Vanishing Point

Vanishing Point is a difficult film to assess in many ways. As a movie, it is quite flawed. The plot is obvious but ultimately quite shallow - centering around Kowalski trying to deliver a car across the country in record time. Kowalski's back story is hinted at, which makes the film a bit more interesting, but his back story takes up only a few minutes of the film.

The characters and performances are often vacuous, failing to leave an impression. Barry Newman is the chief culprit, turning in a most colourless, emotionless performance where he personally offers little insight into his character. The exception is Cleavon Little as the hyperactive DJ Super-Soul; his interplay with Newman is novel, some of his dialogue is memorable (indeed, his rambling about Kowalski and the 'police Nazis' was quoted by Axl Rose of Guns N' Roses twenty years later) and his input gives the film some badly needed impetus.

Luckily though, Vanishing Point works better on other levels. For instance, it has that early 1970's style that makes the film more compelling than it should be. Newman is chiefly responsible for this; he is certainly emotionless, but that allows him to develop an air of 'cool' that suits the film. The white Dodge Challenger is a very nice touch.

The early 70's style also allows it to work as a period piece; Kowalski encounters counter-culture hippies, religious fanatics in the desert and the police. The fractious state of race relations between blacks and whites at that time is also highlighted. On the downside, it does substantially date the film. It's a cult classic for a reason; as the failed 1997 remake demonstrated, a movie like Vanishing Point would not work nearly as well in another era.

It also works reasonably well as a straight driving film. The film is punctuated with enough car crashes and chases to move the film forward.

However, the film's real saving grace is in its many allegories. The largely empty plot does ironically enable this, because you can read whatever you want into the film. I therefore understand why the plot is so empty, because the many allegories punctuated within the film make it intriguing to watch. For instance, why did Kowalski's face shine towards the end? Why were there so many STOP signs? Was Super-Soul a spiritual guide to Kowalski? You can also have fun inventing allegories that weren't even intended - why was the Dodge Challenger white, for example?

Ultimately, Vanishing Point is not the easiest film to assess. In conventional terms, I would not rank the film particularly highly because the plot, characters, acting and dialogue are often unimpressive. As such, the casual movie viewer may not particularly identify with it. However, Vanishing Point is not a particularly conventional film; like most good films it moves itself forward well, but it is the film's style and allegorical nature that largely keeps the interest and pushes the film above the ruck of many other driving movies. I also admit that the film could not have been as effective as an allegory if the plot wasn't so insubstantial. With this in mind, I have decided to give it:

3.5/5 stars

Kowalski transports cars across the western US in 1970. He gets a gig transporting a 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T from Denver to San Francisco and sets out at maximum warp, stopping only for gas and strategy. He commits no crime outside of speeding, and fleeing the cops who are trying to stop him simply because he will not stop. He finds allies along the way, including an old prospector, a DJ named Super Soul, and a hippie who seems to me to be an alternate ending to the life of Peter Fonda's character Wyatt in "Easy Rider". He drives and drives and drives until he meets his destiny in a tiny town on the California-Nevada border at 10:04 AM on some unnamed Sunday.

Why? Is it because of his past; ex-cop, ex-racer, tragically bereaved? Is it because of the truckload of speed he takes at the beginning of the movie (draw your own metaphors between Kowalski's internal use of the noun and external use of the verb)?

Or is it the road, the infinite expanses of the Southwest, the silence, the freedom, the sound of the motor surging, the tires spinning, the wheels gobbling up and sitting out the black asphalt? Who knows? Kowalski seems indifferent as to why he drives, only that he must drive, must evade, must get to where he is going and will not - can not - be stopped.

Do yourself a favor. Rent the original, don't see the '97 made for TV movie (it has some high points, but it's like watching the '99 "Psycho" before seeing the Alfred Hitchcock original). In fact, rent this and "Two Lane Blacktop" from Monte Hellman, and "Mad Max" and/or "The Road Warrior". Watch all of them in as close to one sitting as you can get.

If after watching these movies, you don't understand how they're expressions of the same call to the open road, return them and give up. Not everyone was meant to hear it, just like not everyone has perfect pitch or the ability to wiggle their ears.

This movie drove me (pun intended) to take the handle kowalski and buy a Challenger of my own (flame red, 1973, you see the 1970 R/Ts are very hard to get).

It probably won't do the same for you, but if you've ever been driving down the open road and wondered what would happen if you _didn't_ get off at the next exchange, in fact if you never got off at all, then this film is for you.

And I hope the next ignoramus who compares this masterful film to "The Dukes of Hazzard" loses his brakes and plows into a line of parked Harleys outside some bar with a name like Whiskey Junction or the Dew Drop Inn.

Many people don't know where the radio d.j. was broadcasting from in the movie. He was broadcasting from the then closed Goldfield Hotel, in beautiful "downtown" Goldfield Nevada! I should know! I was a resident in this picturesque little town of 110 people (in 1971). The Goldfield Hotel has since found new life as a restored historical landmark. The town itself has surged in population due to new mining processes, and the re-opening of the long closed mines. During the movie, a scene picturing the front of the "Green Frog Market", you will see the faint glow of a freckle-faced, red headed little boy, gazing out of the window......yeah..it's me!! This movie was quite exciting in a town of 110 people!

"Vanishing Point" asks the question and, like other films of this kind before "Smokey & the Bandit" brought the genre to an end, lets us ponder the answer on our own. Other than that, there's no point to this film except to demonstrate that the Challenger is one of the best-looking muscle/sports cars ever made. Get too far into this movie & you'll want to sell your children to have one. Kowalski is a '70s knight-errant, or a Greek mythological hero, just as you please. He rides his Hemi-powered steed on a quest to San Francisco, not for a "what," or a "why," or even for a lady fair, but only for "how fast." Does he seek redemption? Escape? Self-forgiveness? To stick it to the Man? Who cares? Knavish cops close in on him, lotus-eaters like Hovah (Darden) shun him, sirens (especially the stark-naked Texter, who would've stopped Burt Reynolds's Bandit faster than Sally Field ever did) want him to dally. Sharp-featured, Western character actor Anthony James has a hilarious, uncharacteristic turn as a gay hitchhiker. Humble, noble souls come forth to guide Kowalski like angels, including a scruffy snake-hunter (Jagger), chopper jockey & drug dealer Angel (Scott), and the blind deejay Super Soul (Little, who should've been a contender for the part of Howard Beal in "Network"). The Man's attempts to explain Kowalski are annoying distractions, so hit the "mute" button when you see scenes of cops in offices. And stop wondering why Kowalski, on his quest for speed, is always being overtaken & passed by other vehicles. Just put your brain in neutral, put your popcorn where it's handy, and buckle up.

Richard Sarafian's 1971 film "Vanishing Point" is, for starters, a fascinating study of those persons anthropologists sometimes term "marginal men"--individuals caught between two powerful and competing cultures, sharing some important aspects of both but not a true part of either, and, as such, remain tragically confined to an often-painful existential loneliness. Inhabiting a sort of twilight zone between "here" and "there," a sort of peculiar purgatory, these restless specters cannot find any peace or place, so they instead instinctively press madly on to some obscure and unknown destination, the relentless journey itself being the only reason and justification.

Disc jockey Super Soul (Cleavon Little) and delivery driver Kowalski (Barry Newman) are two of these specters, marginal but decent, intelligent men who can't or won't live in burgeoning competing cultures which in reality have offered them very little of worth or substance, despite their own personal sacrifices. Kowalski himself had tried to "fit in" with the Establishment as a soldier and police officer and later, attempted to do the same with the blossoming 1960s counterculture, but soon disappointingly found that they both were ridden with their own various forms of dishonesty and insincerity. Personal honor, self-reliance and genuine respect--Kowalski's stock in trade--were tragically valued very little by either, despite each one's shrill and haughty claims to the contrary.

Moreover, it's no accident Newman's character has a Polish surname; the Poles throughout their history have created a very rich and unique Slavic culture largely based upon just such a "marginality"--being geographically jammed between powerful historic enemies, Germany and Russia, and never being able to fully identify with either one, at often great cost to themselves. It's also no accident Little's character is blind and black, the only one of his kind in a small, all-Caucasian western desert town--his sightlessness enhancing his persuasiveness and his ability to read Kowalski's mind, the radio microphone his voice, his race being the focus of long simmering and later suddenly explosive disdain--all of the characteristics of a far-seeing prophet unjustly (but typically) dishonored in his own land.

The desert environment also plays a key role in cementing the personal relationship between and respective fates of these two men--to paraphrase British novelist J.G. Ballard, prophets throughout our history have emerged from deserts of some sort since deserts have, in a sense, exhausted their own futures (like Kowalski himself had already done) and thus are free of the concepts of time and existence as we have conventionally known them (as Super Soul instinctively knew, thus creating his own psychic link to the doomed driver.) Everything is somehow possible, and yet, somehow nothing is.

Finally, VP is also a "fin de siecle" story, a unique requiem for a quickly dying age- a now all-but-disappeared one of truly open roads, endless speed for the joy of speed's sake, of big, solid no-nonsense muscle cars, of taking radical chances, of living on the edge in a colorful world of endless possibility, seasoned with a large number and wide variety of all sorts of unusual characters, all of which had long made the USA a wonderful place--and sadly is no longer, having been supplanted by today's swarms of sadistic, military-weaponed cop-thugs, obsessive and intrusive safety freaks, soulless toll plazas, smug yuppie SUV drivers, tedious carbon-copy latte towns, and a childish craving for perfect, high-fuel-efficiency safety and security.

The just-issued DVD contains both the US and UK releases of the film; the UK release, I believe, is a much more satisfying film, as it has the original scenes deleted from the US version. As an aside, Super Soul's radio station call letters, KOW, are in fact the ones for a country & western station in San Diego.