User Reviews

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.

Toomey calls the cops after he spots some hooligans ogling his set of wheels. The cops take down a few details, and tell him to forget about it. Toomey puts a padlock on his garage door. This kills about eight minutes of film. Later, at the local hangout, we meet the bunch of losers, headed by James Westmoreland. They sit around and make comments about a waitress, and think up stuff to do. Westmoreland decides it would be fun to take Toomey's T-Bird for a spin. So they decide to pay Toomey another visit. Toomey confronts the shadowy figures and threatens them with his finger. They threaten him back by lighting cigarettes. They take off, and Toomey calls the cops again. Detective Roy Engel investigates by shining his flashlight towards the sky. Yes, that's the first place I'd look for the culprits.

Westmoreland now decides he likes scaring Toomey, so one of his gang throws a rock with a note attached through Toomey's window, where it is retrieved by Toomey's wife (Ann Doran). Engel returns to the crime scene and reads the note, which tells Toomey to leave his car outside, with the keys, or he'll be sorry. In typical Hollywood police fashion, Engel tells Toomey to use the car as bait, promising there will be s squad car nearby to nab the gang. Sure enough, two guys show up and get in the car. The police swarm in. Unfortunately, the two kids are Toomey's neighbors, who only wanted to park the car in the garage for him.

Toomey finds a matchbook for Sal's Malt Shop on his driveway, and, in typical Hollywood non-police fashion, pays a visit to the joint, hoping to spot the gang members. Westmoreland spots Toomey and politely asks if he can offer some help. Toomey is too stupid to realize who Westmoreland is, and leaves. Westmoreland gets Toomey's phone number and starts calling him. Toomey paces the floor and Doran is ready to crap her pants. So they get police protection. But in that rare screen moment when no cops are around, one of the gang rings the doorbell and tells Doran he is giving away free soap samples. (Doran apparently never saw the Candygram sketch on SNL.) The four crumbs burst in, trash the joint looking for a spare set of keys to the T-Bird, and Doran collapses after watching them do their non-acting. Now Toomey is really PO'd, and, in typical Hollywood take-the-law-into-your-own-hands-because-the-cops-are-useless fashion, devises a plan.

Westmoreland calls Toomey at the hospital, and this time, Toomey agrees to give him the car. When they meet, Toomey pulls out his gun (everybody had guns back then) and forces Westmoreland to drive onto the freeway. With the T-Bird up to around 120 mph, Toomey gets Westmoreland to yell that he is scared, yellow, and a chicken. Toomey turns Westmoreland over to the cops, and in typical Hollywood bleeding-heart-liberal-fashion, asks that the charges against the other three be reduced from felonies to misdemeanors.

Toomey is pretty good when he gets angry. Doran is pretty good when she is scared senseless. Westmoreland is pretty good when he's not on screen.

It's a one man army against a group of hooligans who need more than just a good whipping in this intense, angry juvenile delinquent drama. Veteran character actor Regis Toomey is proud of his sports car that these punks (James Westmorland, Nicholas King, James Bridges and Robert Levin) want to "borrow" for a night of joyriding. They're not the neighborhood kids who want to do him a good deed of putting it in his garage but four loathsome bullies who won't stop until they get what they want.

Already having played the domineering mother of the "Rebel Without a Cause", Ann Doran is good support for Toomey as his wife, frightened by the nightly harassments that threaten to become worse. Toomey, having played his share of drunks and crooks, is fierce as the law abiding older citizen, sick of the changing society, and concerned for his wife.

Ultimately Toomey has to become like Charles Bronson later did in "Death Wish" and take charge since the police can't help him. Frustrating because it's one of those situations that just doesn't seem real until it happens, and handling it on your own could result in other problems, so there's no real answer, right or wrong.