(Elliot Silverstein, 1977)
Silly but effective little horror film, featuring absolutely no blood loss. What this movie lacks in gore, it more than makes up for with engine revving and ironic car horn-honking. Stars James Brolin, who is beardless, which is mildly disconcerting. The fact that in this film he’s a dead ringer for his son, Josh (star of No Country for Old Men and the upcoming W.), is even more disturbing. I mean, they are related and all but I never really connected the two in looks before.
The film itself? A simple love story: Evil driverless car rolls into town, kills some recreational bikers, and turns a French-horn player into road butter. Cop tries to protect his girlfriend, kids and town from killer car to no avail. Killer car chases kids and old folks before mowing down girlfriend and girlfriend’s freaking house (the bestest part). Cop and campadres plot revenge with a motorcycle decoy and several pounds of dynamite. The whole thing culminates in happy poofs of reddish black hellfire that resemble the Gone With the Wind burning of Atlanta, if Atlanta was home to a soul-sucking demon.
Again, likable, fun and watchable B-movie fare. Also, mustachioed.
Missed the boat to see this during Final Girl’s July Film Club. You can read more about this movie there, as well as dig some fab-o screen captures. I’ll try to do better and catch the next entry in the series, 1976’s The Food of the Gods. It’s currently available as Watch Instantly/Watch Now/Watch whatever-they’ve-changed-the-name-of-the-Netflix-feature-to-this-week, so be sure to check it out. I mean it has giant, man-eating rats, so how bad can it be?