Unforgettably forgettable, particularly in the eyes of writer/director Stephen King, _Maximum Overdrive_ is the kind of trash that could’ve only been borne by a mid ‘80s cocaine binge. The plot was certainly influenced by one verboten cocktail or another. We dive right in with a wordy prologue that explains all about passing comets and sentient machinery - total gibberish, proclaimed with bold emphasis in a bright yellow font - before proceeding directly to the visceral mayhem. Big rigs drive themselves! Electric knives edge toward human flesh! What’s a sexy parolee to do but hole up in a sleazy North Carolina truck stop and wait it all out?

The director gets his requisite cameo out of the way in the very first scene, portraying a random dude who’s insulted by a foul-mouthed ATM, and this sets a clear tone for the rest of the film. Or, at least, for the first half-hour. While those opening salvos last, _Maximum Overdrive_ is the best kind of bad. Spewing four letter words like a kid in the back of the school bus, it relishes the sheer idiocy of its own premise. As a soda machine chucks its payload like so many cannonballs and a bicycle bucks its rider into the path of a steamroller, we cheer and stomp for more. The opening act is a barrage of such hilariously off-color ideas, an absolutely marvelous “are you seeing this” joyride, complete with shrill Psycho audio cues and shoddy, chunky special effects. Pity it didn’t end right there. I still wouldn’t have rated it above three stars, but I might’ve endorsed it.

By contrast, the remaining time on _Overdrive_’s clock is a chore. As the demonic eighteen wheelers settle to lazily circling the refugees’ hideout, the film follows suit. Its wicked sense of humor, flashed so often in that establishing chapter, goes out the window. Even AC/DC’s accompanying soundtrack cuts grow less inspired, settling into reverb-heavy chords and aimless noodles. It seems like nobody wanted to stick around for the whole ninety-seven minutes. I didn’t, either.