Kenny Rogers has a pint-sized pit crew in Six Pack.

The ’80s were a cinematically magical time, when tenderhearted country music superstars couldn’t stop adopting ragtag groups of orphans. Dolly Parton did so to memorably trippy effect in A Smoky Mountain Christmas (1986), but her “Islands in the Stream” duet partner Kenny Rogers beat her to the punch four years earlier, in Six Pack.

Eyes twinkling with mischief, majestic beard shining proudly, Rogers stars as washed-up racer Brewster Baker. Sabotaged and sold out to sponsors by his former head mechanic, Terk (Terry Kiser), Brewster’s career is circling the drain. He’s stranded in the john of a dilapidated gas station in Texas when thieves make off with his race car’s new engine, which he can’t afford to replace.

Kenny Rogers chats with his child laborers in Six Pack.

Fending off the advances of an amorous diner waitress (there’s nary a waitress in Six Pack that doesn’t want a piece of Brewster) while waiting to file a sheriff’s report, he spots the thieves and peels off after them in his RV. The wild chase ends with his quarry plunging off a bridge — and kids swimming to safety as their truck sinks. He jumps in to save the youngest, who brightly asks him “Are you going to die, mister?” once they’re ashore. “Oh God, I hope so,” answers Brewster, gasping for air.

“Damn, mister, you look like shit!” another kid exclaims. That’s when he’s introduced to the gang of ill-tempered, foul-mouthed thieves. There’s Doc (Anthony Michael Hall), a gifted mechanic known as “the family genius.” Louis (Tom Abernathy) “does the heavy work,” which is code for he’s the husky one. (A Smoky Mountain Christmas was, as you might recall, similarly indelicate in its handling of childhood obesity.)

There are only so many ways to stage a scene with Kenny Rogers and a gaggle of children.

Rounding out the family are generic Steven, “the accountant” (Benji Wilhoite); Swifty (Robby Still), a hothead with a colorful vocabulary; seven-year-old Harry (Robbie Fleming); and the oldest, Heather (Diane Lane), also known as Breezy. After returning the kids to their rundown cabin in the woods, he asks to see their parents. An awkward silence descends. “They’re just not available,” Heather replies. “That ain’t no lie,” Louis laughs.

When Swifty runs his yap again, Brewster threatens him: “That smart mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble, boy.” “We’re already in trouble,” Heather interjects. Brewster assures them they know nothing about being in trouble. “If I don’t find out what you did with my parts, I’m gonna sling all six of you in the state reformatory in Houston,” he snaps. “You ain’t gonna sling my ass in one of those crummy places!” Swifty says defiantly.

Kenny Rogers can’t afford new car parts in Six Pack, but a wayward band of orphans can steal them.

These early expository scenes are the film’s slowest and most repetitious. Rogers was early in his acting career in 1982, with The Gambler and Coward of the County recently under his belt. His range didn’t extend far beyond smiling and scowling, and his ability to mime taking (and throwing) a punch was nonexistent. When he has a run-in with corrupt Sheriff Big John (Barry Corbin) and goonish Deputy Diddler (Bob Hannah) at the cabin, his considerable limitations are evident.

Fortunately for Rogers, and viewers, he’s slightly more confident around the child actors with whom he shares most of his scenes. And, of course, it’s second nature for him to charm Lilah (Erin Gray), a waitress in Shreveport who sweetly tolerates his roguish ways. When, through a series of convoluted events, Brewster winds up on the lower-level racing circuit with the six delinquents from Texas uncomfortably in tow, Lilah sees the situation differently than her noncommittal sometime-lover.

Lilah: You left six kids in the middle of nowhere?

Brewster: What did you expect me to do? My God, can you imagine me on the road with six kids?! I can’t take care of myself.

Lilah: Yeah, well, I know that.

Brewster: Do I look like a father to you?

Lilah: Mmm hmm. Maybe ’cause you look like everything to me.

six pack (1982)
Before Spuds MacKenzie came along, Brewster Baker (Rogers), pictured here with Erin Gray, was the original party animal.

The screenplay, by Mike Marvin and Alex Matter, can’t quite settle on one big conflict, so we’re treated to a series of smaller ones. There’s the specter of Sheriff John, a cartoonish villain who forced the orphans to strip cars back home and doesn’t want the gravy train to end. “Looks like you fell into a real thick pile of beans, boy!” he tells Brewster, and threatens him with trumped-up charges. (As you may recall, a sheriff also figures prominently in A Smoky Mountain Christmas.)

There’s slimy Terk, who torpedoed Brewster’s career once before and is eager to do it again. And there is Brewster himself, whose idea of freedom is incompatible with commitment, romantically or otherwise. He repeatedly conspires to abandon the six-pack, even as they plead to remain together and their crack mechanical skills revitalize his racing. “The hell with you guys,” he tells them during a fight, hitting the road without them.

The six pack cheer Brewster to victory, when they aren’t plotting his defeat.

“We coulda been great together,” Swifty cries to Lilah as Brewster pulls off, but not before, in true Swifty style, yelling a blue streak. (Poor Louis stayed behind at an ice cream stand as the drama unfolded, waiting on his extra large banana split.) Alone in his rig, driving to the next track, love doesn’t turn Brewster around, not yet. But his reunion with the six-pack, and continued career ascendence with them by his side, is never in doubt.

There’s nothing in Six Pack that comes close to ringing slightly true or making even a little sense. (Why do some of the siblings have no trace of an accent and others twang to the extreme?) To call it bad is charitable, and that’s OK. If you want something freewheeling and aimed at adults, director Daniel Petrie made Lifeguard, a finer, more realistic film about an overgrown man-boy in 1976. Six Pack, like A Smoky Mountain Christmas, is wish fulfillment of the highest order, and welcome nostalgia for children of the ’70s and ’80s.

It is also, perhaps, wish fulfillment for every waitress who ever wanted to serve Rogers more than coffee. Lilah’s supreme contentment the morning after a night spent with Brewster was funnier than any of the film’s jokes.

Streaming and DVD availability

Six Pack is available on DVD. It’s not currently streaming on any platforms.

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… But wait, there’s more!

In his memoir, Luck or Something Like It, Rogers notes that Six Pack was the only theatrical feature in which he starred. Here he is on his acting career:

Again, acting in this movie reminded me of one of my favorite stories about okay actors like me. Randolph Scott, a very successful star in Westerns, applied for membership at the L.A. Country Club, a place notorious for rejecting actors. When he was told this by the membership board, he reportedly replied, “I’m no actor — and I have fifty-one movies to prove it!”

That’s kind of how I’ve always felt about the profession.

Kenny rogers, luck or something like it