A pure movie, in that it commits to a singular motion: driving on the open road. Two-Lane Blacktop speeds down the highway until the end of the world. (Or, in this case, when the celluloid begins to burn, leaving nothing but a white screen behind.) Working from a screenplay by Rudy Wurlitzer and Will Corry, director Monte Hellman strips down dialogue, plot, and music, leaving behind a minimalism that foregrounds the elemental aspects of a road trip: the bursts of adrenaline, the bouts of exhaustion, the way the weather will always have the upper hand. Two-Lane Blacktop is so focused on the road (and the cars driving down it) that the movie doesn’t even bother to give its characters names. There is the Driver (James Taylor, benefitting from the lack of lines, considering he delivers each of his with reluctance); the Mechanic (Dennis Wilson, another musician tasked with acting); and the Girl (Laurie Bird). Traveling together in a 1955 Chevrolet repurposed for street racing, they encounter GTO (Warren Oates), driving a flashy yellow 1970 Pontiac, and challenge him to a long-distance race from the American Southwest to Washington D.C. Not that the ensuing competition—or any of the drag races they engage in along the way, in order to scrape up enough cash for meals and motels—are exciting. They’re perfunctory at best; often Hellman cuts away before the finish line. Despite its title, Two-Lane Blacktop is less about the wheels on the asphalt and more about the headspace that driving can put you in. In the final scene, during another race, the camera rests behind the Driver’s head, looking out the windshield. Sound falls away, the frame rate shifts to slow motion, and eventually all that’s left is the celluloid—until that too disappears.
