Stylised, sexist, steampunk-y, superficial and (this is why it gets away with it) short. [UPDATE: And online.] The Dragsville gangs don’t mix, so it’s a problem that Johnny the Fly and Emmie-Lou the Rocketeer have fallen for each other; now, to win Emmie-Lou, Johnny has to beat Billy Rocketeer in a race to the church. A death race.
Billy dove left then right. I aimed dead ahead. Billy’s Dart had the pretty face of a pro street dragster but my Chevy had lungs on it. The black shell hunkered down on an open-wheel chassis, 34-inch skins bolted on either side while the rear wheels tucked in at the tail where the fibreglass had been tubbed to accomodate them. Downshifting, I yanked a steel handle in the roof, stoked the engine then floored it. We streaked past Billy’s Daimler in an explosion of blue-black flames.