"I want to do what they're doing," Mr. Regular told me after we both watched All Cars Go To Heaven. And, really, that was the big takeaway from the movie, the first feature-length film from The Smoking Tire. When the credits rolled and we were brought full circle on the narrative of how a car obtains a soul, we were simply gripped by the desire to...well, to do things.

The film charts the TST crew's 600-mile off-road trip across Washington State and up into the Great White North, the summit of hockey, Tim Horton's, and maple syrup. The mission was to never touch tarmac the entire way there, to simply gun it across nine mountains, and to push two Jeep Cherokees (one new, one bought off of Craigslist from a sketchy guy with a Casey Jones bandage around his arm) to their limits. And all on the idea of Thaddeus Brown, who admits to never expecting the idea to be taken seriously. Hell, Matt Farah himself is as stunned as anybody that they actually decided to back a Thaddeus idea.


Thus, the journey sets off, with Matt Farah, Thaddeus Brown, Zack Klapman, and Tom Morningstar hitting the road, and one of the big things you'll notice from this movie, and one of its best features, is the impractical practicality of it. On the one hand, who would ever think this was a good idea? Sure, it seems fun to off-road your way through a multi-state, multi-national labyrinth of gravel, mud, dirt, forest fire ruins, widening cliffs and narrowing paths. But it's daunting to an absolutely prohibitive degree for most average people. On the other hand, these aren't your average guys; and, in the process of embarking on such an innocently perilous journey, the TST crew illustrates that something like this isn't necessarily impossible for someone like me, who isn't exactly Bear Grylls when it comes to outdoorsmanship (but then, I don't exactly have an affinity for drinking my own piss, rubbing snow on my naked body to keep warm, and killing nothing for sustenance).

Much of the film is shot with a sort of "found footage" sensibility, a cinema verite style of filmmaking that doesn't always privilege getting the perfect shot so much as the realest shot. Whether it's getting sarcastically berated by a woman in a Tupac shirt who's inexplicably drunk at 10 am, or whether it's follow-car footage of the Cherokees and Tercel in action, or even just a shot of the guys toasting their journey at the lip of a cliff overlooking a forested thicket below, the simplest shots were the most breathtaking. Hell, something as simple as a dog taking shelter under the lifted Cherokee to cool in the shade, or the ridiculous sight of the Tercel's constant windshield wipers were innocuously beautiful. Seriously, there's an artistry here that makes this feel all the more vivid. Mr. Regular himself talked about how he'd take this journey, if he could. Preferably on a Suzuki DR200, a dual-sport that's more or less perfect for a trail like this. And, honestly, I could see him doing it. The man is extremely dedicated, and one of the most capable, determined individuals I've ever had the privilege of knowing. Then again, while a DR200 probably would have been perfect for these trails, the cinematography of the film privileges the dirt and the grime and the difficulty, choosing to focus instead on just how these vehicles weren't perfect for this trail. Not all of them, anyway. Not that this stopped the TST crew.


Even more than Mr. Regular's big takeaway from the movie, that "I want to be there with these guys, sipping vodka from a triangle glass overlooking a scenic tableaux, and ripping the trail to shreds" feeling, is the overall sense of something I'd like to call Practical Adventure. The TST crew admits to not exactly being Men for All Seasons in the outdoorsmanship department, but nearly everything about All Cars Go to Heaven is didactic, as if instructing how something like this, while daunting in its own right, is entirely possible if you have the commitment (and time) to do it. This sense of practical adventure is what makes the film relatable – it's something that sounds doable, except it's writ large enough to where the actual accomplishment of the mission comes into question. I imagine it'd be like going on a fishing trip with friends in a forest that continually grows around you, preventing you from every truly knowing where you are, how you're going to get back, or where civilization ran off to.

And that peril works its way into the film: The Smoking Tire crew had absolutely no safety net for any of this. No medic, no local tour guide to bail them out, no obvious routes back towards civilization in the event that some unspeakable happening befell them in the wild. And it's that looming sense of danger that makes this more than just a jaunty little romp in the middle of scenic nowhere. It's one of the things I respected about the film, which is, honestly, the best road trip film I've seen in ages. The only movie I've seen in recent years that has that same sense of pastoral, American adventure is Alexander Payne's Nebraska, which is less about the trip than about the characters themselves anyhow (although the trip is sort of a character in itself, but I digress).


To avoid spoiling the film, I'll just say that, beyond the towering business of imbuing these cars with a soul through adventure, the guys themselves offer up some wonderfully distinctive moments. Farah himself is one of those big, booming personalities that makes for a fitting host for this journey, guiding us through the countless difficulties encountered in tackling something like this. His plight is made all the more troubling by his well-documented back pain, with Farah himself even admitting that he should have taken his doctor's advice and skipped the journey altogether. But he soldiers on, and we're better for the sacrifice. The other three are also a blast, with Tom stalking assorted wildlife, Thaddeus faking a sobriety test in a memorable moment, and Zack generally tearing ass through every forged path, to the detriment of the cars being driven.

It's on this latter point that the film finds a lot of its narrative; and, in many ways, I think Klapman is the stealth MVP of this movie. He's got this positively infectious enthusiasm for EVERYTHING that makes him immediately endearing as an on-screen presence. Mild spoiler alert: When the used Cherokee gets junked, Klapman gets unexpectedly sentimental at having to part with it at a local mechanic's garage, comparing it to having to return a pet to the animal shelter when you discover you can't take care of it anymore. And that's kind of poignant, really. Near the start of the film, Klapman states, "I've never driven a car I didn't give a shit about." And it shows. In a way, it brings it back to being about the narrative of whether a car is born with a soul, or whether the car earns it through experiences like these. From how attached Klapman was to the lifted Cherokee in the extremely short amount of time he had it, you'd never know it wasn't something soulful and loved.


Of course, the demise of the Craigslist Cherokee introduces us to the film's other stealth contender for MVP: the $300 Toyota Tercel. It's a vehicle of last resort when Zack cycles through ads only to find that many of the sellers somehow lack the ability to return phone calls; well, that and many of the cars for sale have already been sold. Thus, the crew winds up with a junker that everyone expects to die imminently. The Tercel is essentially what Bob Hope was in the 90s, right down to the premature proclamations of death. Yet the little demon manages to be a thousand times more reliable than the lifted Craigslist Cherokee ever could have been, roaring ass across the terrain like a wild animal. It's a car punching above its weight class. The Tercel is if Chuck Wepner actually knocked Ali out instead of just going the distance. There is absolutely no reason on Earth that this car should have survived, and yet, it's a monument to just how far $300 can take you.

Ultimately, All Cars Go to Heaven is a film about more than just four guys deciding to fuck around in the wilderness. It's actually about more than just cars earning their wings, It's A Wonderful Life style. It's a summation of the intrepid spirit, the audacity and boldness to really live, which is something not everyone gets to, nor has the gumption to, actually do. As the tag line for the movie says, "All cars may die, but ours truly live." So too do their owners.


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