Hollywood!

The older I get, the more I realize I never actually wanted to be a race car driver.  My lap times at the local go-kart tracks prove I wouldn’t have been any good any how.  My brother on the other hand…sigh...enough about that guy you’re here for me! 

What I want — deeply, irrationally, and with alarming conviction — is to be a picture car coordinator.  For the non-obsessed, that’s the person responsible for sourcing and managing the vehicles in movies and television. The hero cars. The background cars. The stunt cars. The “we need three identical beige sedans by Thursday” cars.

It’s logistics. It’s psychology. It’s mechanical triage.  Some people think cars in movies are just transportation.  These people also probably think SMG transmissions were a mistake. (We’ve been over this.)  Cars are rolling exposition. They’re silent backstory. They tell you income level, taste, emotional maturity, and occasionally unresolved trauma.

Which is why I admire Stranger Things so much.

The Duffer Brothers didn’t just scatter “old cars” around and call it authenticity. They curated 1980s America. Hopper’s Blazer? Absolutely right. Utilitarian. Gruff. Probably smells like coffee and crumpled paperwork. Joyce’s Pinto? Perfect. Faithful, economical, and slightly overwhelmed. One unpaid utility bill (or hard tap on the rear bumper) away from major drama.  Even the background cars feel like they belong to people who own VCRs and distrust change.

It’s thoughtful. It’s layered. It’s car nerd heaven.  But that is not to say it’s perfect because…of Steve Harrington’s BMW.  

Listen. I love Steve. His hair deserves its own agent. But a high school kid in small-town Indiana driving an ‘83 BMW 733i?  Are we implying generational wealth? A father who says “motorcar”? A family that invests in mutual funds and lightly judges domestic brands?  I’m not saying it’s impossible. But what I am saying is that if I was in that meeting, I’d have gently raised a hand and said, “Love it. Stunning car. But what exactly are we implying about this household?”  Because that’s what cars do. They imply.  Hand a teenager a German sport sedan and you’re telling me something whether you mean to or not.  Would I have chosen something different? Maybe. A flashy domestic coupe that screams popularity without quietly whispering “trust fund” may have been better.

But the fact that I even care this much is precisely why I need this job.  

Now, let’s talk about One Battle After Another, this years Academy Award Winner for Best Picture.  It has genius level automotive symbolism going on that I bet you missed.  In it, Tim Smith (brilliantly played by John Hoogenakker.), drives a 1968 Shelby GT500 and then later appears in a 2013 Shelby GT500.  On the surface, it’s pure Americana.  Loud and confident with a faint smell of selective nostalgia and gasoline.  

But context!  Tim Smith is a member of a white supremacist group dubbed “The Christmas Adventurers”, and Henry Ford was not a model of tolerance.  Henry Ford is a documented antisemite who published antisemitic material in The Dearborn Independent and was awarded the Grand Cross of the German Eagle by the Nazis in 1938.  Just the kind of guy a modern white supremacist would put on a pedestal!    

Henry Ford and Tim Smith...Same lineage, new bodywork. No extra dialogue needed.  The cars do the heavy lifting here and it is nothing short of elite picture car coordination and casting.  I only hope I could be this good!

But let’s not pretend the job is all symbolism and smug satisfaction.  This job is also: Finding three identical 1994 minivans because one will be rear-ended.  Tracking down a period correct hubcap because someone will hit pause while watching the trailer in 4K resolution. And better yet, explaining to a collector why their “never driven in rain” convertible is about to experience a cinematic monsoon.  Heck, continuity alone is a nightmare.  “Oh that dent the car picked up in scene 12 is now canon for scene 45, but we filmed scene 45 two weeks ago...”

Some people want to be in front of a camera, others behind the wheel of a race car.  I’d prefer to be in a warehouse looking at three cars thinking, “Yes.  This one says recent divorce…" I'd enjoy the same level of personal satisfaction with way more anonymity.

Now excuse me while I reorganize my imaginary picture car fleet and think about which villain deserves chrome.  I’m leaning toward something nostalgic…with consequences.