Some films know exactly what they are, and Smokey and the Bandit is one of them. No pretensions, no padding — just Burt Reynolds behind the wheel of a black Trans Am, grinning like he's getting away with something. He is.
Reynolds was one of the great screen charisma merchants, and I've rarely seen it used more efficiently than this. There's barely a plot to speak of — an illegal beer run from Texarkana to Atlanta, a sheriff in pursuit, Sally Field bright and game in the passenger seat — but it moves with such relentless, joyful momentum that I couldn't help grinning along.
Field is lovely, Jerry Reed brings real warmth as Snowman hauling the contraband while Bandit takes the heat, and Jackie Gleason's apoplectic Sheriff Buford T. Justice is a comic creation you won't forget in a hurry. It runs out of road a little before the finish line — but as a delivery vehicle for pure, uncomplicated fun, Smokey and the Bandit still gets the goods there in style.