I bought this in a Criterion flash sale because I'd heard comparisons to "Vanishing Point," which is one of my father's favorite road movies. They couldn't be less alike if they tried.
Okay, maybe that's not entirely accurate. Both are 70s cross-country metaphors for the existential crises the nation was mired in, with characters more archetypical than flesh and blood and no shortage of sweeping landscapes. But where "Vanishing Point" expresses itself through relentless momentum and hints of the supernatural, "Two-Lane Blacktop" is pared back to the most basic of basics. Aimlessness is practically the entire plot, with racing scenes that feel like an afterthought; it was never really about who wins or loses. The dialogue sounds unnatural because the characters (all unnamed) aren't really saying anything, which suits the stiff, almost mumbling performances (with the obvious exception of a gregariously insecure Warren Oates). The film literally stutters to a stop and combusts at the end, as if banishing itself back to whatever limbo from which it emerged.
A fascinating, detached glimpse into an era of uncertainty. You may not know where you're going, but to stop is to surrender to that overwhelming air of malaise, and that just isn't possible.
Okay, maybe that's not entirely accurate. Both are 70s cross-country metaphors for the existential crises the nation was mired in, with characters more archetypical than flesh and blood and no shortage of sweeping landscapes. But where "Vanishing Point" expresses itself through relentless momentum and hints of the supernatural, "Two-Lane Blacktop" is pared back to the most basic of basics. Aimlessness is practically the entire plot, with racing scenes that feel like an afterthought; it was never really about who wins or loses. The dialogue sounds unnatural because the characters (all unnamed) aren't really saying anything, which suits the stiff, almost mumbling performances (with the obvious exception of a gregariously insecure Warren Oates). The film literally stutters to a stop and combusts at the end, as if banishing itself back to whatever limbo from which it emerged.
A fascinating, detached glimpse into an era of uncertainty. You may not know where you're going, but to stop is to surrender to that overwhelming air of malaise, and that just isn't possible.