With their supercars, fame massacres 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 reports, the crass PR stunts, the fracas/ non-fracas with an employee at Stuttgart airport; its day for Messrs Clarkson, May and Hammond to show us what theyve been up to. Come on then, what you got?
A lot of fund, thats abundantly clear from the opening cycle, shot in the California desert. But first weve have to go to get out of rainy old-fashioned Blighty. So Jeremy is leaving a construct, 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 returning a caused midriff finger, then at least attracting up at the daylights and gazing over smugly: ha, check out my large-hearted fund .) 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 auto a muscly Mustang.
On the open road, lastly free, hes joined by the other two, James and Hammond( sorry but I dont do first name with him) in similar automobiles; cherry-red, grey and off-color. Crossing the desert, they hook up with a Mad Max convoy of cars and trucks and bikes, heading to a stagecoach where the Hothouse Flower are playing I Can Assure Clearly Now( Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind another delve there ). Its like Burning Man; actually they call it Igniting Van because there is one, plus a pirate ship, ardor and a squadron of aircrafts moving over. It is undeniably, gloriously cinematic, a brilliant beautiful spectacle.