Dance Of The Dwarfs (1983)

For those of us who are avid readers, there are, as with anything else, books you count as favorites.  There are also books that affected you more than others from when you first got into reading.  Aside from Donald Glut’s Classic Movie Monsters, The entire series of monster books from Crestwood House (which I may or may not have written about previously on these hallowed pages), and Making A Monster by Al Taylor and Sue Roy (are you noticing a trend here?), one of the most enchanting I ever came across was Encyclopedia Of Legendary Creatures by Tom McGowen and, perhaps more importantly, illustrated by Victor Ambrus.  The text is as advertised, and it certainly introduced me to beasts I may never have heard of otherwise.  It was the artwork, however, that kept me coming back for more.  Go ahead and look Ambrus up on the interwebs.  You’ll see the attraction.  In fact, I loved these books so much that I bought them later in life, and still own them to this day (with the exception of the Crestwood books, which command a fairly high price these days from what I’ve seen).  But with the plethora of monsters described in McGowen’s tome, from the Abominable Snowman to the Vodyanoi, there was sadly no listing for the Duende, the titular creatures of (the former Mr. Goldie Hawn) Gus Trikonis’ Dance Of The Dwarfs (aka Jungle Heat aka Night Of The Dwarves).

Deep in the jungles of South America, a prisoner is pursued by horse-mounted police.  As the convict slips into the brush, the horses refuse to go any further, chucking their riders.  The convict’s face is swiftly removed from his skull by a reptilian claw.  End prologue.  Soon thereafter, straitlaced anthropologist Evelyn Howard (Deborah Raffin) meets not-so-cute with grizzled pilot (and owner of the Trans-Exec Helicopter Service) Harry Bediker (Peter Fonda), whom she has retained to fly her to a field station in the aforementioned jungle.  During the flight, our pair has to crash land after a bullet fired from the ground hits the hydraulic fluid line.  Once they make off into the jungle on foot, their situation does not improve.

The most interesting concept to be found in this film is in the juxtaposition of the Aristocrat/Intellectual and the Savage.  We’ve seen this innumerable times in the past.  You have Felix Unger and Oscar Madison in The Odd Couple and David Addison and Maddie Hayes in Moonlighting, to name just two.  Also of note is the fact that the Aristocrat/Intellectual is typically female/feminine, while the Savage is typically male/masculine.  So, Felix does all the chores around the apartment, cooks, listens to opera, et cetera, and Maddie used to hang out in high society circles and was a glamorous celebrity model.  Conversely, Oscar, a sports writer, can barely find clean clothes in his room, and neither he nor Addison would likely scoff at the idea of starting their morning by cracking open a beer.  We get the same contrast in Dance Of The Dwarfs.  When Evelyn meets Harry, he is shacked up inside his helicopter (the Peerless Rita) with a hooker.  Every chance he gets, Bediker is inebriated or in the process of becoming inebriated.  His aircraft is rusty and hardly looks like it could lift off, let alone sustain flight.  Harry wears a ratty Hawaiian shirt, while Evelyn is always dressed in clean clothes.  She listens to opera on her walkman, while Harry is into rock.  Despite Harry’s desire to become “friendly” with her, Evelyn only refers to him as “Mr. Bediker” (one of the things I remember so strongly from watching this film in my youth, since it’s repeated so often).   Evelyn shoots up Harry’s liquor bottles because she claims to be saving him from himself (implying that she knows best for him, since he’s clearly beneath her socially and morally).  Regardless of how clichéd these traits may be in terms of perceived gender roles, the fact remains that they are easily recognizable to audiences, which is why they are used so often.  Second, they easily generate conflict to keep the audience interested in times of saggy pacing.  Third, they usually adhere to the adage that opposites attract, even in terms of friendship (hence, why actual consummation is unnecessary; the drive is actually in the buildup, not the payoff, which is more likely than not something of a letdown [especially with regards to serialized characters] because the tension in the relationship is now gone, or at the absolute least normalized).

Even more the Savage than Harry is Esteban (John Amos), a local “witch doctor” who, according to Harry, is also adept at curing the Clap.  Esteban skulks around ominously, his face painted white, a snake dangling about his neck.  But it is he who connects Evelyn with the Duende, because he lives in their proverbial backyard.  Harry may be a semi-reluctant expatriate (due to “back taxes and ex-wives”), but he still dwells relatively close to civilization.  He still needs contact with people (or maybe just hookers) now and again.  He uses modern technology to earn a meager living.  Esteban may trade with Harry for some goods, but it would take a lot of work for him to fit in civilized society (and even then, it may not work out).  This, of course, leads us to the Duende themselves.  They are the ultimate Savages because they are completely and utterly inhuman.  They could never pass for human in appearance, and they are animals in their behavior, though they do live in a supposed tribal structure (perhaps just a pack).  They are an untamed and untamable force of nature, a personification of the “Darkest Africa” and the like so regularly written about in pulp fiction.  They are irrational and primal.  They are the unknown (to quasi-steal a description from the film).  Consequently, they would be deadly no matter their environment, which is why the jungle suits them best.

Dance Of The Dwarfs is one of those movies which I want to love simply because it has one of the best titles anyone could likely dream up (well I love it, and, incidentally, it is also the title of the Geoffrey Household novel upon which this movie is based, and he was, by all accounts, no stranger to the pulpier side of writing).  But I just can’t.  The vast majority of the run time is eaten up with Evelyn and Howard’s journey into the jungle, and it’s not particularly exciting.  Trikonis pulls out some low budget tricks to shoot some of the action pieces (like rocking the helicopter to simulate flight and using sound effects alone for gunfire, though in fairness, there are some juicy gore bits involving the monsters), but for how staid the rest of the production is, these pieces mainly serve to be anticlimactic.  The film does pick up in the last thirty minutes or so, and the creatures are as cool as they could be, all things considered (though they vary wildly in appearance between the full body suits and the puppets used for closeups).  I just wish there was more going on in the rest of the film to better balance it out.  It’s a mildly enjoyable film, but outside of the title and the imprinting of “Mr. Bediker” on my brain, I suspect most people will take little else away from this one.  

MVT:  Since the monsters are shown so sparingly and are so inconsistent when they do pop up, I have to give the trophy to the rapport between Raffin and Fonda.  The two do as good a job as they can with the material, and they both have a natural charisma that works well onscreen.  It takes some of the sting out of the disappointment the film ultimately generates.                  

Make Or Break:  The Make is at the start of the third act.  Evelyn makes a discovery, and the film finally starts to pick up some momentum.  It loses some of this same steam fairly rapidly, but it does provide enough of a prod to remind you why you were watching in the first place.

Score:  6/10

Race With The Devil (1975)

I once wrote the single worst short story about a satanic cult ever. I know that (since you read and enjoy my weekly reviews) you can't possibly believe this, but it's true. This was back when I was still very young. It was called "Cultism: Closer Than You Think," and I even decorated the front cover with one of the worst renderings of a satanic cult member ever. Actually, he looked more like a member of the Klan, in retrospect, but that's neither here nor there. The story (in as much as it can be claimed it had one) involved me (did I mention this was written in First Person perspective?) stumbling upon a coven of Satanists in the midst of a blood sacrifice. After a short chase, I wound up spending the night up a tree (much like the plot), and the next morning, the cultists were gone. The end. I swear to you, loyal readers (all five of you), I have never seen this week's film before watching it for this review.

Roger, Frank, Alice, and Kelly (Peter Fonda, Warren Oates, Loretta Swit, and Lara Parker, respectively, and not to be confused with Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice), head out on an early-year vacation in Frank's brand-spanking-new, fully-loaded camper. After some dirt biking and grabassery, Roger and Frank get mildly toasted for the evening. Across the shallow river, fire erupts, and thinly-robed people begin to prance around. Taking a closer peek, the two horndogs think it's just some filthy hippies having a harmless orgy. But when the coven leader (in a very nice mask, by the way) unsheathes the sacrificial dagger and plunges it into an all-too-willing female member, the men suddenly realize they're in some deep crap (sound familiar?). Alice's big mouth (she was "Hot Lips" Houlihan, after all) alerts the cultists to the vacationers presence, and our hapless quartet find themselves, not really in a Race With The Devil, but definitely in a race away from his worshippers. 

The basic story premise for Jack Starrett's film goes all the way back to the pulp magazines of the early twentieth century. Stories about strange cults, the people (usually dames) who espy them doing their dirty business, and the two-fisted shamuses that busted them up (the cults, not the dames…well…) abounded. The Seventh Victim (produced by the legendary Val Lewton and directed by Mark Robson) also dealt with the subject of Satanism in a very personal, very disturbing manner. That it did so in 1943 is, to me, both intriguing and somehow more affecting. Of course, while the viewers of an illicit act are usually decent, normal citizens, the viewees almost always are not, and they are also not exclusively creepy religious zealots. Just look at Hitchcock's Rear Window, Stephen Hopkins's Judgment Night, or Malmuth's Hard To Kill. The act viewed doesn't even need to be criminal in nature, and Park Chan-wook's Oldboy bears this out. Suffice it to say, the basics are a well-trodden path, and like all types, it's what you do with them that counts. Starrett, a very workmanlike but solid director of exploitation fare (as well as being an actor), doesn't go the way one would necessarily expect with the film, and crafts a mostly successful effort. But there are a few bumps in the road, to be sure.

The film is centered on (in fact, is predicated on) the notion of The Gaze, what's seen or not and by whom (audience included). Frank and Roger witness something they weren't supposed to witness, and the chase is on. As the couples are haunted and harried by the cult, we rarely see any overt actions against them onscreen. In essence, this amplifies the tension and suspense, because like a poltergeist or a monster in the closet, we don't know when something is going to pop up to threaten the protagonists. It's not until the third act that the cultists act in a more public fashion to reach their ends. This is also the weakest point in the film from a Horror point of view (even though half the reason for making and watching the movie is to see cars smash into things as well as each other). 

But it's a different facet of how The Gaze can be utilized where I think Starrett and company played their hand very well. Using the Kuleshov Effect (consciously or unconsciously, but I suspect the former, even if they didn't know what it was called), they give us montages of different people everywhere our heroes go juxtaposed against the reactions of the principals (particularly of Kelly), with the reaction shots informing our interpretation of the incessant menace the four find themselves poised against. The shots of the people outside the camper seldom convey any open emotion or intent. That the protagonists feel threatened by nothing (or at least by what a rational person not being hounded by Satanists would consider nothing) plays into the building of tension and adds to the film's edginess. I found it rather odd, then, that no one in the camper ever objected to allowing strangers at gas stations to work on the camper or insisted on double-checking their work afterwards. Perhaps that's part of the plan to get the viewer to shout at the screen and work up some adrenaline. If so, then mission accomplished.

As a Chase film, the film falters a hair. By this point in time, Fonda had done Dirty Mary Crazy Larry as well as Easy Rider and was no stranger to the Road/Chase movie subgenre. Oates, though not as indelibly identified with this type of film, had done what many consider to be one of the best exemplars of it a few years earlier with Two-Lane Blacktop. Plus, he was already very much an icon of badass cinema from his work with Sam Peckinpah in The Wild Bunch and Bring Me The Head Of Alfredo Garcia. One would think that just having these two occupying a vehicle while being pursued by hostile forces would be enough, and maybe had they handled the material differently, it would have. However, in the struggle to serve two masters (both Horror and Chase subgenres), the filmmakers shortchange the latter. Rather than have our heroes constantly on the move, pedal to the metal, hellbent for leather, Starrett instead has the chase paced more leisurely. Consequently, the terror and paranoia angle and the escape angle are at odds throughout the runtime. They never occupy the same space or really tie themselves together completely. The car stunts, when they do come, are handled very well and shot effectively, but there seemed to me to be a bit too much downtime (and a mild air of non-concern from the protagonists) that deflates some of the uneasiness. It's not enough to ruin the film, and there is certainly enough here to satisfy almost anyone. However, as the film crosses the finish line, Race With The Devil feels more like a sprint than a marathon. 
 
MVT: How in the world can I not have Warren Oates as the MVT? The man could say more with that cynical smirk of his or his withering glare than any ten actors could say with three pages of dialogue apiece. 

Make Or Break: Everyone who watches this film is watching it to see the Satanic ritual scene (and, by extension, the action springing from it), and I admit I am one of them. Not as garish as it could have been, it sets a realistic tone that the film embraces right up until the closing frames.

Score: 7/10

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Dirty Mary Crazy Larry (1974)

Deke (Adam Roarke) wakes Larry (Peter Fonda) from his slumber (and the arms of Susan George's Mary) in order to go rob the local supermarket (managed by the always wonderful and uncredited Roddy McDowell). However, Mary (only ever intended to be a one night stand from Larry's perspective) inserts herself into the situation, and the reluctant trio is off on the run from the police. Enter unorthodox cop, Captain Franklin (the late, great Vic Morrow), whose tracking skills and gruff demeanor are legendary in the local sheriff's department (run by The Thing From Another World's Kenneth Tobey). Armed with a map and a fairly intricate plan, Larry, Mary, and Deke tax each other's patience and frustrate the fuzz at every turn.

The opening credits to John Hough's Dirty Mary Crazy Larry roll over various shots of thoroughfares and even a shot of a moving train. Mostly these shots were taken by helicopter, but they all emphasize two things: roads and movement. These are the two key motifs running throughout the film, and their symbolism defines its characters. The road can mean various things (and I would argue that the more you think about them, the more movies you can find that actually fit the paradigm of a "Road Movie," whether any driving takes place at all or not). Sometimes it means freedom, and that's part of what it means for the three protagonists. Larry is a former Nascar driver, and Deke was his mechanic. For them, driving is living, and (ironically enough), they want to get back to the place where literally driving in a closed circuit is the closest they can get to ultimate sovereignty. For Mary, it's the freedom to move ahead with her life. For Franklin, the freedom of the road equals lawlessness, and it's his job to control the roads in his jurisdiction.

Additionally, the road personifies the human desire to run from our past. Larry has fallen from grace in the world of competitive driving. Deke let his alcoholism strip him of his pride and helped deprive Larry of his career. Mary is running from past entanglements with the law. Like sharks, then, they must keep moving forward, or they will die. As long as there is macadam under their tires and gas in the tank, they can escape from the bindings of yesterday. But is the constant need for movement less from a well-considered game plan with a verifiable goal in mind (though they say it is, we know it isn't true), than from a noisome desperation brought about through their own doing? They strain against shackles they have placed on themselves.

Deke, Larry, and Mary all cling to their dreams tenaciously. Each of them suffers a type of tunnelvision which only serves to keep them down and will eventually do them harm. Larry only cares about driving. If it doesn't have anything to do with cars or driving, he doesn't want to know from it. With the exception, of course, of sex, which he will also run out on if it means getting behind the wheel of a fast car. Deke seeks redemption from the bottle, but he goes about it in a circumscribed way and through an odd sort of austerity. He doesn't like deviations from the plan (Mary being the biggest one), and he tries to be a voice of reason throughout the film, though he knows his pleas fall on deaf ears. Mary has found what she believes is a kindred spirit in Larry, and she refuses to let him go. Even after she's treated poorly by both men, she's always quick to forgive them. Franklin also suffers from this type of outlook, though his "White Whale" is whatever perp he's tracking down. Like a pitbull, his grip is like iron once he's clamped down. But unlike our antiheroes, who scurry about the county's backroads and byways like mice in a maze, Franklin has a view of the whole maze from on high, and he will use this knowledge against his enemies.

As we all know, conflict is the cornerstone to story. Without it, there's no dramatic tension, and the results are usually lifeless and uninvolving. Dirty Mary Crazy Larry is rife with conflict, but it's more telling about the title characters than anything else. Mary and Larry behave and treat each other like children. Almost the entirety of their dialogue to each other is taunts, barbs, or nitpicks. Disregarding for a moment, some of the more demoded colloquialisms, the fact that these two found each other is mystery, but that they were made for each other is undeniable. As with children, the two care only about their immediate wants (I want to play chicken, I want sex, I want a drink, etcetera). Like a boy pulling the hair of the girl he likes, Larry and Mary's running argument serves not to distance them from each other but to draw them together. This has been a staple of cinema for decades (just look at the old screwball comedies, if you don't believe me), and here the verbal sparring is as funny as it is fast-paced. 

That said, Ms. George has a tendency to overplay her reactions, and her performance in many of these scenes gravitate toward the bug-eyed (in an obvious play for the much-coveted BEM Award). Granted, in quieter scenes she makes up for it with a fairly nuanced interpretation of Mary's vulnerabilities. Deke, by contrast, is quiet in his animosities, and Roarke truly nailed the art of the slow burn in this film. As someone who dwells on things (to his detriment, surely), it's interesting that he is the one who stands up for Mary late in the film. While everything is still a game to Larry, Deke realizes the value of Mary's friendship first. Morrow is the soul of "crotchety" (as he almost perpetually was in all his films), but his Franklin is also an outsider among the sheriff's department. He refuses to wear a badge, he lets his hair grow out, and he criticizes his boss and the bureaucracy that he feels stifles his ability to do his job. This makes it sort of odd that Franklin does not appear to identify with the three criminals he's pursuing. One possible explanation would be because he holds himself above everything else. His egotism is up there with the greats, and even though he can see the whole map from the air, it is only from the ground that the chase and its devastating effects can truly be appreciated.

MVT: Fonda and George share a real rapport in the film, and even when you feel like slapping them for the petulant children they are, you truly cannot help but be engaged with their criminal pursuits and root for them at the same time.

Make Or Break: Though the first shot of Mary is extremely brief, and she and Larry have already met, they still have a meet-cute at the robbery site that gives the film its overall feel. Make.

Score: 7/10

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Fighting Mad (1976)

The older I get, the more things get under my skin. Blaring music that is not issuing from my car or stereo irritates me no end. People who drive like I do piss me off when they do the things I would do but when I'm not doing them. The whole "pants around the knees" thing I just don't get, and even when I did wear baggy pants, they rarely drooped lower than waist level (and no, they weren't "Hammer Pants"). I think going out in public wearing your pajamas (even if it's just the bottoms, and "pajama jeans" count) shows a lack of respect not only for yourself but for society in general. Needless to say (that is, if you agree in the slightest with any of this), we cannot control these things individually. But the one thing that has really started to cheese me off is something which somehow must be my own fault and, ergo, controllable (right?). For some inexplicable reason (probably mental, what a shock), I seem to be waking up only a few short minutes from when my alarm is set lately. Now, maybe I would be able to go back to sleep and take advantage of those last few minutes of "Me Time" except for the fact that this is also about the same moment my bladder decides it's ready to explode. By that point, you may as well get your day started. You may not consider this a big deal, but I think it's enough to piss off the Pope.

Tom Hunter (Peter Fonda) and son, Dylan (Gino Franco), return to Tom's rural home town to work the farm with his father, Jeff (John Doucette) and brother, Charlie (Scott Glenn, billed here as Scott Glen). Meanwhile, corporate bigwig, Pierce Crabtree (Philip Carey), means to have the land the Hunters' farm is on by hook or by crook so he can develop the land and build malls, golf courses, and so on. Tom reignites his romance with old flame, Lorene (Lynn Lowry), but even she may not be strong enough to rein in Tom's fury when Crabtree and associates cross the line.

Fighting Mad was Jonathan Demme's third film with Roger Corman (I have not had the opportunity to watch their second pairing, Crazy Mama, but it's on my bucket list), and like their first collaboration, Caged Heat, the film is more than a collection of exploitable elements edited together. There is a definite craft and sense of style to Demme's (early) filmmaking, even under the restraints of a low budget. During an early scene, he uses crosscutting (and more interestingly, cutting away to a scene of camaraderie and peace), Dutch angles, and shortened shot durations to accentuate an attack by Crabtree's men. Later, Demme creates an uncharacteristically melancholic feel in a night action scene through music, extensive use of aerial shots, and the movement of truck lights on a sea of virtual darkness. The sound of explosions from land development in the distance substitutes for the sounds of thunder (the oncoming storm) and mirror the pent up ferocity bubbling in Tom's head. Clearly, the director was honing his nascent skills with every choice that he made, and the stamp of a young filmmaker is definitely on the film (not everything comes off as smoothly or perfectly as a more refined filmmaker might be able to achieve). But the talent on display behind the camera is evident.

The basic conflict of the film's narrative deals with the idea of the intrusion of technology and corporate sterility against a common desire for simplicity. This dilemma is nothing new. In fact, this type of film is virtually a subgenre unto itself. The man of the land just wants to work, feed his family, and go about his business. The corporate villain cannot stand the thought of untrammeled nature and has to have everything cleaned up, made symmetrical and regimented. The beauty of nature's natural architecture is anathema to the big businessman. Plus, nature represents potential money not being made (and most importantly, not being made by him). It's the simple man's stubbornness in not giving the businessman what he desires that drives the businessman to behave violently. Naturally, this violence will be met with violence in turn.

Normally in a film of this type, you expect the hero to be a quiet man. Maybe he has something boiling under the surface, but he keeps it under wraps. That is, up until he is "pushed too far" and has to finally retaliate against his oppressors. Tom Hunter (related to Dinah Hunter of Jackson County Jail, perhaps?) is not like that. He is a quiet man at first blush, but within the opening scenes of the film, it's made abundantly clear he is not a man who will "grin and bear it." After some of Crabtree's men act like absolute vermin, Tom removes his glasses (kind of like Clark Kent becoming Superman but also a symbol for him dropping the thin veneer of a civilized man) and opens up a can of whoop-ass. This, then, is how Tom is defined in the film. He is a man looking for a fight, yet when he gets one, he doesn't change, he charges in. To Tom, violence can solve all problems, and he is inevitably proved right by film's end. This extends to his somewhat antagonistic and dismissive treatment of not only Lorene but also Dylan. He regularly tells his son to shut up and won't allow Dylan to sleep in Tom's bedroom. Tom also lets his short fuse cripple his emotional involvement with Lorene. He is atypical of what we know to be the norm from the setup and a nice subversion of audience expectations.

This same subversion underscores the theme of justice versus pacifism that the film puts forth. The people who won't (or can't) put up their fists are the ones taken advantage of the most. Authority, in the form of Sheriff Skerritt (Harry Northup), is petty and allows justice to be perverted rather than upholding the laws, at first. Still, Skerritt is a decent man at his core, and he will only allow Crabtree to go so far before turning back to a more righteous path. The crux of the argument, then, is you can be a pacifist and nonviolent and give up what's yours, or you can be violent and fight for the justice you've been denied so long. In other words, die on your feet or live on your knees. And while the film appears to come down on the side of the former half of that statement, it also (on a far more subtle level) says that, to quote (and I'm sure bastardize) Shakespeare's The Merchant Of Venice, "Though justice be thy plea, consider this, that in the course of justice none of us should see salvation."

MVT: Mr. Demme exhibits a sure hand behind the scenes. He also gives us little hints of his future heights through his solid storytelling skills. And all on a budget of less than a million dollars. As a matter of fact (and completely tangential to the point), I don't think you could get craft services today on this film's entire budget.

Make Or Break: The scene with Tom quietly drinking and fuming as we hear the dynamite exploding in the distance illustrates his character beautifully as well as epitomizing Demme's nuanced artistry.

Score: 7/10

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High-Ballin' (1978)

Starring: Peter Fonda, Jerry Reed & Helen Shaver

Directed by: Peter Carter

In this Canadian trucking actioner, big rig hijackers make the open road a dangerous trade for independent long haul drivers. It is especially perilous for the dimwitted as such High-Ballin' begins with a trucker falling for the obvious ruse of helping a not-so-hot stranded female then getting accosted by ski-mask wearing, gun-toting thieves. Physically intimidated and intellectually overmatched, the indie truckers feel the only way to save their lives and their livelihood is to sell out and sign up with King Caroll, a commercial trucking outfit with enough security to protect them all.

Indie trucking lifer Duke (Jerry Reed) wants no part of King Caroll, shunning any and all offers to join the commercial way of life. Duke plans to make one last big run to setup his family and turns to his former trucker pal Rane (Peter Fonda) to assist him with it. For whatever reason, Rane left the trucker scene behind and is hesitant to get involved again; he much prefers to roam aimlessly on his motorcycle in some sort of flight suit getup and pilot's cap. Although, Rane doesn't stray too far as a romance develops with tomboy ratchet girl Pickup (Helen Shaver). He's soon pulled into this hijacking drama after Duke's shot and left for dead.

Out for revenge, Rane uncovers that the hijackings are actually masterminded by King Caroll in an effort to scare all the truckers into his fold. To keep him from going to the authorities, Rane's longtime bloodthirsty rival turned Caroll crony Harvey (David Ferry) kidnaps Pickup as a power play. With no where else to turn, Rane must unite the remaining indie truckers together to takedown King Caroll, rescue Pickup and save their business.

High-Ballin' reminds me of a brawler pulling his punches rather than firing off haymakers. The film has all the ingredients to make a fun, exciting little trucksplotation movie -- a quirky title, awesome theme song, machine guns, goofy thugs, the Fonda, Jerry Reed, superb poster artwork, crowbar fights -- but it never fully embraces these elements. Instead, we get all too short bursts that feel like the filmmakers are dipping only a toe in the water because they're afraid of getting wet.

For instance, it seems like we're headed to a great place early in the film when Fonda ups the ante of a boorish "let's step outside and talk about this" fight by suggesting they fight with what appears to be crowbars. Even better, Fonda wields two crowbars at once like some kind of jedi swashbuckler! Except, this fight lasts all of maybe five seconds (and that might be pushing it).

The same truncated manner plays out with the rest of the action. We never really get much of a truck chase for a film about hijacking 18-wheelers. The hijackers pack machine guns that are used more so as clubs than bullet-spitters. A quickdraw standoff between Rane and Harvey toward the end begs for a Spaghetti-style tinge as opposed to the minimalistic approach implemented. It's these fleeting moments that raise the film a hair above being completely average. Ultimately, this is a picture that, if that pun can be excused, is steering to stay in the middle of the road.

Make or Break scene - I've gone back and forth, but I'm selecting a hairline make. The scene that barely makes High-Ballin' is the diner scene toward the start of the film shortly following the first hijacking. This scene solidly develops the world of the truckers and the anxiety surrounding them. It establishes Duke's old school personality and paints him as the leader of the independents. There's ample cheesiness on display as tempers run high (and homophobia overkill) and Fonda's emoting a general unintentional goofiness that made me laugh.

MVT - Jerry Reed, hands down. Reed's value is attributed both to his performance and music contribution. He delivers the best performance. It's a familiar one, of course, but Reed plays Southern-fried very well as evidenced through his filmography with pictures to his credit like Smokey and The Bandit. High-Ballin' would have been better off centering the story on Reed's Duke and relegating Fonda's Rane to secondary position. Also, Reed's renowned for his musical artistry in many films, composing songs for a number of films. The High-Ballin' theme ("High Rollin'") is utterly, air-strummin' fantastic and it really might be the best thing about the entire movie.

Score - 5.75/10