BREAKDOWN, the 36th most popular movie of thriller-loaded 1997, gave Kurt Russell, 45, a role tailor-made for his  Everyman persona, essentially amiable with a reliable reserve of survivor prowess when push comes to shove. Critics never give Kurt enough credit (if he did accents or played non-hetero characters they’d do praise somersaults) but fans see him much the way they did John Wayne. Apart from obvious height difference and a generational update of cool to hip, like The Duke he’s reassuring, dependable and likable. And ready to lock & load when unexpected trouble arrives and the cavalry isn’t handy. In this 93-minute thriller the threat isn’t an alien ‘Thing’ to tackle, a space-spawned creature that can morph to pose as people, but a too real homegrown crew of inhuman human creeps who prey upon unwary innocents who pass through their desert domain.

En route from Boston to San Diego, cruising thru the postcard Arizona landscapes in their new Jeep Grand Cherokee, laid back couple ‘Jeff & Amy Taylor’ (Russell, Kathleen Quinlan) find that a Massachusetts license plate is a catnip homing signal for a veritable nightmare. A run-in with a threatening local (M.C. Gainey pretty much defines the appeal of the 2nd Amendment) is followed by a power failure in their vehicle. Middle of nowhere, phone service zip. When a trucker pulls over his rig and offers to help, Jeff stays with the car while Amy accompanies friendly ‘Red Barr’ (J.T. Walsh) to a nearby diner. When Jeff figures out the battery had been disconnected, he fixes it and drives to the diner. But Amy’s not there. Hasn’t been there. Jeff encounters Red, and in the presence of a cop, Barr declares he’s never seen Jeff or his wife. Enough plot, already—hang on for the ride. Um, next road trip, consider packing more than granola bars.

Starting with trouble-on-the-horizon main title music from Basil Poledouris, the man vs. men nail-biter wastes no time kicking into gear from Park to floored, as directed by Jonathan Mostow (U-571,Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines), who wrote the spare, no-frills screenplay with Sam Montgomery. The sunburn-suggestive location shooting from cinematographer Douglas Milsome (Full Metal Jacket, The Beast, Robin Hood: Prince Of Thieves) was accomplished in California (Victorville, Pyramid Lake and Sacramento) and Utah (around Moab), the baked expanses and lonesome highways serving as eerie supporting characters.

J.T. Walsh, 1943-1998. Bad to the bone.

Theme: the relative assurance of civilization’s rules and guardians can be depend on where you and they are at a given time and place. Delivery: aced, with Russell pitch-perfect conveying concern rising to alarm that turns to panic, desperation and resolution. Quinlan, 42—a crush from Lifeguard, Twilight Zone: The Movie and The Doors, all the way back to a smile-on in American Graffiti—only has a little screen time, yet enough to justify any & all manner of man-up heroism. Among the band of Red’s murderous cohorts, Gainey stands out but Walsh is terrifically chilling, his merciless, dryly mirthful ,matter-of-fact demeanor so convincing it’s probably studied by rising right-wing politicians.

The action scenes are exciting, and some of the stunt work is of the “are they genuinely nuts?” caliber. Budget: $36,000,000. North American gross: $50,159,000. With Jack Noseworthy, Rex Linn, Ritch Brinkley, Moira Sinese (Gary’s wife) and Jack McGee.