What better way to pay tribute to the cinematic legacy of Burt Reynolds than with his biggest hit. Smokey and the Bandit, a 1977 romantic comedy (seriously!) about a beer bootlegger escaping the chubby grasp of a redneck sheriff was the second biggest film of the year, and would have easily been number one if not for that one space movie about the farm kid and the glow sticks and the robot butler and his friend the bleeping trash basket. But that movie had the benefit of never-before-seen visual effects, an all-timer of a symphonic score by John Williams, and the power of pure myth fueling it. Smokey and the Bandit had... uh, it had "Eastbound and Down" as the score to a series of ridiculous car chases—fueled not by myth, but by Coors—and the irresistable, smirking, fourth-wall-breaking charm of Burt Reynolds at full, blinding wattage. Every likeable wiseass of the '80s, '90s, and '00s, from John McClane all the way to Tony Stark, owes part of their existence to Burt's portrayal of the Bandit, shiftin' and grinnin' out from behind the wheel of that legendary Trans Am. by Bobby Roberts