For some, it’s an idle curiosity; for others, it’s a full-blown obsession. I confess, when it comes to the spectacle of the car chase, I lean heavily towards the latter. Long before streaming services and on-demand entertainment, I found myself captivated by the raw, unpredictable drama of a live police pursuit. As a teenager, weekends meant enduring endless reruns of wholesome TV shows, patiently waiting for local channels to interrupt programming with the thrilling chaos of a car chase unfolding live on screen. This wasn’t just a passing phase. In college, my academic pursuits even led me to write a research paper delving into the psychology behind their allure. I even sought out and interviewed a man who, back in the pager era, made a living by charging subscribers to be alerted the moment a car chase erupted in Los Angeles.
When I finally had the disposable income to purchase a Playstation in the mid-2000s, my game selection spoke volumes about my priorities. “Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas” was a must-have, offering the vicarious thrill of high-speed mayhem from the comfort of my couch. Crashing through virtual blockades, soundtracked by the rebellious energy of “Pressure Drop” by Toots and the Maytals, was my kind of escapism. Years later, I embraced the real-time drama of live-tweeting actual car chases, offering my own commentary in a style reminiscent of sports broadcasting. Even now, my nightly routine includes tuning into local news, always with a hopeful anticipation that a car chase might break out and grace my screen.
Los Angeles, it seems, has a long and storied relationship with the car chase. For almost as long as there have been roads crisscrossing the city, there have been law enforcement officers in hot pursuit of speeding vehicles. What was once a localized incident has evolved into a live television spectacle, often with outcomes ranging from the mundane to the tragically dramatic.
My fascination persists, even though I’m acutely aware of the problematic aspects of car chases. They are, undeniably, a drain on police resources. The very act of broadcasting them arguably fuels a cycle, encouraging stations to air more, which in turn, might embolden copycats. The grim reality is that too many high-speed pursuits end with innocent bystanders injured or, worse, killed. And yet, like many Southern Californians, I find myself strangely drawn to them. Witnessing someone attempt to outrun the law at breakneck speeds, weaving through congested freeways, taps into something primal. It’s a vicarious rebellion against authority, a romantic nod to the American ideal of the open road, and a cheap, readily available adrenaline rush – all experienced from the safety of our living rooms.
So, when I heard about Pluto TV, the free streaming platform known for its nostalgic programming, launching a 24/7 car chase channel, my interest was immediately piqued. I decided to dedicate an entire day to immersing myself in this non-stop stream of vehicular drama, expecting to be thoroughly entertained.
“Car Chase” – the straightforward, if somewhat uninspired, name of Pluto TV’s latest offering – presents each pursuit from the initial news alert to its inevitable conclusion. Almost all the content is sourced from recent broadcasts on local channels 2 and 9, both under the same parent company as Pluto TV, Paramount. The relentless action is punctuated by the jarring normalcy of commercial breaks – ads for mobile games, Toyota vehicles, and even prescription medications endorsed by celebrities. This juxtaposition creates a peculiar viewing experience, almost like watching a play unfold in acts, interrupted by mundane reality.
During my day-long car chase marathon, I witnessed a variety of scenarios play out. A tired-looking stolen pickup truck struggled up a mountain pass. A large moving truck sped down a freeway in Anaheim. One driver even managed to reach the town of Fallbrook, a considerable distance. Many chases seemed to converge in the San Fernando Valley, a region notorious for its long, straight roads, practically designed for high-speed driving. The shortest chase I saw lasted a mere two minutes, ending abruptly with a car crashing into a building, followed by a foot chase and the swift apprehension of the driver. Almost all the pursuits unfolded under the cover of darkness, retaining the original timestamps, station logos, and even the on-screen temperature readings from their initial broadcasts.
The experience, however, proved to be surprisingly predictable.
The commentary from newscasters and helicopter reporters remained consistently generic. The outcome was always the same – no one ever truly escapes. Is this repetitive cycle really what has captivated millions, myself included, for decades? The only attempt at injecting originality seemed to come during the commercial breaks, where an overly dramatic voice-over would deliver boilerplate teasers: “More from this car chase when we return.” “Stay tuned for more – Car Chase.” “Helicopter to base, we’re overhead with more Car Chase.” “We’re back – over the Chase.”
After hours of immersion, a rather deflating realization dawned: watching someone peel potatoes might offer a similar level of excitement, and perhaps even a greater chance of unexpected drama.
The paradox of the car chase is undeniable: once you’ve seen one, you’ve essentially seen them all. Yet, there’s an undeniable magnetic pull, an inability to look away. I was so engrossed in the “Car Chase” channel that I almost missed a highly anticipated Monday Night Football game.
By the ninth hour of my car chase marathon, a different perspective began to emerge. The appeal isn’t solely about the potential for violence or the allure of escape. Instead, I started to recognize a strange sense of comfort in their predictability. We, as Southern Californians, have collectively witnessed so many televised police pursuits that they’ve become ingrained in our shared experience, like sunsets over the Pacific or the raucous calls of local parrots. You can almost conjure the sensory details of a car chase in your mind – the rhythmic thrum of helicopter blades, the play-by-play narration from the airborne reporter, the hushed tones of the studio newscasters, the grainy, wide-angle shots of the fleeing vehicle and the pursuing police.
In an increasingly fragmented society, car chases represent a rare collective experience in Southern California. When a pursuit is underway, our individual worries seem to momentarily fade away, united by this shared spectacle, even if just for an hour. The absence of car chases, in a strange way, would feel unsettling, a sign that something was amiss. We watch, transfixed, even as we consciously avoid acknowledging the difficult reality that these events center around individuals in moments of profound crisis, risking their own lives and the lives of others.
It’s perhaps no surprise that Pluto TV, a platform built on nostalgia, would be the one to create this channel. One of their other channels is dedicated to showcasing classic performances from the Ed Sullivan Show, highlighting the platform’s penchant for comforting familiarity.
As a Pluto TV spokesperson confirmed via email, “Data and research show that car chases have been of huge interest to audiences for many years.” While they have no immediate plans to alter the current format, they assured that they “will continue to listen to our audiences” and make adjustments as needed.
On that note, “Car Chase” channel has a wealth of untapped potential. Imagine delving into the archives of local news stations to unearth classic pursuits. Think of the time a man stole a tank in San Diego County, only to be stopped by a highway median. The infamous O.J. Simpson Bronco chase, of course, is a must-include. And who could forget the bank robbers who showered cheering bystanders with dollar bills before their eventual capture?
The channel could curate themed blocks – motorcycle chases, RV pursuits, chases with humorous endings – complete with fitting soundtracks. “Yakety Sax” is a given, but “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” would also be a perfect addition. They could even draw from Paramount’s extensive film library, showcasing legendary car chase scenes from movies like “Mission Impossible,” “The Italian Job,” and even “Grease.” And, for the sake of viewer experience, commercials should be grouped together, perhaps at the beginning or end of each chase segment, similar to public television’s sponsorship model. No one wants the disruption of cartoon bears selling toilet paper to interrupt the flow of high-speed drama.
“Car Chase” channel has the potential to become a unique Southern California cultural scrapbook, a nostalgic and thrilling viewing experience.
Then again, perhaps Pluto TV doesn’t need to change anything at all. During my car chase marathon, a friend called. A serious, politically engaged individual. I barely finished describing the channel’s concept before he cut me off.
“Bro, sign me up. How do I get it?”
