Alright, rewind your minds back to the era of overflowing video store shelves, the satisfying clunk of inserting a tape, and the slightly fuzzy glow of a CRT screen late at night. Remember the sheer, unadulterated joy of finding a sequel to a movie you absolutely loved? That’s the vibe hitting us as we dust off the magnetic tape for a look back at Smokey and the Bandit II (1980). Following up one of the biggest surprise smashes of the 70s was never going to be easy, and this sequel... well, it certainly tried something different.
### Doubling Down on the Mayhem
The original Smokey and the Bandit was lightning in a bottle: pure, simple, high-octane fun driven by Burt Reynolds's effortless charisma, Sally Field's charm, Jerry Reed's down-home likeability, and the sputtering, apoplectic genius of Jackie Gleason as Sheriff Buford T. Justice. Director Hal Needham, a legendary stuntman himself (he practically invented the modern stunt coordinator role!), knew exactly how to capture automotive anarchy. For the sequel, Needham was back, the budget was bigger (reportedly ballooning compared to the lean original), and the central task was... weirder. Forget Coors beer; this time, the Bandit and Snowman are hired to transport a pregnant elephant named Charlotte from Miami to the Republican National Convention in Dallas. Yes, an elephant.
It's a premise so fundamentally goofy it almost demands a certain level of respect for its sheer audacity. While the original felt like a rollicking cross-country road trip fueled by rebellion and romance, Smokey II leans harder into outright slapstick and, frankly, feels a bit more like a collection of set pieces strung together. Burt Reynolds still flashes that million-dollar grin, but you can sense a touch of "going through the motions" compared to the first film's infectious energy. His chemistry with Sally Field, who returns as Frog, feels a bit diluted this time around, partly because the plot sidelines her somewhat.
### Buford T. Justice Unleashed
But let's be honest, while Bandit might be the name on the marquee, the real star pulling us back for another round is Sheriff Buford T. Justice. Jackie Gleason is an absolute force of nature here, seemingly given free rein to unleash every glorious insult and malapropism he can conjure. It's often said that Gleason improvised a huge chunk of his dialogue across these films, and it absolutely feels that way – a masterclass in comedic timing and barely contained rage. His interactions with his perpetually suffering son, Junior (Mike Henry), remain highlights. Every time Buford T. Justice appears on screen, sputtering about "sumbitches" and enduring yet another vehicular humiliation, the movie sparks back to life. He's the sputtering engine of hilarious frustration that keeps the whole enterprise from running out of gas. And let's not forget the welcome addition of the legendary Dom DeLuise as the eccentric Italian doctor, adding another layer of silliness to the proceedings.
### The Symphony of Destruction
Where Smokey and the Bandit II truly delivers, and where Hal Needham’s pedigree shines brightest, is in the sheer scale of its vehicular carnage. Forget pixel-perfect CGI – this is the glorious era of practical effects, where real cars met real, physics-defying ends. Remember that absolutely bonkers sequence involving the roller coaster? Pure Needham mayhem! And then there's the climactic demolition derby sequence between dozens of police cars and big rigs – reportedly one of the most expensive and complex stunt sequences filmed up to that point. They just wrecked everything.
Watching it now, there's a tangible weight and impact to the destruction that often feels missing in modern action flicks. You see the metal crunch, the tires squeal, the dust fly. You know real stunt performers were behind those wheels, pushing the limits in ways that insurance companies today would likely faint at. Was that final pile-up sequence utterly gratuitous? Absolutely. Was it spectacular to watch on a grainy VHS tape back in the day? You bet your Trans Am it was. Needham, who cut his teeth doing death-defying leaps and crashes himself, orchestrates it all with a gleeful disregard for automotive safety, and it’s undeniably impressive even now.
### A Softer Sequel, Still Worth the Rental Fee
Okay, let's level. Smokey and the Bandit II isn't the tightly plotted, effortlessly cool classic its predecessor was. The script feels looser, the pacing sometimes drags between the big action beats, and the central elephant plot strains credulity even for a comedy like this. Critics at the time certainly weren't kind, though audiences still turned up, making it a significant box office success despite the panning. It lacked the freshness and the simple, driving purpose of the original mission.
Yet, dismissing it entirely feels wrong. It’s like that favourite comfy old sweater – maybe not as sharp as it once was, but familiar and undeniably cosy. There's still joy to be found in watching Reynolds, Reed, and Field share the screen, even if the spark isn't quite as bright. Jerry Reed gets another catchy tune ("Texas Bound and Flyin'"), and the sheer spectacle of the stunts provides genuine thrills. And did I mention Jackie Gleason? His performance alone justifies seeking this one out for a rewatch.
VHS Heaven Rating: 6.25/10
Justification: While it undeniably suffers from sequel-itis with a weaker plot and less character focus than the original, Smokey and the Bandit II still delivers moments of pure nostalgic joy. Jackie Gleason is comedic dynamite, and Hal Needham orchestrates some truly jaw-dropping practical stunt work that represents the pinnacle of 80s vehicular destruction. It's bigger and louder, but not necessarily better. Still, for fans of the era's particular brand of action-comedy and anyone who appreciates the art of wrecking real cars for entertainment, it remains a fun, if flawed, trip down memory lane.
Final Thought: It might be the slightly less cool younger sibling, but Smokey II still knew how to put the pedal to the metal and smash things up real good – a glorious monument to the days when practical automotive chaos reigned supreme on the screen.