Fatuous, witless, disappointing Southern moonshine adventure, with Kate Jackson as the daughter of a soda pop king and manufacturer of poisoned whiskey; she and thrill-seeking boyfriend David Carradine attempt to stop of shipment of the bad booze but run afoul of both the law and the moonshiner’s shotgun-toting stooges. The redneck histrionics are shrill and labored, and the comedy relief is rather obvious (one of the better scenes has two hired killers bemoaning all the violence on TV, though it doesn’t have the punch that better writing and directing might have given it). There are car crashes galore, two geezer brothers making whiskey in a swamp-land shack, an alligator wrasslin’ preacher, and an ear-splitting soundtrack filled with hick music and squealing tires. Jackson and Carradine aren’t bad, but they have next to nothing to work with; supporting cast includes some fine character actors, including a bearded, shaggy-haired Charles Napier, but they get stuck playing unfunny goons. Some of the best lines are delivered by the bit players, such as a garbage collector who points when he talks and a foreign delivery man who sings to himself on the job