Thunderbolt and Lightfoot

Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (1974) is a little bit of everything. Call it a heist movie, a road movie, a buddy movie, a comedy, drama, or action flick. It’s the perfect example of a film whose true meaning comes from whatever the viewer brings along to the experience. And yet it still falls comfortably within Clint Eastwood’s acting range as a semi-retired criminal on the run from his old partners who teams up with a young wise-ass (Jeff Bridges) for one more job.

Creatively, it’s also an unlikely partnership between first-time director Michael Cimino, who would bankrupt an entire studio in part due to his perfectionism on Heaven’s Gate (1980), and Eastwood’s much more economical shooting style. The film feels loose and fun, much in the same vein of Clint’s later fluff like Every Which Way But Loose (1978), but with a hippie hangover that still resonates with highway poetry of both the visual and thematical sort.

Sounds deep? Not to worry, Thunderbolt is entertainment first and foremost. The “meet-cute” partnership of Eastwood and Bridges (who earned an Oscar nomination) turns into a long-con master plan to rob the same bank with the same technique the crew pulled off fifteen years prior. George Kennedy, Gary Busey and even Catherine “Daisy Duke” Bach turn up in roles big and small, throwing themselves into the kind of politically incorrect shenanigans that only ‘70s cinema seems to get away with.

But the brilliantly shot opening sequence, with Eastwood as a counterfeit preacher who’s nearly gunned down in his own church, announces that the film has loftier ambitions if you feel like looking for them. One of which is the theory that the film’s male bonding scenario is simply a cover for a homosexual relationship; a theory that applies equally to most buddy-cop flicks and that famous volleyball scene in Top Gun. But once you pick up on it, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot is, once again, an entirely different viewing experience.

Even without the film school analysis, the film offers itself up as a kind of cinematic reflecting pool full of gorgeous Montana landscapes, sketchy but memorable characters and a smidge of tragedy to make it that much more sweet.

The limited edition blu-ray from Twilight Time (only 3000 copies available exclusively at ) is equally wonderful on hi-def, particularly the colors which get a very pleasant boost along with commentary from Lem Dobbs (The Limey) and TT principals Nick Redman and Julie Kirgo, who also contributes the excellent introductory liner notes.