Everybody's got their favorite movie car chase. Some people go straight for The French Connection. Others swear by Ronin or Vanishing Point or Mad Max II: The Road Warrior or Bullitt.
I've been thinking about car chases since I saw a screening last month of Steven Spielberg's first full-length film, Duel. The whole movie is one pulse-pounding car chase about a traveling salesman (played to nebbish perfection by Dennis Weaver) who finds himself pursued by the a psychotic driver of a big rig. Legendary screenwriter Richard Matheson was in attendance at this Writers Guild screening and afterward talked about the project and why it still ticks along like a finely-tuned engine.
Spielberg's later blockbuster, Jaws, would follow the same essential template as that of Duel. Both are simple, almost mythic tales of an average person facing off against an unstoppable killing machine. I recall watching Duel when it originally aired as a TV movie of the week in 1971. That mindless truck was at the time the scariest monster I'd ever seen. I don't think I'd watched this movie since in its entirety and, honestly, I was worried it wouldn't hold up that well. I'm thrilled to report that Duel still packs a primal wallop. It's lean and efficient storytelling, even with the extra 12 or so minutes Spielberg added for the film's overseas theatrical release. Grab the DVD and see for yourself why this killer thriller still resonates in today's pop culture.
Duel is certainly up there in the pantheon of great car chase movies. For my money, though, the car chase in Friedkin's 1985 cop thriller To Live and Die in L.A. is the most thrilling, unpredictable and increasingly suspenseful car chase ever filmed.
Based on a novel by Gerald Petievich, this garish and seedy flick sells itself like a slick hooker who's been up all night snorting rails and watching Miami Vice. The film's deep orange hues pulse like burnt neon -- the entire color palette will leave aftertrails on your eyelids. The thumping New Wave soundtrack by Wang Chung practically conjures its own pile of cocaine on your coffee table. That's a kind way of admitting that this movie's aesthetics are dated in many ways, but their cumulative effect is undeniable. You get a true sense of what it must've been like to surf the shiny edges of this L.A. world.
Friedkin's movie vibrates like a meth-head approaching the speed of light. It boldly features unsympathetic, corrupt lawmen decades before Shawn Ryan's TV series The Shield. And damn, that incredible car chase has always floored me. In it, two desperate Secret Service agents pull an audacious robbery designed to fund the
takedown of a major counterfeiter (played with sneering aplomb by
Willem Dafoe). As the agents speed away, things start going horribly wrong. And then they get
worse. Much worse.
Here's a great essay by Michael Crowley that pins down why this car chase takes your breath away:
Technically and artistically, every choice
Friedkin makes during this sequence is exceptional. The chase is slow
to develop. It’s not even clear that this is a car chase until after
it’s begun. The compositions are superb; the editing sparkles and is
frequently abstract. Friedkin even temporarily transfers the point of
view to the pursuers without any formal introduction or establishing
shots. By reusing set-ups, he induces a transitory sense that we are
seeing the same action twice, or that Chance is driving in circles
rather then being pursued. The rhythm of cuts and sounds as Friedkin
percolates between perspectives and omniscient compositions escalates
the sensual intensity ...
I love this essay because it recognizes so many things about this movie that even I hadn't noticed. But what it says about the centerpiece car chase is, like Duel, startling in its leanness, its efficiency. The car chase in To Live and Die in L.A. is not just an eye-popping series of slick stunt moves. It's not adrenalized action for the sake of action. In fact, it's not about the cars at all. It's about these downward spiraling lawmen and the events that brought them to this precipice and how it changes them. This is a car chase that serves as a searing cauldron for the characters.
Car chase as cauldron. Take a moment to just sit and think about that.
And here's something to think about for the script or story you're working on. If there's a scene that doesn't work in some way as a cauldron for your characters, be it a complex car chase or a simple dinner scene, what in the world is it doing there?
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