Damnation Alley: the road less traveled in Sci-Fi cinema? (scifi film retrospective).

In the hallowed halls of science fiction cinema, few films have managed to weave their way from notorious flop to cult classic with the gracelessness and awkward charm of Damnation Alley. This 1977 post-apocalyptic misadventure, directed by Jack Smight, is a cinematic equivalent of a disco ball in a nuclear bunker – oddly fascinating and out of place.

The story, loosely spun from Roger Zelazny’s novel, is as straightforward as a post-nuclear highway: First Lieutenant Jake Tanner and Major Eugene “Sam” Denton, played by the ever-so-dashing Jan-Michael Vincent and the stoic George Peppard, survive World War III in a missile base, only to embark on a cross-country road trip in the most over-the-top vehicle since the Batmobile – the Landmaster. Yes, Damnation Alley is where Mad Max meets RV living, with a side order of mutated creatures.

Let’s talk about the Landmaster, shall we? This 12-wheeled, all-terrain behemoth is like the lovechild of a tank and a Winnebago, and quite frankly, it’s the real star of the film. Custom-built at an eye-watering $350,000 in the ’70s, it’s like something a ten-year-old would doodle in the margins of their notebook. In fact, the Landmaster outlasted the film’s popularity, becoming a show car circuit celebrity. Now that’s what you call mileage!

The plot, akin to a joyride through a dystopian wasteland, has everything a B-movie enthusiast could dream of: nuclear holocaust, mutated scorpions (because, why not?), killer cockroaches, and a journey to find the last known radio broadcast. It’s like a bingo card of post-apocalyptic clichés. The film’s journey across “Damnation Alley” – a path supposedly less radiated than the rest – brings our heroes face-to-face with the bizarre and the bewildering, including a detour into a cockroach-infested Salt Lake City. If you’re into giant bugs and questionable physics, you’re in for a treat. Production of Damnation Alley was as rocky as its desert landscapes. Budget cuts, diverted funds (cheers, Star Wars), and special effects that made 1950s sci-fi look high-tech, marred its creation. The film’s pièce de résistance, the radioactive skies, were as convincing as a toupee in a hurricane. It’s like the filmmakers threw every sci-fi trope at the wall to see what stuck, and, well, not much did.

Then there’s the music by Jerry Goldsmith, a man who clearly didn’t get the memo that he was scoring a B-movie. His compositions are a valiant effort to elevate the film, like trying to polish a rusted Landmaster. And speaking of polishing, the film’s attempt to shine in theaters was as successful as a solar panel in a cave – it just didn’t work, especially when paired with Ralph Bakshi’s Wizards in some theaters. Imagine that double feature: apocalypse and animation!

In a twist that could only happen in the realms of science fiction, Damnation Alley found its audience years later. Yes, this cinematic oddity, once lost in the shadow of its more successful sci-fi cousins, now enjoys a cult following. It’s a testament to the enduring charm of the underdog, or in this case, the under-Landmaster.

So, to all you sci-fi aficionados and connoisseurs of cinematic oddities, let’s raise our glasses to Damnation Alley. It’s a film that teaches us that even in the wasteland of forgotten movies, there’s a chance for redemption, a chance to find your path, even if it’s down an alley of damnation.

And remember, in the world of sci-fi, sometimes the road less traveled is less traveled for a reason. Cheers, SFcrowsnest, to the quirky, the peculiar, and the downright disastrous – Damnation Alley is indeed all three.