The always happening Peter Fonda is his usual mellow and coolly engaging self as soulful aspiring country and western singer/songwriter Bobby Ogden. While serving time in the joint Bobby pens a mournful ballad about the hardships of penitentiary life, only to have said song stolen by arrogant, hot-headed country music superstar Garland Dupree (played to obnoxiously blustery perfection by James Callahan), who in turn makes a hit out of Bobby's tune and palms it off as his own composition. Shortly after getting sprung from the hoosegow Bobby confronts Dupree about the theft of his song. Dupree denies the charges. Bobby and Dupree get into a fight, which ends with Dupree taking a bullet in the foot and Bobby going on the run. Brash, shrewd background singer Tina Waters (an appealingly spunky Susan St. James in her first major film role), smelling a golden opportunity, hooks up with Bobby and turns him into a bona fide populist outlaw hero by sneaking him into bars and radio stations so he can belt out his number to the adoring enraptured masses.
Richard T. Heffron's smooth direction keeps the narrative barreling along at a nice peppy clip. B.W.L. Norton's sharp, witty script has a ball showing how the media can turn a fugitive into a celebrity, knocking pompous authority figures off their pedestals (for example, Dupree gets exposed as an egocentric jack-ass), and celebrating America's abiding affection for beat-the-system nonconformist anti-establishment types. Fonda and St. James display a pleasant, relaxed chemistry which gives the film an ingratiating charm. Michael Lerner as a sleazy music label agent, John Crawford as a hard-nosed police chief, and Matt Clark as one of Bobby's jailbird buddies contribute solid supporting performances. Jules Brenner's handsome, polished cinematography, prolific B-flick composer Charles Bernstein's jubilant, banjo-plucking, fiddle-picking hillbilly score, some sensationally sassy dialogue, a few lively chase sequences, and the unlikely sight of Peter Fonda warbling country songs in a hoarse, pained, croaking tenor (Pete's excruciatingly raspy theme song and another tune were actually released together as a two-sided 45 with Pete's picture on the sleeve; I'm sure copies of this honey sell for at least $350 bucks a pop on E-Bay) round off this delightfully breezy and spirited Southern-friend couple on the run drive-in action romp.
Richard T. Heffron's smooth direction keeps the narrative barreling along at a nice peppy clip. B.W.L. Norton's sharp, witty script has a ball showing how the media can turn a fugitive into a celebrity, knocking pompous authority figures off their pedestals (for example, Dupree gets exposed as an egocentric jack-ass), and celebrating America's abiding affection for beat-the-system nonconformist anti-establishment types. Fonda and St. James display a pleasant, relaxed chemistry which gives the film an ingratiating charm. Michael Lerner as a sleazy music label agent, John Crawford as a hard-nosed police chief, and Matt Clark as one of Bobby's jailbird buddies contribute solid supporting performances. Jules Brenner's handsome, polished cinematography, prolific B-flick composer Charles Bernstein's jubilant, banjo-plucking, fiddle-picking hillbilly score, some sensationally sassy dialogue, a few lively chase sequences, and the unlikely sight of Peter Fonda warbling country songs in a hoarse, pained, croaking tenor (Pete's excruciatingly raspy theme song and another tune were actually released together as a two-sided 45 with Pete's picture on the sleeve; I'm sure copies of this honey sell for at least $350 bucks a pop on E-Bay) round off this delightfully breezy and spirited Southern-friend couple on the run drive-in action romp.