It is interesting, in our current political climate, to ponder the semiotics of Smokey and the Bandit. In 1977 the second highest grossing film in America centered on two lovers who each represented opposing archetypes that are with us to this day.
Sally Field’s character maps very well to our current concept of “Coastal Urban Sophisticate”. Her energy is quite reminiscent of the energy projected by Hillary Clinton in our recent presidential election, a triumph of intellect over intuition, of relying on logic rather than on one’s gut instincts.
Meanwhile, Clinton’s opponent appeared to embody opposing virtues that are prized in the less urban parts of our country. Trump seemed to be saying “Don’t trust those elites with their fancy words, respect the regular working guy, screw the Man.” It was the sort of philosophy that Bo “Bandit” Darville — the character played by Burt Reynolds in Smokey and the Bandit — could get behind. It’s easy to see why working people who had felt betrayed by liberal promises would go for such a message.
Yet in the movie, the characters played by Field and Reynolds, despite their cultural differences, end up showing each other great respect. They both understand that they will never have the same tastes and values, yet both remain open minded, willing to accept into their tribe somebody from a radically different culture. Audiences clearly responded to that call for mutual respect and tolerance.
This sort of reaching across divides is not at all what Trump has been doing since getting into office. In contrast, his vision of building “a big beautiful wall” serves as a metaphor for all of his policies. He seems focused on hardening the boundaries between tribes, essentially turning every conversation into a debate about “us versus them.”
One couldn’t even imagine Bo Darville doing such a thing. Throughout the film he invariably viewed each individual he encountered with deep insight and honesty. He never made the mistake of reducing people to mere labels. That sort of self-defeating reductionist thinking was the province of Jackie Gleason’s character.
And so, forty one years after its release, I am struck by the odd resonance of Smokey and the Bandit for today’s political arena: Many people voted for Donald Trump because they were able to convince themselves that their candidate was channeling Bo “Bandit” Darville. Yet with every passing day, the man seems more and more like Buford T. Justice.