If Monte Hellman's legendary early 70's road movie masterpiece "Two-Lane Blacktop" had been done more like a stark, stripped-down, fiercely taut and straightforward brooding mood piece embellished upon by that distinctly mean'n'lean, rough'n'tough, very raw and ragged macho Australian mentality and topped off with a generous sprinkling of dour, despairing, no-hope-whatsoever end-of-the-road punk nihilism, it would undoubtedly be much similar to this jarringly bleak and atmospheric knockout.
Nice guy factory worker Mike (an appealingly scruffy Terry Serio) runs afoul of sneering, shades-wearing fascist car race champ Fox (a perfectly hateful Richard Moir) when he steals Fox's fetching model girlfriend Julie (the lovely Deborah Conway) away from him. Mike and Fox begin competing in increasingly lethal races in which the stakes become higher and higher with each successive bout, finally culminating in an especially pulse-pounding all-or-nothing race with only one true winner allowed. Mike, assisted by his worried, but loyal Italian mechanic pal Tony (a splendidly smooth turn by Vangelis Mourikis) and tutored by blind, supremely hip 50's-style greaser rebel (marvelously essayed with maximum coolness by Max Cullen), willingly puts his life on the line for the sake of his reputation, the affection of his old lady, the money, and, most importantly, for the chance to topple the haughty Fox from his gloating, glowering thrown. Directed with utmost gravity and intensity by John Clark, written to laconically right-on perfection by Barry Tomblim, with a shivery, flesh-crawling synthesizer score by Peter Crosbie and spare, unadorned cinematography by David Gribble, this authentically gnarly early 80's item presents the concept of racing cars as not only a funky alternate lifestyle, but also an all-consuming obsession and reason for living (it's the sole thing most of the film's characters are really passionate about) with a remarkably astute and unblinking eye. Complete with a harrowing downbeat ending and unsparingly grim central message about the bitter price one pays for being top dog, this riveting depiction of a dead-end existence rates as an extraordinary cinematic achievement.
Nice guy factory worker Mike (an appealingly scruffy Terry Serio) runs afoul of sneering, shades-wearing fascist car race champ Fox (a perfectly hateful Richard Moir) when he steals Fox's fetching model girlfriend Julie (the lovely Deborah Conway) away from him. Mike and Fox begin competing in increasingly lethal races in which the stakes become higher and higher with each successive bout, finally culminating in an especially pulse-pounding all-or-nothing race with only one true winner allowed. Mike, assisted by his worried, but loyal Italian mechanic pal Tony (a splendidly smooth turn by Vangelis Mourikis) and tutored by blind, supremely hip 50's-style greaser rebel (marvelously essayed with maximum coolness by Max Cullen), willingly puts his life on the line for the sake of his reputation, the affection of his old lady, the money, and, most importantly, for the chance to topple the haughty Fox from his gloating, glowering thrown. Directed with utmost gravity and intensity by John Clark, written to laconically right-on perfection by Barry Tomblim, with a shivery, flesh-crawling synthesizer score by Peter Crosbie and spare, unadorned cinematography by David Gribble, this authentically gnarly early 80's item presents the concept of racing cars as not only a funky alternate lifestyle, but also an all-consuming obsession and reason for living (it's the sole thing most of the film's characters are really passionate about) with a remarkably astute and unblinking eye. Complete with a harrowing downbeat ending and unsparingly grim central message about the bitter price one pays for being top dog, this riveting depiction of a dead-end existence rates as an extraordinary cinematic achievement.