With their supercars, celebrity 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 federal employees at Stuttgart airport; its duration for Messrs Clarkson, May and Hammond to show us what theyve been up to. Come on then, what you got?
A lot of money, thats abundantly clear from the opening cycle, shooting in the California desert. But first weve “ve gotta get out of” rainy age-old Blighty. So Jeremy is leaving a build, handing his pass in … got it, its supposed to be the BBC.( A pile of this first chapter seems to be aimed at his former employee if not quite meandering the window down and passing a parent centre digit, then at least attracting up at the light-coloreds and looking over smugly: ha, check out my big-hearted budget .) Now hes at the airport, checking in , no fracases this time, he manages to catch the flight to Los Angeles, where he picks up his rental gondola a muscly Mustang.
On the open street, finally free, hes joined by the other two, James and Hammond( sorry but I dont do first name with him) in similar gondolas; red, white-hot and blue-blooded. Spanning the desert, they hook up with a Mad Max convoy of cars and trucks and motorcycles, heading to a theatre where the Hothouse Heyday are playing I Can Envision Clearly Now( Gone are the dark clouds 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 planes flying over. It is undeniably, gloriously cinematic, a bright beautiful spectacle.