A Year of Bad Movies # 8 — “Supervan”
Supervan (1977)
IMDB score: 2.5 out of 10
I can respect bad movies that manage to be so bad they come full-circle and turn enjoyable again. “Supervan” is one of those movies.
How come the worst movies have the best posters?
Mark Schneider plays Clint Morgan, a tough-talking van enthusiast who enters Vandora, a solar-powered van, in a van competition called Freakout. Along the way, he must escape rich Texan oil tycoons, rough and tumble motorcycle gangs and the sexual advances of van groupies armed only with his daring-do and laser-shooting van. That’s right, the solar-powered van shoots lasers.
Steeped firmly in the culture of van enthusiasts, “Supervan” is the perfect movie for anybody who has ever owned a van with shag carpet installed inside, a wizard painted on the side door or bestowed with some ridiculous moniker such as “Vandora.”
Freak Out, the competition Clint enters his solar-powered van in, is a perfect storm of hippies, druggies, greasers and corporate sponsorship. There are wet t-shirt contests, vans sliding in mud, more mustaches then a Village People impersonator’s convention and a very special appearance by Charles Bukowski.
In other word, this is a perfect ‘70s movie.
When T.B. Trenton, rich oil tycoon, discovers that his company has indivertibly funded the development of an industry-crushing solar-powered van, he will stop at nothing to destroy the vehicle that looks like the love child of RoboCop and the wiener mobile.
Watching the film, I was most impressed by the van culture displayed at Freak Out. These were people who crossed geographical and cultural boundaries and gathered for one simple reason — they loved their vans … and maybe the wet t-shirt contests.
It looks like something Mechagodzilla would poop out.
It didn’t matter where they came from or where they were going, they could get together and share a joint because they all had one thing in common — they liked to air brush incredibly cheesy art on the sides of their van.
I watched all of this and I realized, slowly but surely, that I wanted in. I wanted to be part of that van culture — if it even still exists today.
I wanted to drive a giant vehicle that was one part RV one part bachelor pad. I wanted my very own Shaggin’ Wagon.
In the end, though, I came to the realization that I must remain an outsider to this culture — always looking in. I’ve never been a car enthusiast and I doubt that will ever change. As a kid, I would stare at the magazine rack and wonder who would ever buy those rags I considered “vehicle porn” — you know, the magazines that consisted of nothing but glory shots of vehicles (and, if you lived in South Texas, women dressed up as sexy gangster clowns).
Even today, I abuse my car — treating it as nothing but a tool. I rarely clean it, often forget to change the oil and choose to ignore any mysterious sounds that may start imitating from the engine instead of investigating their source. I’m a terrible car owner and just because I bought a van, nothing would change.
I will never be a part of the van culture but I will forever be grateful for “Supervan” for giving me the chance to spend an hour and a half cruising in Vandora — vicariously living that big van dream in the sky.
