In the annals of Hollywood history, a number of notable film actors became closely associated with automobiles by virtue of select roles they portrayed.

There was Steve McQueen, a zealous car and motorcycle enthusiast, whose starring roles in Bullitt, Le Mans, The Hunter, and The Thomas Crown Affair, afforded him his peerless automotive bonafides.

Then there was Paul Newman, who would, in his late forties, establish a side career as a professional race car driver after catching the bug filming the Indianapolis 500 epic, Winning.

And who could forget James Garner? He became a car fanatic while training with Bob Bondurant in preparation for his appearance in John Frankenheimer’s 1966 Formula 1 epic, Grand Prix, and later went on to play the Firebird-driving private eye in The Rockford Files.

The list goes on and on, but amongst this pantheon of distinguished thespians, there is one who truly rose above all others in terms of his connection to cars.

Starring in no less than seven films in the period between 1973 and 1984 that celebrated the internal combustion engine, the late, great Burt Reynolds was indeed Tinseltown’s King of Cars.

While he is remembered most for his portrayals in the blockbuster, car-culture classics Smokey and the Bandit and The Cannonball Run, his lesser known 1973 film, White Lightning, was the first that united Burt and a set of powerful wheels, and set the stage for all of his later automotive-focused movies.

In this month’s chapter of Rob’s Car Movie Review, we’re going to have a look at this film, and see if it holds up to the other car movies in Burt’s fantastic resume. So let’s get to it!

The theatrical movie poster for White Lightning. (Image courtesy of United Artists.)

White Lightning was originally a spec script penned by William Norton entitled McKlusky that became the first film produced by Levy-Gardner-Laven as part of a seven-picture deal it had struck with United Artists.

Announced in 1971, the movie was to be a fictionalized account of the corrupt dealings of real-life Arkansas sheriff, Marlin Conover Hawkins, who had been accused of election tampering, misappropriation of funds, and other illegalities.

Burt Reynolds, who had recently been transformed from an unknown actor into a bankable leading man thanks to his starring turn in Deliverance, was cast as the lead in February 1972, alongside Ned Beatty (who costarred with Reynolds in that film,) Jennifer Billingsley, Bo Hopkins, Diane Ladd, R.G. Armstrong, and Matt Clark.

Burt Reynolds as convict Bobby “Gator” McLusky. (Photo courtesy of United Artists.)

Originally slated to direct was a young, upstart filmmaker by the name of Steven Spielberg, who ultimately decided to bow out. “I spent two-and-a-half months on the film,” recalled Spielberg in an interview, “met Burt once, found most of the locations and began to cast the movie, until I realized it wasn’t something that I wanted to do for a first film. I didn’t want to start my career as a hard-hat, journeyman director. I wanted to do something that was a little more personal.”

Replacing him was highly seasoned television director, Joseph Sargent, who had to his credits such shows as Bonanza, Gunsmoke, The Fugitive, The Man from U.N.C.L.E., and Star Trek.

The plot focuses on Bobby “Gator” McLusky (Reynolds), a former moonshine runner incarcerated at an Arkansas state prison. Gator’s exemplary behavior in prison has seen him become a favored convict of the warden and guards, but upon learning that his younger brother, Donny, has been murdered, perhaps by corrupt Bogen County Sheriff J.C. Connors (Beatty), he attempts to escape in order to be with his family in his time of grief. He is, however, quickly apprehended by guards before he can make it out of the prison.

Crooked Sheriff J.C. Connors, played by Ned Beatty. (Photo courtesy of United Artists.)

Gator is aware of the fact that Sheriff Connors has long been taking money to look the other way on moonshine sales in his county, so he strikes a deal with Federal Treasury agents to be let out of prison early and go undercover, ostensibly to procure evidence of the Sheriff’s malfeasance. Gator doesn’t divulge to them his true motive for pursuing the lawman though: to exact revenge for his brother’s murder.

The agents provide Gator with a high-performance car, and the name of a contact, Dude Watson (Clark), a mechanic and moonshine runner who is on federal probation, and can therefore be leaned on by Gator to help him get to Connors.

Gator meets Watson, and posing as a Federal agent, pressures the man to introduce Gator to Roy Boone (Hopkins), the county’s biggest booze runner. Gator quickly ingratiates himself with Boone, who introduces Gator to moonshine producer Big Bear (Armstrong) who also acts as Sheriff Connors’ enforcer in Bogen County.

Dude Watson, portrayed by Matt Clark. (Photo courtesy of United Artists.)

Having established a way to get close to Connors through Big Bear, Gator begins to plot his revenge on the sheriff. Before he can execute his plans though, Conners discovers that Gator is working for the feds and sends Big Bear to take Gator out. Barely escaping with his life, Gator hides out at a convent.

It doesn’t take long for Connors to locate Gator, and he and his men descend on the convent. Gator leaps into his car and a to-the-death, high-speed pursuit ensues between him and the sheriff.

White Lightning is very much a film of its time, when lone-wolf anti-heroes were all the rage in Hollywood films. The character of Gator, who rails against the system and is willing to bring it down by any means necessary, is very similar to other characters of the period such as Kowalski in Vanishing Point, Larry in Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry, and the eponymous protagonists in Thunderbolt and Lightfoot.

Bo Hopkins plays Bogen County’s premier booze runner, Roy Boone. (Photo courtesy of United Artists.)

Reynolds, superb in the movie, plays Gator with equal touches of ruthlessness and sensitivity, allowing the viewer to commiserate with his plight and motivations. The rest of the cast is equally terrific, with Ned Beatty, in particular, effortlessly conveying a sense of menace and lethality in Sheriff Connors, without a lone instance of on-screen violence or bad guy histrionics. It could very well be the finest performance of his long and illustrious career.

While the movie definitely exhibits a laconic, old-school pacing, it never drags, and Joseph Sargent’s superb direction and William Norton’s finely crafted script can be thanked for that. Even when there’s no on-screen action occurring, every moment of the picture is packed with interesting character development, something that is often lacking in today’s films of this ilk. Likewise, the story’s cause and effect loops are intricate and believable. There are no holes in the story or lapses of logic here.

R.G. Armstrong as Big Bear, a major moonshine producer and Sheriff Connor’s muscle. (Photo courtesy of United Artists.)

As far as the movie’s technical aspects are concerned, all are well above average for an actioner. The cinematography aptly captures the sweltering, Deep South milieu which is littered with decrepit homes and infrastructure, lending to the film’s overall theme of societal decay and lawlessness.

The editing is fluid and propels the narrative forward with nary a single jump cut or hiccough. In fact, just about the only critique I can come up with in terms of the storytelling is that the film’s climax and resolution feels a bit underwhelming after the lengthy and intricate build-up that precedes it.

And what of the movie’s cars and automotive action?

Gator’s ride is a moonshine runner’s dream: a sleeper 1971 Ford Custom 500 with big-block power. (Photo courtesy of United Artists.)

Gator’s ride in the film, afforded to him by the Treasury agents, is a perfect sleeper that would be a prime choice of a moonshine runner: a mud brown 1971 Ford Custom 500 sedan. In dialogue, it’s stated that the car has been heavily massaged underneath the sheet metal with a 429 Police Interceptor motor with dual carbs, a four-speed manual transmission with a Hurst T-handle shifter, stiffened suspension, and Cooper Wide Runner Polyglas tires.

Indeed, Gator is seen shifting that Hurst multiple times, and a lone shot underneath the hood shows an engine that looks a lot more like a 351 Cleveland with one four-barrel Holley carb and Shelby branded valve covers than a 429 P.I. to me. Rumor has it that the insert shots of the shifter and engine were from a Mustang, but the jury is still out on what actually powered the movie’s stunt cars.

The motor in Gator’s car is said in dialogue to be a modified 429 Police Interceptor. What does this shot of the power plant look like to you, though? (Photo courtesy of United Artists.)

Other cars that featured in the film were a gaggle of 1965, 1971 and 1972 Ford Custom 500 police cars, Roy Boone’s cool, light green 1971 Mercury Monterey dubbed “Rebel Roy” by hand painted signage on the doors, and a host of stripped down stock cars featured in a scene at a dirt track race. A keen eye can spot Camaros, Mustangs, Falcons and Fairlanes in the race.

While none of the cars in the movie can be considered envy-inducing, iconic muscle cars, what they were seen doing on screen makes up for it. With legendary stunt driver (and director of later Burt Reynolds car movie classics such as Smokey and the Bandit, Hooper, The Cannonball Run, and Stroker Ace) and a team of other drivers behind the wheel of the cars, there are multiple, lengthy, and extremely raucous chase sequences peppered throughout the film.

Some pretty cool stock cars feature in a dirt track race scene. (Photo courtesy of United Artists.)

Two chases of particular note are the ones that occur at the midpoint and finale of the movie.

In the former, Hal Needham performed a 63 foot jump from a riverbank onto a moving barge in Gator’s car that totaled one of the Ford Custom 500 stunt vehicles.

The stunt was nearly fatal for Needham, resulting from a misunderstanding between the stunt driver and the barge’s captain. Needham had told the captain to “firewall that thing” when shooting the stunt, not realizing that the captain had only been at three-quarters throttle in all the rehearsals. The only thing that saved Needham for certain death was his desire to “really give them a show,’ taking the car up to 80 mph on launch.

Needham later recalled in an interview, “When I was already in the air, I realized this ain’t gonna be pretty. I hit the back of the barge with the front of the car, and it stood up in the air, and it just balanced right on the end [of the barge] with the back wheels in the water. I was out of that thing in a heartbeat. Had the car fallen off the barge into the river – the river was muddy, deep, and swift – I would have been down in Louisiana before they found me.” If I hadn’t been a show-off, that car would have never made the barge.”

The other incredible Needham jump occurs in the film’s climactic final chase sequence. (Photo courtesy of United Artists.)

The latter of the two noteworthy chases features another classic Needham stunt, a massive jump in which Sheriff Connor’s police cruiser passes over Gator’s car and lands in a lake, with the car then submerging under the water.

All in all, White Lightning is a well-crafted and highly enjoyable film. Although it is dated in many ways compared to contemporary car movies (What, no massive explosions or Fast and the Furious style CGI??), it nonetheless satisfies with its carefully drawn characters, above average technical facets, and, of course, some superlative car chases and stunts.

Be seeing you later, Gator. (Photo courtesy of United Artists.)

If you’re a fan of Burt Reynolds and/or car movies of this era, you could do much worse than spending a couple of hours with Gator, Sheriff Connors, Roy Boone and the rest.

I give White Lightning seven out of ten pistons and suggest you give it a viewing. I doubt you’ll be disappointed.