Spengler and the Bandit
In an early draft of the screenplay from the opening scene of the 1977 movie “Smokey and the Bandit” , Bandit utters what may be the most dangerous phrase since 1945: “AMERICA IS BORED”. The phrase never made the screen, but the ethos of post-Vietnam ennui of the American landscape had by that time saturated cinematic culture. From heavy handed dramas like Deer Hunter and even “Deliverance”, the movie that catapulted Burt Reynolds into stardom. But in contrast to the often dreary and overwrought adult-oriented moves throughout the 70s, “Smokey and the Bandit” provided a light-hearted, fast-paced optimism. Smoky and the Bandit is vastly underappreciated compared to its contemporaries. When people think of blockbusters of the 70s, two names come to mind: George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. But in 1977, Smokey and the Bandit was #2 in the box office behind none other than Star Wars, and Burt Reynolds was the biggest box office draw in the lead for five straight years following this. Burt Reynolds unbridled masculinity made his role in the Bandit iconic.
A key reason for the popularity of Smokey and the Bandit is that Bandit is an unapologetic representation of what Oswald Spengler calls “the Faustian soul, whose prime symbol is pure and limitless space…A boundless mass of human Being (sic), flowing in a stream without banks; upstream, a dark past wherein our time sense loses all powers of definition and restless or uneasy fancy conjures up geological periods to hide away an eternally unsolvable riddle; downstream, a future even so dark and timeless.” In other words, Bandit lives in the moment, and he lives for a challenge. Beneath the clever MacGuffin, to bring a shipment of Coors from Texarkana to Atlanta for a celebration, is the central conflict of Smokey and the Bandit, that the rich and perhaps criminal antagonists Big and Little Enos offer Bandit, “ a real challenge”. In contemplating the offer, Bandit confirms his Faustian soul, stating, “Now getting to Texarkana and back in 28 hours, that’s no problem.” Again, as a prime symbol of pure and limitless space, such logistical issues are trivial.
Another key bit of dialogue as they begin their adventure is when Snowman asks, “Why are we doin this?”
Bandit replies “Because they said it couldn’t be done.”
Bandit’s quips are always brief and brimming with absolute confidence. When confronted with the fact that no one else had accomplished this task, Bandit merely mentions “it’s because no one asked us yet.”
In stark contrast to the Bandit are the lawmen who set up blockades, and specifically the antagonist Buford T. Justice. Buford T. Justice is a Texas sheriff that pursues the bandit, not because of the 18-wheeler full of Coors, but another cargo, the runaway bride that left his hapless son at the altar. Carrie, played by Sally Field, lands into Bandits car in full wedding regalia. In Spenglerian terms, Buford T. Justice is the platonic ideal of a Magian. His primary motivation, to save the face of his idiotic dupe of a son after embarrassment at the altar, is not bound by his loyalty to his kin. He routinely berates his doofus son, even exclaiming that “you cannot have come from my loins, I’m gonna go home and slap your mother.” It’s not familial loyalty that animates Sherriff Buford T. Justice, but rather it is rightful indignation. As the Bandit effortlessly dodges cop cars and blockades, the condition of Sherriff Justice’s car suffers increasingly destructive accidents. When confronted by a fellow officer about the dangerous condition of his vehicle, Buford T. Justice verbosely waxes on, needling and entreating the lawman with a litany of all the injustices the Bandit effortlessly left in his wake. Sherriff Justice is clearly a wordcel. This adherence to concepts such as “Justice”, much like say “Peace” or “Democracy” is a Magian trait. The Magian soul is defined by adherence to sacraments and scriptures, or, in this instance, the strict forbidding of shipping Coors east of the Texas state line.
As an aside, Coors was unpasteurized and contained no preservative, and in the 70s was only granted regional distribution. Only with the advent of refrigerated trucks could the company gain nationwide distribution in 1986.
Recently, Bronze Age Pervert has mentioned on his show that escalating tension in movies is overrated and cites classics like “Fletch” and “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” as examples of movies where the protagonists just “do cool stuff together”. Smokey and the Bandit certainly fits this bill. Bandit blows through checkpoints without breaking a sweat. Audiences lapped it up. Everyone loves an overdog. Whether it’s Brady and Gronk, Bugs Bunny, Arnold at his bodybuilding peak, or Mike Tyson, everyone wants to see a true master at the peak of his condition.
Bandit’s efforts to persuade his old friend Cledus Snow (The Snowman) are equally effortless. The contrast between Snowman and the Bandit is a microcosm of the Cads vs. Trads dynamic that plays out seasonally on Twitter. In the opening scene between Bandit and Snowman, we meet Snowman’s many kids and once beautiful blonde wife “Waynette”. Snowman is most certainly a portrait of domestication and maybe closest to what Spengler calls “The Apollinian” man, first popularized by Nietzsche in Birth of Tragedy. He had kids with Waynette because she was probably hot, and having his immediate needs met, Snowman is content. Bandit imposes his will on Snowman, he nearly mounts on top of Snowman to make his proposition. Trads online would definitely call him gay for this. Snowman acquiesces but asks to bring his dog Fred along. Naturally, this totem of domestication acts to distract and delay Snowman throughout the film. Cledus Snow was played by Jerry Reed who wrote the wildly popular theme song, which in two verses and a chorus, introduces the characters, the premise, and the motivation for the film in two and half minutes. Remarkably effective.
In the ending, out of loyalty to Snowman, Bandit, finally outmanned by the Georgia police and suggests that he should pull over and let the police apprehend him so Snowman can finish the shipment. It was here that the only internal conflict within the film is presented. That Snowman, the Appolinian man, the domesticated man should allow the Faustian Bandit to be apprehended by the Magian authorities. Here, in a split second, Snowman achieves his hero’s journey as he defiantly refuses to let Bandit get caught and instead rams through the final blockade and makes it to the Trucker Rodeo to complete the shipment. Smokey and the Bandit is slapstick fun, but it is also an exhortation to domesticated man to risk his family out of loyalty to his friends in search of adventure.
It was here that Bandit finally met his match in Big Enos. Hotly pursued by the law, and asking Enos for his money, Enos utters the three words that are the Achilles heel of the Faustian man, “Double or nothing”. (This concept was also explored in my short story “Roger fails the marshmallow test” available in my collection A Gaucho Throws the I Ching. Maybe you buy?
Originally published in Mans World Magazine