I’m going to chicken out here and spare you the discourse I’d begun composing in defense of the virtues of male bonding. In a world ravaged by toxic masculinity, it’s just not a hill I care to die on. Or even amble up, really. Suffice to say, it is a ritual rooted in primal excess, coarse and lewd at times, but in my own experience, punctuated with moments of tenderness and poignancy.
Fill ‘er Up with Super distills that experience - warts and all - into one of the most honest and impenitent depictions of the male psyche I’ve seen in a film. Just four men on the open road in a wood-panelled station wagon. Four men musing on sex, drugs, love, and loss. A French Fandango.
It is coarse and lewd, tender and poignant.
It is ugly.
It is beautiful.
It is true.
(A big, manly hug to Jamerlich for providing the road map to this one.)