John Schneider is Eddie Macon, a young man imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. He escapes from the slams, arranges for his beautiful wife and lovely kiddie to meet him on the border bridge in Laredo, kidnaps the governor's daughter, Lee Purcell, in her Mercedes, and races across Texas with Kirk Douglas hot on his tail.
The musical score has a theme song, a kind of cowboy rock, with lyrics like, "Put your head on my shoulder, we can talk about things before." The music gets a jazzed-up treatment during the requisite car chase through the cemetery. It slows down and we get to hear a mournful harmonica during the scenes in which Schneider and Purcell get to know one another and Schneider talks about how much he misses his wife.
The couple spend the night in the La Posada Motel in Laredo. By this time, Schneider is both filthy and exhausted from the flight. Lee Purcell coaxes him into taking a shower. She follows him in and gives him a loving wash and a kind of massage. Later she puts some moves on him but he, having just woke up, says he remembers nothing of the night before and he refuses to do anything untoward with her now because -- "You're wife," says Purcell, capping his apology.
Well, the fact is that Schneider may be a good-looking guy. At least he looks, sounds, and acts like a typical Hollywood actor with an even sun tan and carefully styled hair. But he's a complete moron for brushing off Lee Purcell because she's a fox. On top of that, his three years in stir may have taught him a lot, as he claims, but they never taught him how to act. I don't think he utters a believable line in the entire movie and there are moments when a viewer might understandably wonder if he's wandered by mistake into a high school play in East Windsor Township.
Purcell, however, does a professional job and so does Kirk Douglas as the savvy cop in pursuit. The dialog isn't a total loss but I'm confused about the direction and about the intended audience. It's a modern Western that smacks of the drive-in theater, but it's both cruel and indulgent to the Texans we meet on the screen. I'll give an example. Douglas is relaxing at a bar for a moment and this dumb-looking bar tender tells him a joke about blacks. It's truly offensive -- yet it's funny too. Douglas replies, "That's very funny," with no expression on his face. The audience will presumably snicker at the joke before feeling a twinge of guilt. The encounter has no function in the plot. It's simply slipped in for a laugh from the cowboys in the theater. This is known as having your cake and eating it too.
As I say, the dialog as a whole isn't insulting. The writers did okay, given the plot that was demanded of them. But there is no invention in the movie. Not even in the title. "Eddie Macon's Run"? Well, there had been a successful "Logan's Run" some years before, and "The Last Run" more recently. Then there was "Macon County Line" and "Return to Macon County," the second being an indication that the first had made money, and not to mention Macon, Georgia. The failure of the film to get Texas down on celluloid wouldn't be so noticeable if there hadn't already been some that had done so successfully. Try Sam Pekinpah's "The Getaway." Or, if you want still more stylized but empathic realism, try the more recent, "No Country For Old Men." That last, a superb study of the Southwest and its citizenry, was written and directed by the Coen brothers, two nice young Jewish kids from Minnesota.
The musical score has a theme song, a kind of cowboy rock, with lyrics like, "Put your head on my shoulder, we can talk about things before." The music gets a jazzed-up treatment during the requisite car chase through the cemetery. It slows down and we get to hear a mournful harmonica during the scenes in which Schneider and Purcell get to know one another and Schneider talks about how much he misses his wife.
The couple spend the night in the La Posada Motel in Laredo. By this time, Schneider is both filthy and exhausted from the flight. Lee Purcell coaxes him into taking a shower. She follows him in and gives him a loving wash and a kind of massage. Later she puts some moves on him but he, having just woke up, says he remembers nothing of the night before and he refuses to do anything untoward with her now because -- "You're wife," says Purcell, capping his apology.
Well, the fact is that Schneider may be a good-looking guy. At least he looks, sounds, and acts like a typical Hollywood actor with an even sun tan and carefully styled hair. But he's a complete moron for brushing off Lee Purcell because she's a fox. On top of that, his three years in stir may have taught him a lot, as he claims, but they never taught him how to act. I don't think he utters a believable line in the entire movie and there are moments when a viewer might understandably wonder if he's wandered by mistake into a high school play in East Windsor Township.
Purcell, however, does a professional job and so does Kirk Douglas as the savvy cop in pursuit. The dialog isn't a total loss but I'm confused about the direction and about the intended audience. It's a modern Western that smacks of the drive-in theater, but it's both cruel and indulgent to the Texans we meet on the screen. I'll give an example. Douglas is relaxing at a bar for a moment and this dumb-looking bar tender tells him a joke about blacks. It's truly offensive -- yet it's funny too. Douglas replies, "That's very funny," with no expression on his face. The audience will presumably snicker at the joke before feeling a twinge of guilt. The encounter has no function in the plot. It's simply slipped in for a laugh from the cowboys in the theater. This is known as having your cake and eating it too.
As I say, the dialog as a whole isn't insulting. The writers did okay, given the plot that was demanded of them. But there is no invention in the movie. Not even in the title. "Eddie Macon's Run"? Well, there had been a successful "Logan's Run" some years before, and "The Last Run" more recently. Then there was "Macon County Line" and "Return to Macon County," the second being an indication that the first had made money, and not to mention Macon, Georgia. The failure of the film to get Texas down on celluloid wouldn't be so noticeable if there hadn't already been some that had done so successfully. Try Sam Pekinpah's "The Getaway." Or, if you want still more stylized but empathic realism, try the more recent, "No Country For Old Men." That last, a superb study of the Southwest and its citizenry, was written and directed by the Coen brothers, two nice young Jewish kids from Minnesota.