David Carradine, sporting an earring and a short, severely cropped coiffure which makes him resemble a rough trade Greenwhich Village gay leatherbar regular, is his customary lean, laconic, stoical, stubbornly nonconformist self as Harley, a fiercely independent and self-reliant moonshine runner who locks horns with fat, odious slimeball rival Hunnicutt (a broadly mugging hunk of overripe ham by Roger C. Carmel) over who has exclusive dibs on a lucrative Florida illegal whiskey business. Naturally, there are further complications; Harley's fretful, peevish'n'pettish steady girlfriend (comely brunette Kate Jackson, who looks like she just sashayed off the set of "Charlie's Angels") just happens to be Hunnicutt's firebrand daughter, two bickering, bumbling New York mafia hit men are trying to rub out Hunnicutt, and Harley has to intercept a shipment of poisonous rotgut before the driver makes a potentially lethal delivery. Directed with workmanlike efficiency by Corey Allen, bookended by a rousing air-boat chase at the beginning and a similarly stirring extended car chase in the last reel, with Andy Stein's sprightly bluegrass score and James Pergola's sunny, golden-hued cinematography adding additional spice to the already tasty mix, this affably lightweight drive-in item certainly hits the satisfying spot somethin' solid. Moreover, the dense, marshy Everglades swamp locations are suitably picturesque, the pace clips along at a speedy rate, there's a smattering of nudity, everybody talks with extremely thick'n'heavy drawling good ol' boy Southern accents, Pat Cranshaw and Sterling Holloway are very funny and engaging as a pair of amiable old fuddy dud moonshine makers, and late, great crime novelist Charles Willeford has a nice cameo as a shady, shifty bartender. Better still, the flick overall offers a cheery, good-natured, basically harmless and entertaining celebration of that quintessentially 70's grind-house anti-hero: the carefree, firmly individualistic and autonomous "I just wanna do my own thing" uncompromisingly free-spirited loner. Best scene: Carradine uses his patented martial arts prowess to beat the living tar out of scruffy, bellicose cracker Charles Napier, which prompts Napier to snarl the following deathless zinger: "Hey a**hole, knock off that kung fu s**t!" Fun stuff.