that it is a bad idea for me to be in charge of anything with the power to kill people and drive away as fast as my flicker of conscience can be cured with a blast of AC/DC.

And, after one fateful day where I was allowed to be in charge of a go kart, it became clear that the main reasons that the world is so overpopulated is , one, because I do not have a driving licence, and two, because no one has thought to neuter Tiger Woods yet.

James Brolin plays the Sheriff of a small desert town that is being terrorised by a sexy, black sedan with murder on its mind. Anyone that is unlucky enough to cross its path is going to have a fetching tire track pattern on their clothing, which I’m sure the mortician will think is just dandy. Who is the driver? Is the car possessed? Is it the Devil’s own ride? (The answer to this one is obvious. Everyone knows the Devil drives a Cadillac.)

Opening with an Anton LeVey (for those not in the know, he’s like the Mayor McCheese of the Church of Satan) quote designed to chill the spine of good Christian folk, the action begins from the very first scene and sets a steady pace that makes The Car extremely engaging. The dusty, isolated setting gives the movie a spaghetti western vibe that despite being cheesy, is undeniably effective. Though it has a suspenseful and brooding atmosphere, the film never forgets that it is a B Movie and the schlockly but decent acting, makes for a very fun watch.

This is the without doubt the Jaws of evil car films, which, is high praise indeed my friends, but also reminds us that once upon a time, before a wicked witch named Streisand made him her bitch, James Brolin was cool.

This entry was posted in critique, fiction, film and media, horror, opinion, pop culture, rant, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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