Gator (1976)
(On Cable TV, October 2021) If you believe the theory that seeing actors direct a film allows you a deeper glimpse in the things that interest them, then there’s a near-perfect alignment between Burt Reynolds’ screen persona and his directing debut in Gator. Following up shortly after White Lightning with the same roguish character, Gator is an unapologetic southern crime adventure, featuring Reynolds as a moonshiner once more asked to work for the authorities. This time around, he’s asked to go investigate a famously corrupt county, using his personal connection to the local boss to gather information. Of course, it escalates: the local crime lords are worse than expected, the federal agent working with him is assaulted, the female journalist working with him is threatened and before long it’s down to a climax in which hero and villain smash through beach stalls in a rather impressive display of stunt work. (Reynolds being a former stuntman, the film does have a few amazing shots: a boat ripping through swamp houses, or a character jumping through the air as their vehicle flips over.) The opening moments of the film take us to a very atmospheric swampland, and the overall feeling of being in a southern state permeates the entire film. Compared to more modern films, Gator meters its thrills in small doses—there aren’t as many car chases as you’d expect, or as there were in White Lightning. But it’s still a film built for thrills. Reynolds is reliably charismatic as a star, and not bad as a director—although the script’s uneasy blend of comedy and violence is not really smoothed over by the direction. Still, it is a mostly-lighthearted adventure set against an unusual setting: it’s memorable in itself, and probably best seen alongside its prequel.