Duel (1971)
Duel is a monster movie set on the highways of rural America, and is one of the most seventies movies ever made. It’s also possibly the first TV movie to achieve somewhat of a legendary status since its release.
Duel is based on a similarly fantastic short story by Richard Matheson and has the simplest premise: a truck driver chases a motorist through the American dust. Why? No reason. At least, no reason that the viewer ever knows. You may call that lazy writing, but it’s actually pretty inspired and shows a lot of restraint in a world where the well of exposition is visited far too often. Sometimes, motivation is not required: sometimes it’s enough that there’s a crazy guy in a big ass truck who just wants to get his kicks from harrassing you until you can’t take it anymore.
The monster – a 1955 Peterbilt 281.
Dennis Weaver plays David, the unfortunate soul who has to outwit the mysterious metal assassin, and he is perfectly cast, gradually progressing from mild annoyance to what could be considered outright insanity by the time the credits roll.
Sure, the simple effectiveness of the movie collapses under a modern microscope, because mobiles are ubiquitous nowadays, and internet access is never more than ten feet away, but the abandonment and loneliness felt by David here is palpable. It’s a lean movie – it barely tickles the ninety minute standard – and there’s nothing in here that doesn’t contribute to David’s paranoia in some way.
Duel is like a catchy song that you hear at breakfast and is still playing in your head when you go to bed at night, and it’s telling that whenever I’m driving and I see a big rig close in on my rear view, I invariably think of that Peterbilt 281… and wonder.
I am an advocate and active petitioner for people to read more, because it seems that sitting down with a good book is something that may not be a thing in a couple of generations… but Cold Granite irked me, and the majority of its local readers irked me even more.
The US spat out many car-centric cop shows in the seventies and eighties, and I’ve probably sat down in front of most of them at one time or another. These days that particular form of escapist entertainment is on life support, but for many years it was a very popular and successful television sub-genre.
Starsky & Hutch forces you to suspend your disbelief right out of the gates. Here are two Californian detectives whose best friend and long time informant Huggy Bear is about as close to a pimp as the production company could get away with without annoying the censors, and who spend their days chasing the bad guys in the most ostentatious and conspicuous cop car ever committed to the screen. In fact, the iconic Ford Gran Torino – nicknamed the Striped Tomato – quickly became such a big part of the show that it deserved to be given a title credit right after the two stars.
James Stewart is one of my favourite classic Hollywood actors, and this was the first of his four Hitchcock collaborations. They’re all very good, and I know I’m in the minority here, but Rope is arguably their best work together… despite the fact that apparently Stewart didn’t like it.
This is a fairly obscure novel that I won from a friend about twenty years ago after a typically heated and well contested game of Monopoly*. While all our friends were out drinking on a Saturday night, maybe trying to pick up a couple of girls, we were content with orange juice, a bowl of crisps, and gambling books on board games. Those were the days. Yeah, you’re right: I don’t know why we were single either.
It may be difficult to watch The Cosby Show these days without its family-friendly atmosphere being tainted by the recent sexual assault allegations that have been made against the head of the Huxtable household, but having said that, I’d be lying if I denied that it was one of my favourite sitcoms when I was growing up.
With legendary guru John Hughes in the director’s chair, and funnymen Steve Martin and John Candy in front of the cameras, Planes, Trains and Automobiles had all the potential in the world to be great… and thankfully, great is just what it is. It’s arguably the best thing that any of these guys put out in the eighties, if not their careers.
The infectious Kokomo was a massive hit in Australia in the summer of 1988, and it was because of this song that I bought my first piece of music at the height of its success – The Beach Boys’ compilation album, 
-- Purveyor of Imagination -- 