Sometimes I need to get back to my drive-in roots. Too much French New Wave. talkie indie dramedies, and big budget studio productions. These things are fine and good, but I I have to keep my priorities straight.
Redneck movies were a drive-in staple for years. I'm a big fan of the subgenre. I like the real thing more than the safe Aw Shucks cornpone foolishness of Smokey and the Bandit.
One of the greatest drive-in flicks of all time is Macon County Line, from 1974. It's a story of the American South, but there's no hospitality or mint juleps on its gritty streets.
The year is 1954. Macon County, Louisiana is a shitpoke flyspeck on the asshole of America. There's a White Only sign on a service station restroom. Ex-Beverly Hillbillies dimwit Max Baer (who also produced and co-wrote) is a bull sheriff with a rebel flag on his sleeve. At one point he advises his son on the benefits of racial segregation in schools. He also urges the boy not to play basketball with the poor black children from the other side of town.
A couple of guys are on the way to induction in the Army and are motoring across the states indulging some low-level mischief. They pick up a wayward but nice young woman and are off on a spree. Their luck goes bad, really bad, when their water pump goes out in Macon County.
Baer doesn't like strange kids, especially when they hail from Sin City, Chicago. He advises the boys and their companion to move along as soon as their car is ready.
Meanwhile some real scumbags are also visiting, and they end up brutalizing and murdering Baer's wife. Sheriff Redneck assumes the trio he met are to blame and sets out for revenge.
Macon County Line is a dark, violent, ugly story of a south no one wants to rise again. It's told in stark, almost documentary style, reminiscent of The Town That Dreaded Sundown. It almost seems like you're a buzzard on the road watching the events unfold.
Max Baer was desperate to break the Jethro Bodine typecast that prevented him from getting work in the movies or TV. He raised the money and got Macon County Line completed in guerilla filmmaking fashion. He struck black gold with the picture, which was one of the most successful of the year.
Macon County Line isn't just a nasty story of bigotry and mayhem. It's a potent statement about the devastating effects of xenophobia and the terrible way hatred and violence is passed down from generation to generation. It's smarter and more provocative than most of its low budget brethren.
In addition to Max Baer, the supporting cast includes familiar faces like pop idol/celebrity train wreck Leif Garritt, Clint Eastwood regular Geoffrey Lewis, and the inimitable Doodles Weaver.
The blu-ray from Shout Selects looks and sounds fantastic. There are also some cool extras. If you were too square to see it or were only interested in trying to score at the drive-in in '74, Macon County Line is worth a visit. From the comfort and safety of your living room, of course.
Written by Mark Sieber
Redneck movies were a drive-in staple for years. I'm a big fan of the subgenre. I like the real thing more than the safe Aw Shucks cornpone foolishness of Smokey and the Bandit.
One of the greatest drive-in flicks of all time is Macon County Line, from 1974. It's a story of the American South, but there's no hospitality or mint juleps on its gritty streets.
The year is 1954. Macon County, Louisiana is a shitpoke flyspeck on the asshole of America. There's a White Only sign on a service station restroom. Ex-Beverly Hillbillies dimwit Max Baer (who also produced and co-wrote) is a bull sheriff with a rebel flag on his sleeve. At one point he advises his son on the benefits of racial segregation in schools. He also urges the boy not to play basketball with the poor black children from the other side of town.
A couple of guys are on the way to induction in the Army and are motoring across the states indulging some low-level mischief. They pick up a wayward but nice young woman and are off on a spree. Their luck goes bad, really bad, when their water pump goes out in Macon County.
Baer doesn't like strange kids, especially when they hail from Sin City, Chicago. He advises the boys and their companion to move along as soon as their car is ready.
Meanwhile some real scumbags are also visiting, and they end up brutalizing and murdering Baer's wife. Sheriff Redneck assumes the trio he met are to blame and sets out for revenge.
Macon County Line is a dark, violent, ugly story of a south no one wants to rise again. It's told in stark, almost documentary style, reminiscent of The Town That Dreaded Sundown. It almost seems like you're a buzzard on the road watching the events unfold.
Max Baer was desperate to break the Jethro Bodine typecast that prevented him from getting work in the movies or TV. He raised the money and got Macon County Line completed in guerilla filmmaking fashion. He struck black gold with the picture, which was one of the most successful of the year.
Macon County Line isn't just a nasty story of bigotry and mayhem. It's a potent statement about the devastating effects of xenophobia and the terrible way hatred and violence is passed down from generation to generation. It's smarter and more provocative than most of its low budget brethren.
In addition to Max Baer, the supporting cast includes familiar faces like pop idol/celebrity train wreck Leif Garritt, Clint Eastwood regular Geoffrey Lewis, and the inimitable Doodles Weaver.
The blu-ray from Shout Selects looks and sounds fantastic. There are also some cool extras. If you were too square to see it or were only interested in trying to score at the drive-in in '74, Macon County Line is worth a visit. From the comfort and safety of your living room, of course.
Written by Mark Sieber
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