RACE WITH THE DEVIL, drive-in thriller fodder from 1975, succeeded way beyond the lean budget outlay and its makers modest expectations, not only raking in bucks but eventually attaining some cult status—‘cult’ apropos, as the 88-minute road trip-to-hell involves devil worshipers. Droves of ’em, Texas style.

San Antonio motorcycle dealers and longtime buds ‘Roger Marsh’ (Peter Fonda) and ‘Frank Stewart’ (Warren Oates) embark with wives ‘Kelly’ (Lara Parker) and ‘Alice’ (Loretta Swit) on a ski vacation to Colorado, giddy over their fancy motor home and a chance to kick back. At an isolated overnight rest stop in central Texas, the guys take a curious binoculars peek at a rowdy party just across a nearby river. Voyeuristic chuckles over what looks to be an orgy (those dang hippies!) turns to shock when they witness a ritual sacrificial murder. Barely escaping violent pursuit from the alerted participants, they’re further disturbed when local authorities casually blow off their eye witness account. Leaving the area, on the long haul across the middle of the deep dark heart of the state, upset turns to terror when it begins to look like the entire region is after them. Buy a shotgun, floor the gas pedal and vamoose!

The creative coven stewing up the cauldron of countrified creepiness was headed by Wes Bishop (producer & co-writer) and Lee Frost (co-writer, fired as director) and Jack Starrett (taking over as director); all were honed by a slew of enjoyably trashy exploitation flicks. * Consistently off-kilter Fonda and engagingly off-center Oates were pals from The Hired Hand and 92 Degrees In The Shade; Swit had TV recognition from M*A*S*H*, then in its third season; and Parker (sigh..) likewise known from 269 episodes of Dark Shadows. In support as the too- blasé sheriff was the dependably imposing/bonkers R.G. Armstrong: like Oates, a vetted Sam Peckinpah alumnus.

                                           Lara Parker, 1938-2023

Shooting took place in & around small towns near San Antonio. Other than the sure-fire premise, the script is rocky in the dialogue department, Swit is shortchanged, and free bird Fonda generally couldn’t sound convincing saying his own name. But the unease scenario fits Oates, R.G. is in his belfry element and the bright, strikingly attractive Parker is excellent. The direction from Starrett (who plays a small roles as a surly gas station attendant) is tight, the stunt work top-grade and the the atmosphere (agoraphobia in spades) builds to an appropriately fiendish finale. That rattlesnakes-released-in-a-careening-vehicle situation rates high fangmarks.

Ground out for $1,745,000, this exercise outrun-Satan futility outgrossed numerous much more polished 1975 movies—The Wind And The Lion, The Day Of The Locust, Breakheart Pass, Night Moves—with $17,600,000 domestically, 39th place, and with a sizable amount reaped internationally.

* Scoping credits for audience-savvy rascals Bishop, Frost and Starrett is like a trip thru trash Valhalla: The Thing With Two Heads, Dixie Dynamite, Chain Gang Women, Ride Hard Ride Wild, The Black Gestapo, Cleopatra Jones, Slaughter, Cry Blood Apache.

                                              R. G. Armstrong, 1917-2012