Death Proof 2007

Three friends, Arlene, Shanna, and Jungle Julia Lucai motor through Congress Avenue in Austin, Texas, on a sunny birthday mission that starts with light chatter and ends up darker than any of them expected. In a lively bar, Julia drops a curious bomb: she arranged a radio giveaway for a free lap dance from Arlene, but only if Arlene agrees to be called “Butterfly,” buys a drink, and recites a stretch of the poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. The moment reveals a playful, reckless edge to their friendship, and the group’s mood shifts as the evening grows late. Enter the aging Hollywood stunt double known as Stuntman Mike, who has been tailing them since the bar—drawn by the scent of danger and the thrill of pursuit. He pursues the group with a quiet certainty, and Arlene’s suspicions rise when she recalls seeing Mike’s car earlier in the day, but Mike’s smooth, confident veneer convinces her to go along with the plan, and a tense exchange unfolds right there in the glow of neon and cheap cocktails.

Fourteen months later, the film pivots to a more intimate, perilous road trip. Three young women—Abernathy Ross (a makeup artist), Kim Mathis (a fearless stunt driver), and Lee Montgomery (an actress)—are on a break from a movie shoot and cruising through Lebanon, Tennessee. They pick up their friend, the fearless Zoë Bell from the airport, and the mood shifts from routine to exhilarating as they discuss a vintage test-drive of a 1970 Dodge Challenger they just found nearby. The owner, Jasper, agrees to let them take it for a spin unsupervised after Abernathy mentions Lee’s fame, leaving Lee behind as collateral to keep things civil. The car hums with a raw, old-school power, a nod to the classic car culture that threads through their day.

The group becomes enthralled with a high-risk game they call Ship’s Mast—Zoë proposes riding the car’s hood while secured by belts on the front of the vehicle, a stunt Kim agrees to try, trusting the moment and their camaraderie more than any safety precaution. The thrill of the ride quickly turns sour as the presence of Mike becomes undeniable: he follows, watching from a distance, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The trio undertakes the dangerous ride, and when Zoë’s grip finally slips and she loses her hold on the belts, fear collides with adrenaline in a heartbeat. A few close calls come and go as Mike crashes into their car, ramming it and then colliding again, forcing Zoë to be flung off the hood. Zoë Bell’s character steadies herself, miraculously surviving the brutal sequence, while Abernathy and Kim brace for the worst, only to glimpse Zoë alive and uninjured as the dust settles.

What follows is a relentless chase, a fight for survival, and a moral reckoning that unfolds in a raw, cathartic clash. After Mike sustains a wound from Kim’s retaliation—her shot to his shoulder sends him fleeing—Zoë Bell’s resilience shines through as she joins the pursuit. The women converge on Mike with a shared resolve and a brutal clarity, moving from fear to action as they corner him. In a climactic reversal, they pull Mike from the wrecked vehicle and unleash a coordinated, merciless beating, reclaiming agency in a moment that feels both brutal and earned. The road, once a stage for show-stopping stunts, becomes a theatre of justice as they avenge the women who came before them and reclaim control of their lives.

As the credits roll, a stark montage appears: photographs of numerous women, hinting at a lineage of victims tied to Mike’s reckless swagger and the violence he represents. The film’s pulse remains steady—slick, ferocious, and unflinching—leaving a lingering impression of empowerment and danger dancing side by side on the screen.