JOY RIDE's story is probably as relevant today as it was back in the 50s - but the manner in which it is told, and the standard of the acting is strictly 50s B-Pic Drive-In standard. Regis Toomey plays an average joe with a hot new Thunderbird that attracts the attention of a gang of four no-goods. Chief no-good decides he wants a spin in the T-bird, and when Toomey understandably refuses an escalating series of terror tactics is set in motion.
The story does well in showing the impotence of the police in a situation where the bad guys slyly terrorise a decent innocent couple without stepping over the line drawn by the law. When they finally do cross that line they do so in a way that still enables them to evade the law. It's the kind of story you read in the tabloids today - middle-aged men die on the pavement from heart attacks induced by chasing a gang of kids throwing eggs at their house or trying to steal their car, or find themselves before a judge accused of aggravated assault if they choose to make a stand when some low-life career villain breaks into their house. It's no coincidence that the focus of the enmity between Toomey and the leader of the hoods is a brand new gleaming car - the ultimate symbol of manhood in an increasingly consumer-driven society -nor that when the hood - who is really no more than a boy himself (and possibly sexually 'confused') - goes to pieces when he finally gets his wish.
The scene in the police station after the hood is finally nabbed is almost sublime, pinpointing the inarticulateness of youth when trying to analyse or justify their criminal acts, before it goes a little too far with the preachy tones of the Police Chief.
The acting - apart from Toomey - is strictly second-rate, as is the cinematography and direction, but the resonance of this brief tale (before it fades in the third act) makes it worth catching.
The story does well in showing the impotence of the police in a situation where the bad guys slyly terrorise a decent innocent couple without stepping over the line drawn by the law. When they finally do cross that line they do so in a way that still enables them to evade the law. It's the kind of story you read in the tabloids today - middle-aged men die on the pavement from heart attacks induced by chasing a gang of kids throwing eggs at their house or trying to steal their car, or find themselves before a judge accused of aggravated assault if they choose to make a stand when some low-life career villain breaks into their house. It's no coincidence that the focus of the enmity between Toomey and the leader of the hoods is a brand new gleaming car - the ultimate symbol of manhood in an increasingly consumer-driven society -nor that when the hood - who is really no more than a boy himself (and possibly sexually 'confused') - goes to pieces when he finally gets his wish.
The scene in the police station after the hood is finally nabbed is almost sublime, pinpointing the inarticulateness of youth when trying to analyse or justify their criminal acts, before it goes a little too far with the preachy tones of the Police Chief.
The acting - apart from Toomey - is strictly second-rate, as is the cinematography and direction, but the resonance of this brief tale (before it fades in the third act) makes it worth catching.