In Litter Box Treasures, we focus on a variety of older films which aren’t necessarily classics, but are well-worth discovering.
It can strongly be argued that the 1970s was the decade when Hollywood fully did-away with traditional movie-making conventions. Once-radical films of the 60s, such as Easy Rider, Bonnie and Clyde, Rosemary’s Baby and The Wild Bunch, paved the way for a new generation of writers, producers and directors to creatively flourish, no longer bound by long-held genre conventions.
One of those guys was Walter Hill. During his long career, Hill directed a couple of modern classics (The Warriors, 48hrs), some well-regarded action films (The Long Riders, Southern Comfort), as well as a plethora of junk in recent years. One of his often overlooked gems is The Driver, arguably the closest he ever came to making an art film. A combination of kinetic action, narrative minimalism and neo noir, Hill provides a perfect argument that style is sometimes more important than substance (much like The Warriors). Though it has developed a cult following over the years, it remains criminally underseen compered to his more iconic work.
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| Despite his skill behind the wheel, The Driver never got the hang of parallel parking. |
What little story there is, a brash cop obsessed with nailing a nomadic getaway driver, takes a backseat to the film’s imagery, expertly-choreographed car chases and characters who serve more as symbols than flesh-and-blood human beings. In fact, none of the characters are given names; Ryan O’Neal is simply billed as “The Driver,” Bruce Dern as “The Detective,” etc. More impressively, Hill also manages to accomplish something once considered impossible: actually making O’Neal look cool (a pretty amazing feat when one considers the role was originally intended for Steve McQueen).
Like the greatest modern anti-heroes, The Driver himself says very little throughout the film, nor does he need to. One can’t help but assume this character was a considerable influence on subsequent movie mavericks who let their wheels do the talking, like Max Rockatansky and Ryan Gosling’s character in Drive (who, coincidentally, is never named either).
Though still working, Walter Hill’s best years are in the rearview mirror. Aside from Trespass (another underseen banger), he hasn’t directed a truly good movie in at least 40 years and lately appears content to crank out low-wattage thrillers that aren’t too far removed from direct-to-video fodder. But back in the day, Hill delivered a string of gritty, stylish thrillers with a lot of panache, with The Driver being one of his better examples.
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