With their supercars, fame homicides and Eboladrome, Jeremy Clarkson, James May and Richard Hammond prove they can still make a spectacle and keep the petrolheads happy
Enough of the secrets and rumours, the crass PR stunts, the fracas/ non-fracas with federal employees at Stuttgart airport; its era for Messrs Clarkson, May and Hammond to show us what theyve been up to. Come on then, what you got?
A lot of coin, thats abundantly clear from the opening sequence, kill in the California desert. But first weve got to get out of rainy age-old Blighty. So Jeremy is leaving a building, siding his pass in … got it, its supposed to be the BBC.( A heap of this first escapade seems to be aimed at his former hire if not quite meandering the window down and committing a conjured middle paw, then at least pulling up at the ignites and seeming over smugly: ha, check out my big plan .) Now hes at international airports, checking in , no fracases this time, he manages to catch the flight to Los Angeles, where he picks up his rental automobile a muscly Mustang.
On the open superhighway, finally free, hes joined by the other two, James and Hammond( sorry but I dont do first name with him) in same vehicles; red-faced, white and blue. Intersecting the desert, they hook up with a Mad Max convoy of cars and trucks and motorcycles, heading to a stage where the Hothouse Flower are playing I Can Watch Clearly Now( Gone are the dark glooms that had me blind another dig there ). Its like Burning Man; actually they call it Igniting Van because there is one, plus a pirate ship, fire and a squadron of sprays winging over. It is undeniably, gloriously cinematic, a brilliant beautiful sight.