CATCHING UP ON THE CLASSICS: Smokey and the Bandit: 40th Anniversary Edition

Courtesy of Universal

We’re a few weeks into summer blockbuster season (Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales and Baywatch hit theaters this weekend), but I recently got a rare chance to experience one of the most popular summer movies of the 20th century in a couple of different – but equally compelling – ways.

It’s time for me to admit a shameful secret, something I probably shouldn’t put in writing if I want to keep my (non-existent) film critic badge. Even though I’ve lived in Georgia my entire life, I somehow managed to make it almost 36 years without seeing Smokey and the Bandit. I know, I know. I’ll give you a minute to compose yourself.

I recently came clean to my loved ones and apologized for bringing shame upon our family. While they were clearly upset – voices were raised, dishes were thrown – I’m happy to say they didn’t disown me.

Okay, I might be exaggerating a bit. But when I heard the movie was returning to select theaters for its 40th anniversary, I jumped at the chance to experience it for the first time on the big screen. And since it’s an all-time favorite of my brother’s, it didn’t take much to convince him to tag along.

Honestly, I’m almost glad I stayed in the dark so long, because watching it with a big audience was a blast. Smokey and the Bandit is 96 minutes of pure fun, and the running time flies by almost as fast as that iconic Trans Am. In the unlikely event that I’m not the last person in Georgia to see this movie, the plot is gloriously simple.

Notorious troublemaker Bandit (Burt Reynolds) and his best friend Snowman (Jerry Reed) accept a nearly-impossible bet: drive from Atlanta to Texarkana, pick up 400 cases of Coors beer and bring it back in 28 hours – without getting busted for bootlegging. Along the way, Bandit picks up runaway bride Carrie (Sally Field) and causes a trail of destruction as they attempt to outrun her ex-fiancé’s furious father, larger-than-life Texas sheriff Buford T. Justice (Jackie Gleason).

The film is packed with iconic action sequences, brilliantly directed by former stuntman Hal Needham. Each astonishing car chase and jaw-dropping crash (and there are a ton of them) made me long for the days before CGI made most action directors lazy. The whole thing plays out like a live-action duel between Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner.

Gleason gets most of the big laughs and all the scenery-chewing, even though some of his jokes play much differently four decades later (racism and threats of domestic violence aren’t exactly go-to punchlines these days). His southern accent is legendarily awful, but that adds more humor – albeit unintentionally – to the character.

I can’t imagine we’ll ever see a phenomenon like ’70s-era Reynolds again. The guy exudes pure charisma and sexuality, and makes it look effortless. His camaraderie with Reed is joyous and his chemistry with Field is scorching.

That might’ve been the biggest shock to me – I was not used to thinking of the matronly actress from Forrest Gump, Mrs. Doubtfire and Lincoln as a sex symbol. As you might imagine, my reaction to her work as Carrie was surprising, to say the least.

As with most great movies, as soon as Smokey and the Bandit was over, I wanted to watch it again. After a quick Google search, I learned that the 40th Anniversary Blu-ray is available exclusively at Walmart until July 11, when it hits other stores as well.

I bought it the next day and spent hours revisiting the flick, which looks and sounds fantastic; I certainly understood the dialogue better at home than I did in the theater. There’s also an excellent bonus feature that’s worth the purchase price (a surprisingly cheap $15) by itself.

The Bandit, a feature-length documentary (84 minutes) made last year, chronicles the close relationship between Reynolds and Needham, who served as the actor’s stuntman for years before becoming his roommate and collaborator. The interviews, including a mix of new and archival footage, are surprisingly candid. It’s not some puff piece thrown together by the studio marketing department.

Perhaps the greatest testament to the power of Smokey and the Bandit is that somehow, in a world filled with remakes and a billions-grossing Fast and the Furious series, no one has attempted to redo it for a modern audience. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a terrible idea. But that hasn’t stopped Hollywood in the past.

Smokey and the Bandit is rated PG.

Grade: A