‘Bandit’ a gently probing docu – ‘Alchemist Cookbook’ conventional horror movie

This news has been read 5377 times!

LOS ANGELES, March 19, (RTRS): You don’t have to dig too deep beneath its fan-pleasing veneer of nostalgic celebration to discern an intriguingly serious subtext in “The Bandit,” Jesse Moss’ behind-the-scenes account of the making of “Smokey and the Bandit”, the improbably successful and enduringly popular action-comedy that was the No. 2 box office smash (surpassed only by “Star Wars”) of 1977. Indeed, even those who remain immune to the yee-haw appeal of the earlier film — which, it should be noted, still commands a loyal following of repeat viewers on both sides of the Mason-Dixon line — may be drawn to this gently probing documentary by Moss’ perceptive examination of the relationship between the two prime movers behind the ’77 project: Burt Reynolds, then a superstar with enough muscle to get pet projects greenlit, and his longtime friend Hal Needham, a daredevil stuntman who relied on his buddy’s help to make his feature-film directorial debut. After a run on the fest circuit and airdates on Country Music Television, this CMT-produced pic will get plenty of mileage in ancillary platforms.

Needham passed away in 2013 — one year after receiving a Governor’s Award from the Motion Picture Academy — but he’s well represented here through the affectionate testimony of his son, David Needham, and in a wealth of archival interviews and film clips. Broadcast journalists may giggle, or shudder with a shock of recognition, when they see Needham’s 1977 chat with a TV ditz who refers to the movie as “Smokey and the Bear,” and clearly has little idea just what Needham had to do with it.

Reynolds is alive, reasonably well, and engagingly candid in newly filmed conversations, though he, too, pops up frequently in period interviews (including a not-entirely-comfortable ’70s chat with Barbara Walters) and excerpts from his early film and TV work. Of particular interest in the context of this doc: a clip from a classic “Twilight Zone” segment in which Reynolds — often heard here talking about his hunger for “serious” roles — does a hilarious comic take on Marlon Brando (whom Reynolds recalls as being rudely dismissive during their only real-life encounter).

Chronicle

Moss adroitly intertwines material about these two men, clips and production footage from “Smokey and the Bandit,” and animated interviews with other interested parties — including veteran stuntmen Gary Combs and Billy Burton, producer Robert L. Levy, “Bandit” co-star Paul Williams, and Hollywood gray eminence Albert S. Ruddy — to entertainingly chronicle the making of an unlikely blockbuster.

For the benefit of those who tuned in late: “Smokey and the Bandit” follows the misadventures of legendary trucker Bo “Bandit” Darville (Reynolds), a swaggering prankster and maverick trucker, who bets he can transport contraband drink — specifically, Coors — from Texas to Georgia in record time. While a faithful friend (Jerry Reed) does much of the actual driving in the lager-stocked 18-wheeler, Bandit darts about in a souped-up Trans-Am, on the lookout for any “Smokey” (i.e., highway cop) who might impede their high-speed progress. Complications arise when Bandit arouses the ire of an especially grizzly Smokey, Sheriff Buford T. Justice (Jackie Gleason), by picking up a perky hitchhiker (Sally Field) who just happens to be the runaway bride of the sheriff’s cretinous son (Mike Henry).

“The Bandit” traces the 1977 film’s origins back to an earlier Reynolds vehicle, “Gator” (the 1976 sequel to 1973’s “White Lightning”), which also was filmed in Georgia — where, at the time, Coors Beer could not be legally sold. (No, seriously.) When Needham, then still a stuntman, discovered that hotel employees were swiping, and then selling for exorbitant amounts, cases of Coors that “Gator” crew members had brought them, he was inspired to write a rough draft of what eventually would become “Smokey and the Bandit.”

But even with a commitment to star from Reynolds — whom he had met years earlier while working on “Riverboat,” a TV series the actor does not remember fondly — Needham had a difficult time setting up the project with himself as a first-time director. Universal only grudgingly agreed to finance the film — and even then, the studio demanded a last-minute, $1 million budget slash. “The Bandit” makes it very clear that no one was more surprised than the Universal brass when the box office reports started coming in.

Moss’ documentary dutifully notes how “Smokey and the Bandit” both reflected and influenced the zeitgeist of the mid-1970s, showing how it stoked the CB radio phenomenon, more or less created a movie subgenre best described as Cross-Country Demolition Derby, and enhanced the overall reputation of good ol’ boys everywhere. But some of the more provocative aspects of “The Bandit” are things that aren’t in the film. Observers remember that Reynolds fought to have Sally Field, then best known for the “Flying Nun” sitcom, cast as the female lead — “This nun is dangerously sexy,” he is quoted as saying — but Field herself, who began a passionate romance with Reynolds during shooting, is conspicuous by her absence from the list of on-camera interviewees.

At another point in “The Bandit,” it’s reported that, after shooting the first of what was intended to be a handful of scenes with Reynolds and Jackie Gleason on screen together, Reynolds demanded that the subsequent scenes be scrapped. Why? The question isn’t directly answered, or even indirectly addressed.

“Bandit” is equally tactful, but a good deal more revealing, as it delves into the bond between Reynolds and Needham (who went on to make five other features together). Reynolds continues to speak warmly of his late friend, who was a houseguest in his L.A. mansion for more than a decade prior to the release of “Smokey and the Bandit.” (“If you’d have been a woman,” he seriocomically praises Needham is a vintage clip, “we would have had a great marriage.”)

If you only see two American indie features co-starring Satan this year, one should obviously be “The Witch.” The other almost certainly will turn out to be “The Alchemist Cookbook”, the latest micro-budget effort from Grand Rapids, Mich., auteur Joel Potrykus. Hardly a conventional horror movie — though it would match up very nicely on a double bill with “The Witch,” or “The Blair Witch Project” for that matter — and far from scary (save for its protagonist), this unclassifiable miniature involving a man in a trailer in the woods trying to contact the Dark Lord is as funny and distinctive as it is near-plotless. It’s certain to expand the writer-director’s audience from his more reality-tethered black comedy “Buzzard,” which also premiered in SXSW’s Visions program two years earlier.

Though we have zero idea how exactly he wound up here, Sean (Ty Hickson, “Gimme the Loot”) seems to know just what he’s doing in the backwoods of West Michigan’s Allegan County. It involves a chemistry set, a blowtorch, a gas mask, wild-animal traps, Latin incantations and other tools by which he apparently hopes to supernaturally generate wealth.

Of course, it might also summon up an ancient demon whose subterranean bellows can occasionally be heard echoing through the forest, and who doubtless will be more trouble than Sean is equipped to handle.

For the time being, however, he’s giddy about his prospects, despite having only a slate-gray cat named Kaspar as an audience. In Hickson’s irresistible performance, Sean is an extrovert in an introvert’s hermit-like circumstances, one who sometimes jumps up and down on a fallen tree trunk for the sheer fun of it. Yet he seems sullen and withdrawn by comparison when his friend Cortez (a hilarious Amari Cheatom) arrives, bearing needed supplies but also bringing more outside scrutiny than Sean wants at present. Their second encounter here ends badly, presaging a drastic downturn in the hero’s fortunes in which terror, violence and Belial himself seize control. Of course, it could also be that Sean is simply mad from having gone off his meds — he’s very upset earlier when Cortez appears to have forgotten a prescription-pill refill.

This news has been read 5377 times!