Smokey and the Bandit (Film Review)

First published by Death To False Country October 13, 2013

Most people think of Smokey and the Bandit as a cornball hick flick, aimed at audiences who occupy the lowest rung of the social ladder. Or, at best, an overachieving action-at-the-expense-of-acting cult franchise, beloved more for its lack of quality than any merit it possesses.

I'm willing to admit that the story line is secondary to the car chases and not-so-subtle humor. For example, "The Bandit" is a legend by all accounts (especially his), but the viewer is never really told why. And, there are other inconsistencies. The film's humor is sometimes borderline racist but Bandit and his crew of accomplices display post-60's Secular Humanism in all of their actions and encounters. Of course they're not above making short jokes...or fat jokes...when the situation presents itself, but this is probably due to a muddled 70's mindset more to screenwriter oversight.

And anyway, I don't care. I love the Smokey and the Bandit films—all three of 'em—and they're great movies (at least the first one is anyway).  There are few movies I have seen more times, and practically none that have managed to remain as entertaining. The question, then, is why? What is so appealing about a movie about an incompetent, though tenacious, sheriff chasing a smart-ass hillbilly up and down the Georgia interstate? Well, the movie is about more than that to me.

It's an old story, told in a then-modern setting. Like the lawmen and outlaws of the Old West witnessing progress encroach on the once-wild territory, Sheriff Buford T. Justice, Snowman and Bandit are the last of a dying breed. With nothing to show for their lives, fate intervenes and provides them with one last showdown to relive their former glories.

So the movie isn't really about illegally trafficking a trailer full of Coors across state lines. It's about a group of outcasts brought together by their inability to find belonging in a rapidly changing world—one that takes itself way too seriously. 1978—the year Bandit was released—was possibly the last point in American history a broken-down trucker (Jerry Reed) and a good ol' boy who's somehow got by being a professional goof-off (Burt Reynolds) could reasonably be considered heroes or a redneck sheriff (Jackie Gleason) could be utilized for comic relief. 

The outlaw movement in country music was on the verge of being exploited out of existence and the Reagan era of pseudo-sophistication and greed was about to begin. Gleason, Reed and Reynolds—giants in their respective fields—were also enjoying their last hurrahs, just like the characters they portrayed (whether they knew it or not). Hollywood was on the cusp of no longer making movies about ordinary people, much less for them. Flash forward to the present day where we treat the super-rich and superficial like demigods.

But Smokey and the Bandit wasn't trying to make a social statement; it was big dumb fun for its own sake. And it's a hell of a lot of fun to watch—just like a classic Western.  The characters—exaggerated as they are—are believable because we all know people like them (at least I do). Of course most of us know better than to try to outrun a county mounty in Firebird Trans-Am—most of us anyway.

Two sequels would follow, but they failed to capture the magic of the first. Director Hal Needham would team up with Burt Reynolds again for The Cannonball Run franchise and Stroker Ace (also fine films) but the good-time outlaw spirit of Bandit never regained its position in Hollywood or America again. I don't know if the 70's were simpler times than now, but it sure seemed easier to get away with having a good time back then than it is now. Smokey and the Bandit is more than just a classic movie, it's tribute to the American way; which we're losing at little more of every day.