Michelle Goff, mystery writer

Last week I watched “Smokey and the Bandit” for the first time in eons. For the three or four of you who have never seen the classic, it follows the exploits of Bandit (the late great Burt Reynolds) and Snowman (the late great Jerry Reed) as they attempt to smuggle 400 cases of Coors beer from Texarkana, Texas, to Atlanta in 28 hours. At the time the movie was made, Coors wasn’t sold in the eastern part of the United States. Thus, it would have been bootlegging for Bandit and Snowman to transport it across state lines so that the outrageously-dressed gentleman who hired them could then re-sell it.

Anyway, during the bootlegging journey, Bandit picks up a runaway bride, Carrie (Sally Field), whom he quickly dubs Frog. Texas Sheriff Buford T. Justice aka Smokey (Jackie Gleason) is soon in hot pursuit because Carrie – I refuse to liken Field to an amphibian – left Smokey’s son Junior at the altar.

Although “Smokey and the Bandit” was made for something like five bucks and featured what Reynolds characterized as the worst script he ever read, it became the second highest grossing movie of 1977, behind only “Star Wars.” The movie makes absolutely zero sense and contains absolutely zero dramatic tension. I never worried – not even for one nanosecond – that Bandit and Snowman would fail to deliver the beer to the thirsty boys in Atlanta.

But you know what? I love it.

Indeed, I giggle like a school girl every time Bandit emits his trademark chuckle as well as every time Snowman graces the screen with his presence. And Sally Field, who the studio initially didn’t want to cast because they didn’t consider her attractive enough, is simply adorable. By the way, what exactly did they not consider her attractive enough for? Burt Reynolds? Ha. Burt and Sally showed them.

With all that said, here a few questions I have about the movie:

• Why did Snowman take Fred, his basset hound, on the trip? It appears that Fred left the confines of Snowman’s semi only twice, so the dog either had to hold his water or he had a bladder the size of a Trans Am. Then again, it also appears he ate nothing but a hamburger during the road trip, so maybe he didn’t need to go potty more than twice.
• How did the Trans Am end the movie in such good shape when Smokey’s cruiser looks like it’s lost several demolition derbies?
• Why doesn’t Carrie tell Bandit that the fiancé she jilted is the son of a Texas smokey who sounds and looks just like the Texas smokey who’s chasing them? You know, since Bandit wonders aloud several times why a Texas smokey is chasing them.
• Why does Bandit uncharacteristically want to give up when they’re only four miles from their destination? They’ve bested seemingly every smokey in the southeast, but a helicopter gives him the jitters?

Regardless of these questions, it’s easy to understand how “Smokey and the Bandit” earned classic status. Near the movie’s end, Bandit elicits help from a convoy of semi drivers. After they avert the crisis and he and Carrie and, later, Snowman, speed by, they exchange pleasantries with the cheerful, supportive convoy drivers. It reminds me of the second best piece of advice I’ve ever received – help people when you can.

And that makes me feel good.