RACE WITH THE DEVIL 1975
Race with the Devil (1975) is a film that could only have roared out of the wild, genre-melting landscape of 1970s American cinema—a feverish blend of road movie, buddy flick, and devil-worship paranoia horror, all wrapped in the sunbaked dust of Texas highways. Directed by Jack Starrett, whose knack for taut, kinetic action had already made him a cult favorite, the film is a pedal-to-the-metal descent into the era’s anxieties about secret cults, hidden evil, and the fragility of trust on the open road and the midnight-movie highway.
The story kicks off with Frank and Alice (Peter Fonda and Loretta Swit), and Roger and Kelly (Warren Oates and Lara Parker), two couples looking for a little R&R as they set out in a gleaming RV for a cross-country vacation. The chemistry between scruffy sexy Fonda and Oates, who love to race motocross in their café racer leathers, is the film’s heartbeat—two everymen whose banter and dogged determination anchor the escalating madness. Swit and Parker refuse to play mere damsels, bringing grit and vulnerability to their roles as the group’s ordeal intensifies.
Embarking on a road trip from San Antonio, Texas, heading toward Colorado, their holiday takes a hard left turn when, parked in a remote stretch of Texas wilderness, they witness a midnight satanic ritual—complete with hooded figures and a human sacrifice. The scene is pure 1970s devil-worship panic, a cultural artifact from an era obsessed with the idea that evil might be lurking just beyond the edge of civilization, you know — right in our own backyards. What follows is a relentless chase as the cultists, faces obscured by masks, malice, and malevolence, pursue the couple across lonely highways and through seemingly sleepy small towns. Every roadside stop becomes a potential trap, every friendly face a possible conspirator. The RV, that rolling symbol of American freedom, is transformed into a besieged fortress, its cozy interior closing in with dread and suspicion.
Cinematographer Robert Jessup captures both the wide-open menace of the Texas and New Mexico landscapes and the claustrophobic tension inside the RV. The film’s action sequences—especially the climactic chase, where the RV barrels through barricades and cultist ambushes—are classic 70s grit, all practical stunts and real danger, with none of the gloss or safety net of modern CGI. The sunbaked visuals and dusty realism ground the film’s escalating weirdness, making the supernatural threat feel all the more immediate.
There’s a sly humor running beneath the panic, a sense that the film knows just how outrageous its paranoid fantasy premise is, yet never lets the characters in on the joke. Even the family dog isn’t safe from the film’s merciless sense of peril—and there is mention of animal sacrifice, so beware of this tale of baleful bonfires and nefarious secret cults (if you’re sensitive to animals dying in any type of film as I am.) As the cultists close in and the landscape itself turns hostile, the open road becomes a labyrinth with no exit, a sun-bleached stage for paranoia to play out in broad daylight.
By the time the RV circles back to where it all began, surrounded by a ring of fire and masked figures, Race with the Devil has become a full-blown nihilistic American nightmare, equal parts drive-in spectacle and cautionary tale. It’s a film that refuses the comfort of resolution, delivering instead a wild, subversive ride that leaves you glancing over your shoulder, wondering if the next roadside picnic might come with a side of deviltry.
Just a note on the enchanting Lara Parker: She is beloved as the tragic and treacherous Angelique, on the cult daytime binge worthy horror soap Dark Shadows, and one of television’s most iconic and complex witches. Introduced as a vengeful servant-turned-sorceress, Angelique’s supernatural powers and passionate obsessions set much of the show’s Gothic chaos in motion. With her hypnotic presence – those eyes, Parker made Angelique both dangerously seductive and heartbreakingly vulnerable—a woman whose love for Barnabas Collins manifested into centuries of curses, heartbreak, and dark magic. Angelique wasn’t just a super villain; she was a tragic antiheroine, forever torn between her longing for love and her thirst for revenge. Her spells, schemes, and shifting allegiances became central to the show’s wild tapestry of vampires, ghosts, and time travel. Thanks to Lara Parker’s magnetic performance, Angelique remains a legendary figure in the annals of TV horror—equal parts enchantress, adversary, and the haunted heart of Dark Shadows. For me, she truly is one of the highlights of the show.
Peter Fonda, Warren Oates, and Loretta Swit: Icons Beyond the Devil’s Road:
Peter Fonda, the eternal rebel of American cinema, is best remembered for his role as Wyatt in Easy Rider (1969), a counterculture touchstone that he co-wrote and produced, earning him an Oscar nomination and cementing his place in film history. He brought a wild, charismatic energy to cult classic Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry (1974) and, decades later, stunned critics with his soulful, Oscar-nominated turn as the stoic beekeeper in Ulee’s Gold (1997). Fonda’s career was an array of antiheroes, outlaws, and wounded souls, each performance radiating a restless, searching spirit. Speaking of spirits, in another offering of the horror genre, Fonda appeared with his sister Jane in the “Metzengerstein” segment of Spirits of the Dead (1968). Jane Fonda plays the decadent, cruel Countess Frédérique de Metzengerstein, while Peter Fonda is her distant cousin, the noble and stoic Baron Wilhelm Berlifitzing. Their roles are marked by doomed obsession: Jane’s countess becomes fixated on Peter’s baron, setting off a Gothic tale of desire, revenge, and supernatural retribution.
Warren Oates, the quintessential character actor, made his mark as the doomed, world-weary Lyle Gorch in Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch (1969) and as the desperate, sunburned driver in the existential road movie Two-Lane Blacktop (1971). He embodied the legendary outlaw in Dillinger (1973). Oates’s rugged features and laconic drawl made him a fixture in Westerns and gritty dramas, but it was his ability to imbue even the roughest characters with a flicker of humanity that made him unforgettable.
Loretta Swit, meanwhile, became a household name as the quick-witted, fiercely competent Major Margaret “Hot Lips” Houlihan on MASH, one of television’s most honored and beloved series. Her portrayal earned her two Emmy Awards and ten nominations, and she remains synonymous with the role—a blend of steel and vulnerability that broke new ground for women on TV. Fonda, Oates, Swit, and Parker brought an ensemble of American screen legends to Race with the Devil, each carrying a legacy of unforgettable performances stretching from the open highways of counterculture cinema to the frontlines of television history.
A few behind-the-scenes tidbits: Peter Fonda and Warren Oates did many of their own driving stunts, adding to the film’s authenticity and sense of danger. Director Jack Starrett, known for his work on Cleopatra Jones 1973 and First Blood 1982, brought a gritty, no-nonsense energy to the production, while composer Leonard Rosenman’s score pulses with a nervy, suspenseful energy that keeps the tension simmering. The film’s ending—bleak, ambiguous, and unforgettable—cements its status as a cult classic, an artifact of a time when America’s highways felt like the last frontier, and the real horror was what might be waiting just out of sight.
Race with the Devil stands as a devilish joyride through 1970s paranoia, a film where the scariest monsters aren’t supernatural at all, but once again the ones hiding behind neighborly smiles and beneath the surface of everyday life. If you’re looking for a movie that delivers buddy-movie, pedal-to-the-metal action and a big, brash dose of satanic panic, this is one hell of a ride.