Texas isn’t hell, but it sure feels like it in the summer. With heat so hot that it’s vomit-inducing, the dry, brown, and scrubby plains of the Lone Star State would make even the most ardent atheist believe in a fiery netherworld. Unsurprisingly, this landscape breeds a type of tough guy nihilism - a beer-drinking, hell-raising brand of negative reinforcement. As much as Texans are keen on promoting their state with silly little mottos and belt buckles the size of Liechtenstein, the truth is that most of the things that come out of Texas are hard-boiled. Texan literature, for instance, is full of blood and guts, and for the most part this violence comes with no lasting sense of resolution. When Robert E. Howard, a son of Cross Plains and the founder of sword and sorcery, talked about his fellow Texans, he always mentioned them in the same breath as the ancient Celtic and Germanic warriors of pre-Christian Europe. To him, the wildcat oilmen of rural Texas weren’t the embodiment of the vulture-like impulses of capitalism (that would’ve been Upton Sinclair’s view), but rather they were the barbaric descendants of the Suebi - that large Germanic tribe that the Roman historian Tacitus described as nomadic tribesmen without any ties to the land.
While Howard often saw Texas as a strange and noble land, later Texas authors like Jim Thompson and Patricia Highsmith saw the state as the “genus loci” of American savagery. From small town murder to the art of concealed identity, Texas became the byword for New World grit and grime.
Speaking personally, I come from a long line of Texans, with a grandfather and father who were both born in the Big T. As a kid, my grandfather used to pepper me with stories about ranch life in the western portion of the state. Most of his tales involved hunting rattlesnakes or laying waste to steaks the size of ships, while others hinted at the enormous amount of fun he had playing football for Texas Tech or working on tanks for the Army at Fort Sam Houston. But, when the night would get dark and the campfire would pick up, he’d let slip a few bits that were quite ugly: neighbors in the Ku Klux Klan, debauched trips to Mexico, and buried bodies out in the prairies. These were the stories that I latched on to, for they gave the lonely Texas nights a deep mystery.
“Race with the Devil,” a muscular action flick with occult trappings, doesn’t seem like something that’s aware of this history. Nevertheless, the script, which was written by Wes Bishop and Lee Frost, plays on the continuing distinctions between civilization and barbarism. Furthermore, while director Jack Starrett (who is best remembered for his portrayal of Gabby Johnson in “Blazing Saddles”) probably made “Race with the Devil” in order to get a quick buck, this film works as a social commentary that highlights the pervasive cynicism of the 1970s. It was after all the decade that saw a Criminal-in-Chief (Nixon), a bumbling and ultimately deadly attempt to manage American decline (Carter), and the not-so-glorious end of a war in Asia. George Santayana once said that “Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” Maybe doom metal’s appreciation for the 1970s is more than an aesthetic. Maybe, just maybe, doomsters focus on the 1970s because they don’t like how that decade has been repeating itself since 2001.
These big question diversions aside, “Race with the Devil” is mostly an enjoyable action film that contains plenty of high-speed chases and gratuitous exploitation. Centered on two couples- Roger (Peter Fonda) and Kelly Marsh (Lara Parker) and Frank (Warren Oates) and Alice Stewart (Loretta Swift) - “Race with the Devil” details a planned RV trip to Aspen, Colorado. Roger and Frank own a motorcycle dealership in San Antonio and they are both machine enthusiasts. Roger in particular is a keen motorcycle man, which is of course a nod to Fonda’s role in the classic film “Easy Rider” (1969). Frank tries to keep up, but he can’t quite hang with Roger. No big deal; his wife is “Hot Lips” from “M*A*S*H*” after all.
Roger and Frank are just your typical good ol’ boys who like drinking beer from cans and occasionally catching a girl taking her clothes off. The latter pastime is what gets the group in trouble and thus sets the film’s action into overdrive. On their first day of traveling, Kelly and Alice make the decision to get some rest. Frank convinces everyone to spend the night in his new RV, which has all the conveniences of modern living. Everyone agrees, and the foursome retire to what Frank calls “private road seclusion” (which is just a wooded area near a river). During the remaining daylight, Frank and Roger engage in a dirt bike race while their wives look on. Only Ginger, the Marsh family dog, doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself. For some reason, the land across the river, which contains only a large tree, frightens her.
As night falls, wine starts to get passed around and a toast is made to “the best damn vacation we may ever have in our lives.” Everyone gets a little tipsy. The women decide to go to bed, while Roger and Frank make the fateful decision to stay out in the central Texas night. Before long, the two men hear a noise across the river. Just then a huge bonfire ignites almost as if by command, thus forcing Frank to grab a pair of binoculars.
What they see is shocking. The bonfire is part of a ceremony involving a lot of young people dressed in robes. As hypnotic chants fill the background, Frank and Roger get a good glimpse of the group’s leader - a tall, Viking-looking man with long blonde hair, a mustache, and a sword. The man’s face is also concealed behind a mask that looks similar to the later ones worn on occasion by Bruce Dickinson and Samhain-era Glenn Danzig.
As the ceremony continues, Roger and Frank notice that some members of the cult have shed their clothing. One nude girl - a young blonde - in particular has been singled out. First the group raises her naked body into the air, then the masked leader plunges a dagger into her heart. This breaks Roger and Frank’s reverie, and in their fear, they tell a now awake Alice to turn out the lights in the RV. The cult’s leader hears this, and after screaming a word that sounds a lot like “dalek,” the members of the cult rush to chase after the RV (thus the name of the film).
Unfortunately, the RV gets cursed by the typical horror film malfunctions and it stalls just as the angry Satanists begin to pounce. After a few smashed windows, the terrified vacationers manage to escape to the nearest police station. There they meet Sheriff Taylor (played by R.G. Armstrong) and Deputy Dave (played by screenwriter Wes Bishop) - two yokel cops who ultimately prove to be sinister.
When they return to the scene of the crime, Sheriff Taylor informs Roger and Frank that it was all a “bunch of hippies” whacked out on drugs. Strangely enough, the crime scene lacks the equipment that the group left behind the previous night during their flight, and even the reassuring Sheriff Taylor finds evidence of a fire and few drops of blood. These samples are collected for testing.
Although the sheriff tries to convince the group that they mostly imagined the occurrence, the mutilated body of dog tied to a tree convinces Frank and Roger that there’s more going on than the sheriff would like to admit. This belief only increases after Alice and Kelly find a note while cleaning up the broken glass inside of the RV. The note promises ninefold vengeance, but its occult language leaves the women perplexed. So, while the men are away, the pair go to the library and find a few research books on witchcraft and black magic. When the librarian tells them that the books are not for circulation, Kelly hides them in her bag as her and Alice return to the RV.
While the RV is being repaired by the mechanic that Sheriff Taylor recommended (played by Phil Hoover), Alice and Kelly try to convince Frank and Roger that what they saw was a Satanic ceremony done in accordance with the full moon. Furthermore, Alice and Kelly believe that the sheriff and the deputy are not to be trusted, for they noticed that Deputy Dave didn’t need to be told the way to the ceremonial site. Although Frank is hesitant to believe that somehow the sheriff and the deputy are in league with their pursuers, he nevertheless closes the RV’s partition after he notices the mechanic eavesdropping on their conversation.
This theme of paranoia only builds as the film progresses. After Roger tells the group that he collected his own blood sample from the crime scene, the group decides to give it to the nearest big city police department. This puts the RV on several desolate roads towards Amarillo, and while there they are consistently harassed by their thoughts and questions concerning their fate. The experience leaves them fatigued, so they once again decide to stop. This time though they do so at an RV park full of fellow vacationers. One couple in particular - the Hendersons (played by Clay Tanner and Carol Blodgett) - seem overly eager to spend a night on the town with the two couples. When they hear that the group is running away from witches, the Hendersons pooh-pooh it as damned funny stuff.
As the group continues on to Amarillo, more and more strange things start happening to them. First, Frank and Roger notice that their bikes, which were attached to the RV’s back, have been vandalized. Then, after buying a shotgun and some ammunition, they are denied a phone call because the store’s owner (played James N. Horrell) tells them that the phone is inoperable. Next, after purchasing gas and chitchatting with the attendant (played by Starrett himself), Roger’s attempt to use a pay phone fails because it’s out-of-order. Exhausted, the group decide to get back on the highway.
This then is the point in the film when the action reaches its apex. While on the road, the Satanists decide to attack the RV with everything they have. Shotgun shells fly and whole cars are pushed off of the road. Many of the attackers are familiar faces, and the fact that they all want to destroy the RV lets the audience know that Alice and Kelly’s paranoia was correct all along. After a protracted battle, the RV settles down for the night in a secluded spot. The vehicle is damaged and the people inside are frazzled, but everyone is safe. Roger reassures them all that their ordeal is over.
As before, a tree suddenly bursts into flames and a ring of fire encircles the RV. Chanting can be heard, and as the couples look out the window, they see Sheriff Taylor and the Hendersons step out into the fire’s glow. They are robed just like the others.
Unlike most films then and now, “Race with the Devil” ends with the good guys losing. The Satanists win the day, and thus the film ends as a warning about the dangers of cult activity. The shadow of Charles Manson and the founding of the Church of Satan can be found in this taut thriller, but for the most part it’s an entertaining ride. Also, as an “RV in the desert” film, “Race with the Devil” can be called an influence on Wes Craven’s “The Hills Have Eyes” (1977). Frankly, Starrett’s film is the weaker of the two, but “Race with the Devil” has a low-brow charm all its own. “Race with the Devil” seems like the very definition of grindhouse, and as such it should be viewed by any self-respecting doomster.
Words: Benjamin Welton
*** Big thanks to Benjamin for putting this amazing series together - Ed, Tony and the Doommantia Team