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 For some, a road is just a road. Asphalt or gravel, it leads you from A to B, nothing more. But check out any crummy car flick of the last few decades, and it will seem to say roads are metaphors for life, a series of endless paths you alone are responsible for choosing. If any movie could get away with such eye-rolling philosophy, it's 1971's Vanishing Point. A favorite amongst auto aficionados, Vanishing Point arrived when filmgoers were in just the right mood for its adrenaline-fueled existentialism. The formula's been riffed to death (including a '97 remake with Viggo Mortensen), but it's the original Barry Newman/Cleavon Little starrer that remains a true king of the road.
Newman plays Kowalski, an enigmatic speed demon employed by a car delivery agency. After making a drop-off in Denver, he immediately picks up his next assignment, to drive a white 1970 Dodge Challenger to San Francisco in three days. It's evident that Kowalski has every intention of making that deadline and then some, ignoring the highway patrol and plowing through construction sites with wild abandon. Why could he be in such a hurry? Glimpses into Kowalski's past show us a life of lost loves and a growing distaste for authority. Whatever his motivations may be, Kowalski continues on his reckless race, heralded as a folk hero by a blind DJ (Little) and hunted down by an increasingly irate police force.
Barry Newman
Vanishing Point is more deserving of the mystique films of its genre award themselves. When I rag on car movies, I'm usually referencing those in which Calvin Klein models play bad boys without the decency of even doing their own driving. That's not to say there weren't stunt doubles in Vanishing Point, but it does supply a cause to accompany its rebel. Initially, director Richard C. Sarafian seems to offer typical grindhouse fare, with no discernably purpose other than giving a young Quentin Tarantino ideas. But into frame speeds Kowalski, whose aborted attempts to abide by society have pushed him to the edge. It's defiance a person could really get behind, and people did. Released during the Vietnam War and hippiedom's final bows, Sarafian gave audiences good reason to hold onto hope.
Still, there are those who'll react apprehensively to Vanishing Point, and I can see why. Kowalski tends to put the lives of others at risk, and it's during these moments when the movie's "guilty of the crime of living" platform doesn't cut it. Even as carsploitation, the film is stingy on big stunts, and the quirky characters Kowalski meets on the road are of inconsistent service. But the driving sequences do grip viewers if they care about who's in the front seat. Newman plays Kowalski as a quiet man, as well as he should; he's not out to be a legend or even aware of his following, allowing for a great deal more trust and sympathy than action heroes are usually afforded. There aren't many other characters of prominence, save for Little's, who represents the viewer in speaking for a man society has refused to listen to.
It's getting harder and harder to buy into the myth of the open road, but Vanishing Point certainly makes a good case for it. But if one's in the market for all-out auto insanity, I'd suggest hitting up 1974's Gone in 60 Seconds. Vanishing Point has its pleasant pursuits, but its mindset is better suited for the more introspective of motorheads.
Director: Richard C. Serafian
Writer: Guillermo Cain (story outline by Malcolm Hart)
Cast: Barry Newman, Cleavon Little, Dean Jagger, Victoria Medlin, Gilda Texter
Rating: R (nudity, profanity, some violence)
Classic Movie Guide Rating: 3 stars out of 5
Run Time: 99 minutes
Studio: 20th Century Fox
Format: Color, widescreen
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