It is without reservation that I report that Smokey and the Bandit (1977) is one of the most successful films of all time.  The only movie that made more money in the year it premiered was Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope (1977).  Actually, the argument could be made that, relative to their budgets, Smokey and the Bandit beat out its science fiction rival since Star Wars cost almost three times more to make.  As has been made clear in many reviews, I love the stories set “a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away,” as a Catholic and a cinephile.  Today’s entry is one of the strangest I have seen, and that comes after having covered over 2,000 films.  I do not know if this is due to a lack of understanding of trucker culture, or that there are gaps in my knowledge of the South.  Stick with me, good buddy, as I try to puzzle my way through this one.

Saying “good buddy” is appropriate as the opening credits to Smokey and the Bandit feature a lot of big rigs hauling their loads all over the highways and byways of these United States.  The one that receives the most focus is owned by Bo “The Bandit” Darville (Burt Reynolds).  He is a legend among truckers, and his handle is known throughout the South . . . where everyone seemingly has a citizen’s band (CB) radio.  The film starts with him in his iconic Peterbilt truck at a “roadeo.”  Get it?  Once he has won his prizes, he is approached by two men of opposite sizes but wearing the same pattern cowboy suits.  They are both named Enos Burdette, but it is “Big Enos” (Pat McCormick) who has a proposal for Bo, while “Little Enos” (Paul Williams) doubts that what they are asking can be done.  The offer is this: the Enoses need four hundred cases of Coors beer in twenty-eight hours and they are willing to pay $80,000 for the delivery.  If this sounds insane, keep in mind that back then, the only place you could obtain that brand of brew was west of the Mississippi river.  Therefore, picking it up from its storehouse in Texarkana, Texas, and bringing it back across several state lines to Georgia constitutes bootlegging.  This is, of course, an inconsequential detail to a person nicknamed “The Bandit,” but he does need some seed money.  The first purchase is a fast car, and Bo uses these upfront funds to purchase the iconic black Pontiac Firebird Trans Am.  This extra vehicle will become the “blocker car.”  As far as I can tell, this means that Bo will drive behind, in front, and on the side of his semi in order to distract the authorities from inspecting his illegal haul.  Because Bo cannot be behind the wheel of two engines at once, he enlists his friend and fellow trucker, Cledus “The Snowman” Snow (Jerry Reed), to man the big rig, enticing the dad with the promise of the massive pay off.  Everything goes smoothly getting to their pick-up point, even if they have to break into the warehouse, and they are ahead of schedule.  It is on the way back that problems begin.  To save some time here, mainly because roughly three quarters of the movie is what I am about to describe, just know that the blocker strategy is exactly as I laid it out a few sentences ago.  The rest of the film is a mobius strip of Bo encountering cops, leading them on a chase, getting away, and then doing everything all over again a few minutes.  Among the local constabulary along the way, the one that gives Bo the most trouble, and chases him across half the country, is Sheriff Buford T. Justice (Jackie Gleason) of Texarkana.    The reason for his single-minded determination to catch the legendary Bandit is because Bo had stopped momentarily to let Carrie “Frog” (Sally Field) into his Trans Am.  She had been standing in the middle of the road in a wedding dress waiting for the next car to pass, which happens to be Bo.  At first, he is bemused, but a little annoyed, with her, and is going to drop her off at a bus station so she can get to wherever she is trying to go.  However, at some point they fall in love, even though he does not say the nicest things to her and behaves in a rather ungentlemanly manner.  He is also upfront about being basically an outlaw, but she is attracted to him all the same and foregoes public transportation to speed down the road with him for the next day.  The developing romance is of little consequence to Sheriff Justice.  He is angry because it had been his son, Junior Justice (Mike Henry), who had been set to marry Carrie.  Further, Sheriff Justice does not appreciate how Bo so flagrantly flouts the law.  So, the “hot pursuit” continues all the way back to Georgia, despite heavy damage sustained by the policeman’s car, including the roof getting torn off.  Bo, Carrie, and Cledus are able to deliver their cargo to the Enoses, but instead of being paid, Big Enos bets the smugglers that they cannot make to Boston and back with a bowl of clam chowder in eighteen hours.  The three traveling companions take the wager, and a different car, and give Sheriff Justice one more tease before setting off.

Sheriff Justice is not the only victim in Smokey and the Bandit of Bo’s disregard for law and order.  Several officers of the law see their roadblocks easily bypassed, and/or their cars wrecked, while trying to stop the Bandit.  What is arguably worse is that he is cheered on nearly everywhere he goes, with citizens across all the states he travels not only knowing who he is but helping him obstruct justice.  This is not an attitude supported by Catholicism, or Christianity more broadly.  This does not even fall under the category of St. Augustine’s famous line about an unjust law being “no law at all.”  It is banditry purely for profit, though one could argue that it is silly that it would be illegal to transport beer like that across state lines.  In case you are wondering, such laws are no longer in effect since Coors is now brewed locally in many places.  As such, the movie amounts to one of the most convoluted beer runs of all time, which is not a sufficient reason for any of these antics no matter the monetary reward.  If you listen to Father Mike Schmitz on any of his platforms, he sometimes will talk about an unfortunate penchant for speeding as he drives.  Such is not my descriptor, but his, and he acknowledges that limits are there for a reason.  The amount of people whose lives are put at risk for what is essentially greed makes this a difficult watch for a Christian who cares about how we impact others.  With this in mind, I was nervous while watching the movie as Bo and Carrie fly around every country hairpin turn.  It gets scarier when they drive through a peewee football game.  Nothing in this world is that important.

What is also not important is watching Smokey and the Bandit, unless you are set on viewing an hour and a half long car chase.  When they are not breaking the law, there is a rushed romance between Bo and Carrie, who admit they have nothing in common before deciding to be lovers.  With such moments, I alternated between puzzlement and terror, and I would seek to save you the trouble.