DRIVE-IN SATURDAY
If you're like most of us, you enjoy bodies torn limb from limb, brains eaten for breakfast, and human blood running down the movie screen like peepee at an infant's convention. You probably like Clint Eastwood films. Well, his latest, The Gauntlet, just might disappoint you. Few people get killed except for some cops (they don't count) and there isn't enough gore on the screen to offend my Aunt Millie.
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The Gauntlet or 1001 Uses For Bay Rum
by Edouard Dauphin
If you're like most of us, you enjoy bodies torn limb from limb, brains eaten for breakfast, and human blood running down the movie screen like peepee at an infant's convention.
You probably like Clint Eastwood films. Well, his latest, The Gauntlet, just might disappoint you. Few people get killed except for some cops (they don't count) and there isn't enough gore on the screen to offend my Aunt Millie. As for the red stuff, you'd be better off watching a Carly Simon Heinz commercial.
The Gauntlet bites the hairy root on personal violence but it's got something almost as good. Violence to property. I haven't seen this many cars, buses and buildings blown to helkand gone since the CREEM Christmas party.
Eastwood plays a drunken degenerate who makes Johnny Rotten look like a member of the George Beverly Shea Choir. Clint will drink anything—bourbon, scotch, gin, vodka, Prestone anti-freeze. He uses Boy Howdy! beer to brush his teeth.
As the picture opens, Clint is staggering out of an all-night bat in Phoenix, looking pained and exhausted. Reminded me of a typical member of the audience leaving CBGB's after a set by Lester Bangs.
Clint heads from the bar directly to his job as a cop on the Phoenix police force. Clint is the joke of the force, a disgrace to his profession. He doesn't even watch Baretta on television. He reports for duty hung over, unwashed, unshaven and dressed like he inherited Tiny Tim's old wardrobe.
Naturally, the chief of police wants to see him right away. Seems there's this prisoner over in Las Vegas who must be returned to Phoenix to give testimony at a trial. Clint has been chosen to fly there and escort this person back. The chief tells him it's strictly routine, no big deal, which is a little like calling the events of The Towering Inferno a bad day at the office.
Clint hops over to Vegas on a no-frills flight, which is fine with him because he brings his own flask of Wild Mouthwash along. He even pilfers a couple of airline mini-bottles to suck on during the taxi ride into town. One look at his wasted passenger and this Vegas cabby is wishing he'd taken that gig as wheelchair attendant for Totie Fields.
Surprise! The prisoner turns out to be a girl (Sondra Locke), a fast talking,
$20 a pop hooker who's been giving the jail guards hell and commences doing the same to Clint. He manhandles her a little and, when that doesn't quiet her down, straps her into an ambulance. They roar back toward the airport faster than you can sing "By The Time I Get To Phoenix."
Sondra is pissed. She tells Clint the whole thing is a set-up. The mob is planning to rub her out before she can testify against them. They're even taking bets at the casinos that she and Clint won't ever see Phoenix. Clint takes a swig of Windex and wonders what he's got himself into.
He finds out soon enough. The ambulance explodes. He and Sondra barely escape. They take refuge at her place, but Clint scarcely has time to chug-a-lug some Anbesol before the front yard is swarming with cops. They open fire and pump several thousand rounds into the building, while Clint and Sondra cower in,the bathroom like the true yellowbellies they are.
Finally, the fusillade of bullets has the desired effect. It brings the house down. Clint and Sondra crawl out the back way, vowing it's the last time they'll play Vegas.
By now, Clint is beginning to believe Jimmy The Greek's odds may be correct. Forgetting about ever reaching "the friendly skies of United," he and Sondra hijack a cross country bus, announcing to the bewildered passengers: "Leave the driving to us."
Naturally, by now Clint and Sondra are in love. She says: "But you don't even know if I'm good in bed." He says: "I'll take it on faith." Besides, he likes the way she looks in a Trailways uniform.
Pretty soon comes The Gauntlet. A one block long double cordon of Phoenix cops, all firing bullets at Clint and Sondra's bus. They drive the vehicle down the center and all I could say is "Let's hear it for steel-belted radials."
See The Gauntlet and bring along a jug of Vitalis.
