I, for one, am tired of the stereotype that women cannot drive.
I’m a woman and I can tell you right now that I am an above average driver. I’ve only had one major accident. Admittedly, I did smash into a parked car but it was raining and I really couldn’t see that well because I was driving convertible and the window was fogged up. Plus, whoever parked that car must have done a bad job and left it sitting out in the middle of the street. For the record, my convertible flipped over on impact so the parked car did far more damage than I did.
Other than that, I usually manage to stop in time for red lights. I’ve only driven through a few stop signs and that was just because I didn’t notice them. I’ve very rarely been given a speeding ticket. Instead, the police have always been very polite about just giving me a warning. And yes, it is true that I have trouble with curbs and turns and going in reverse and all that but I’ve seen plenty of men do the same thing.
The statistics show that, while women are involved in more accidents, the accidents are more likely to be fatal if a man is driving. Men are also more prone to get upset and pull a gun during a road rage incident whereas women just give other drivers the finger. Women are not inherently bad or dangerous drivers. The one exception, at least down here in Texas, are middle-aged women who drive SUVs with faded Beto stickers. You really don’t want to get stuck behind one of them in traffic.
I found myself thinking about the misogyny behind the “women-are-bad-drivers” stereotype as I watched 1979’s Death Car On The Freeway. Death Car On The Freeway features a madman who is so sick of women driving in Los Angeles that he starts using his Dodge van to cause them to have accidents. We don’t actually see his face or really learn much about him. What we do see are his black-gloved hands on his steering wheel, which is a nifty homage to the giallo genre. (Giallo killers have a thing for black gloves.) Whenever the driver does try to force a woman into a fatal accident, he pops in an 8-track of hyperactive fiddle music. The fiddle has never sounded more menacing than it does in Death Car On The Freeway. It’s almost like prog rock fiddling. Imagine a country western fiddler who has just done a mountain of cocaine and you’ll get a feeling for this guy’s taste in music.
News reporter Shelley Hack thinks that the public has the right to know that there’s a man causing women to crash their cars. Her ex-husband, played to smarmy perfection by George Hamilton, thinks that Shelley should quit her current job and come work with him. Meanwhile, police inspector Peter Graves is concerned that the media going to start a panic and make it more difficult for him to track down the “Freeway Fiddler.” (One gets the feeling that Graves feels this entire mess could have been avoided if women had never been allowed to drive in the first place.) At one point, Hack meets with a defensive driver instructor and he’s played by the film’s director, Hal Needham.
Oh, how I love this film! Seriously, it’s got car chases, car crashes, 70s outfits, George Hamilton, Peter Graves, and a genuinely frightening villain. This is one of those films where you might be tempted to be dismissive. Folks like Dinah Shore, Sid Haig, and Abe Vigoda show up in small roles, reminding you that this really is a 70s made-for-TV movie. But then, that fiddling explodes on the soundtrack, that van starts tailgating someone, and Death Car On The Freeway suddenly becomes a cinematic nightmare. It’s not a surprise that Hal Needham was able to stage some impressive driving stunts in Death Car On The Freeway. That was Hal Needham’s thing. But Needham also manages to craft a compelling and, at times, genuinely frightening film. Anyone who has ever glanced into their rearview mirror and suddenly realized that another vehicle is following them will be able to relate to the fear of the Fiddler’s victims.
This is a great movie and a reminder that women are not the most dangerous drivers on the streets. Unless, of course, they’re driving an SUV with a faded Beto sticker….
Through the Shattered Lens 