I’m surprised how much I liked this film; its fanciful reification of American myths as played out by three car jockeys and a hippie drifter girl on the homosocial backroads of early-seventies America is both nostalgically evocative and comically addictive. James Taylor and Dennis Wilson can’t act their way out of paper bags, but the script doesn’t really ask much from them. They eat, sleep and shit car-talk; the scenes they occupy are so pure, generically speaking, they’re apt to put you to sleep. The film’s heart and soul, however, belongs to the trickster/mythmaker “G.T.O.” As played to perfection by Warren Oates, this character is a slippery, mercurial, American original, and Oates races away with the film. While Oates’ iconic character may attempt to steal fire from the gods, he’s also haunted by a nagging rootlessness. “If I’m not grounded soon, I’m going to go into orbit” he cautions himself. It’s a moment both touching and ludicrous, yet Oates makes you believe.