Let’s get one thing straight right now: Duel is 90 minutes of a man driving a red Plymouth Valiant and sweating so profusely it could qualify as an environmental hazard. It’s directed by a baby Steven Spielberg (like, still cutting his cinematic teeth), written by Richard Matheson of I Am Legend fame, and it’s essentially what happens when a Twilight Zone episode gets a driver’s license and too much gas money.
The Plot (If You Can Call It That)
A regular guy named David Mann (yes, Mann, because subtlety was apparently still on backorder in 1971) sets out on a drive through the California desert for what should be an uneventful business trip. Instead, he encounters a grimy Peterbilt tanker truck that has psychotic PMS and decides David’s little red car is the devil’s spawn. The rest of the movie is one long anxiety attack where the truck alternates between stalking, taunting, and trying to flatten him into a people pancake.
It’s like Mad Max: Prequel to the Prequel, except nobody’s cool, there are no explosions, and everyone desperately needs therapy.
The Cinematic Experience
Spielberg clearly said, “What if I make a horror movie where the monster is just… an 18-wheeler?” And somehow, it works. The tension builds through long, quiet shots of David driving…and driving…and still driving. There are scenes that are just car noises, engine groans, and the occasional nervous throat-clear from our protagonist. It’s less “edge of your seat” and more “should I get up and make popcorn or will he die in the next 30 seconds?”
The truck itself is a character: rusty, hulking, and leaking black smoke like it just got rejected from a diesel emissions test. You never see the driver’s face, which adds a “Jaws-on-wheels” vibe, but it also makes you realize you’re spending an hour and a half emotionally reacting to a truck grille.
The Acting
Dennis Weaver, as David Mann, delivers a masterclass in sweaty panic. This man goes through every stage of grief while merging lanes. His transformation from meek traveling salesman to feral survivor is impressive, but also kind of hilarious. There’s a point where he’s just yelling at himself in the mirror of a roadside diner bathroom, and you can practically hear the subtext screaming, “I did NOT sign up for this!”
Themes (Because Let’s Pretend This Isn’t Just About a Truck)
If you dig a little deeper (like, shovel-to-the-earth’s-core deeper) there’s clearly something here about masculinity, modern isolation, and the fragility of control. The truck might represent societal pressure, toxic competition, or the physical embodiment of every man’s repressed rage at the DMV. But mostly, it’s about road rage before “road rage” was even a phrase.
The Verdict
Duel is a movie where not much happens, yet you’re weirdly tense the entire time. It’s Jaws if the shark were a truck and the beach were a desolate two-lane highway. Too many shots of one dude gripping the steering wheel, yes, but the sheer absurdity and escalating madness make it a cult gem.
Would I watch it again? Maybe if I were trapped in a Motel 6 with only basic cable and a hangover. But I respect it. It’s scrappy, it’s sweaty, and it’s Spielberg’s chaotic little engine that could.
Final Rating: 3 out of 5 psychotic semis.
Because sometimes, the real monster is the traffic.
