Vanishing Point (1971)

Directed by Richard C Sarafian; produced by Norman Spencer

Arriving in Denver on a Friday, car-delivery driver Kowalski (Barry Newman) immediately takes up his new assignment, despite the fact that he obviously needs rest. And, though the Dodge Challenger he is taking to San Francisco needs to be there no earlier than Monday, he determines to get it there by Sunday afternoon. This necessitates breaking speed limits, being chased by police and restricting his sleep, being fuelled only by gasoline, Benzedrine and a relentless craving for velocity.

The synopsis makes Vanishing Point sound like a forerunner of Smokey and the Bandit and all the other simple-minded, immature chase films of the 1970s. In fact, it is quite different. Vanishing Point is hard to categorise. Some have called it pointless, others thought it is an existential essay. I consider it the story of a self-destructive man who lives only for the thrill of speed. And I found it compelling.

Newman came to prominence in 1970’s The Lawyer, a courtroom drama based on the Sam Sheppard case. His character in the movie was used in the later television series Petrocelli. After this, Newman was found mainly in supporting rôles, though they were often strong, such as that in the recently-reviewed The Limey. In Vanishing Point, he is required to act minimally, though not ineffectively. That he was a lesser known actor helps in his interpretation of Kowalski, a man who gives away nothing about himself. Gene Hackman was originally envisioned for the part, and this would have altered the presentation of the character, and thus of the movie, considerably.

The other actors are an interesting lot. Veteran Dean Jagger appears as an old man collecting snakes in the desert. Anthony James, Robert Donner and John Amos have small parts, while Cleavon Little has a major contribution as Super Soul, a disc-jockey who becomes Kowalski’s spiritual supporter. Charlotte Rampling appears as a woman seemingly waiting for Kowalski by the side of the road. Severn Darden, one of the founders of the Second City comedy troupe, portrays a cultish clergyman, with Rita Coolidge as one of the singers in his congregation and David Gates (of the group Bread) as a pianist. As may be seen, the cast is most eclectic, and all fulfill their parts well. (Kim Carnes sings a song at the film’s end, and wrote one of the many tunes on the soundtrack.)

The direction by Sarafian is surprisingly ordinary. One might think, given the subject and the context, that more imagination might be shown. Yet, in this case, it is as well that it is not. Though there are strange aspects to the film, which involves the counter-culture of the late 1960s and early ‘70s, the story itself is grounded in a hard reality, the solidity of asphalt and dirt roads.

The writing is the most enigmatic element of the movie, as it makes the atmosphere that some find pointless and others meaningful. At no time is Kowalski’s motive for driving to San Francisco at such speeds given, though the brief flashbacks in the narrative, showing the crashes he was involved in during his professional racing career, give clues. Also shown are his relationships with women, including one – also apparently self-destructive – whose death clearly affected Kowalski deeply. Several of the women look alike.

Kowalski is written as a decent man. His short stint as a policeman ended when he forcefully stopped a colleague from molesting a girl. When his speeding causes crashes, he stops to determine if the other drivers are hurt. He appears to want nothing more than to be left alone to go as swiftly as possible; his personality might be summed up in Super Soul’s claim that to Kowalski ‘speed means freedom…’. Certainly he cares little at this point about his job: the damage he inadvertently inflicts on his car would surely get him fired.

Super Soul’s interaction with the protagonist is an interesting one. He provides a narration for Kowalski’s journey, encouraging him and telling him where police are waiting for him. Yet the two also seem to be able to communicate through the radio, and the moment Kowalski no longer listens to the dj is pivotal. Their relationship is another aspect that seems otherworldly.

These rather surreal features – the quest for speed, the isolated world Kowalski lives in, the ethereal voice of the radio, Rampling’s part – are ingredients of the counter-culture that Vanishing Point appears to embrace. Hippies, drugs, free love are seen as good, and authority – in the form of the police – as bad. Yet, I viewed this as window-dressing; it was the world through which Kowalski moved but did not join. And the self-nihilism he exhibits speaks for itself.

While it may be dismissed as self-important and pretentious, I think Vanishing Point is more than that. A depiction of a loner whose personality and goals are violently self-effacing, but only when they are expressed in the context of the real world – and how could they be expressed otherwise? – Vanishing Point is best viewed without asking too many questions at the time, and then thought about later.