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Mga jeepney mong nagliliparan... | Hot Wheels Road Bandit | Inspection Room

Maraming beses na kitang nilayasan
Iniwanan at iba ang pinuntahan
Parang babaeng ang hirap talagang malimutan
Ikaw lamang ang aking laging binabalikan
-Manila by Hotdog, 1976

No thoroughfare in the Philippines can ever be considered complete without the jeepney. Made of iron, tin, some tarp and rolling via diesel power, this contraption is at once a sign of a past that's being haphazardly abandoned and a reassuring presence in a volatile nation. Its legacy is multicoloured and rusty, yet its underpinnings may show the way forward for the future of Filipino mass transportation.

So why this? Why a jeepney, our jeepney? Why would a multinational company turn the humble jeepney into a miniature hot rod? And can it offer a peek into what the world sees in us and how we move?

Is it even a toy worth collecting beyond the novelty and readily-felt pride?

This is the first undergrad thesis-grade Inspection Room, and for your consideration, I present Hot Wheels' Road Bandit.

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FULL DISCLOSURE: This model was given to me as a gift by a Live and Let Diecast forum member after a rant I posted two years ago. For that, I cannot thank him enough, mainly because he also packed in way more cars than I thought. This may influence part of the evaluation, but negligibly so.

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CHAPTER 1: I keep coming back to Manila

Ah, the jeepney. From its humble origin as a cobbled-together pile of ex-American World War Two troop transport surplus to its currently contentious position as a national minibus, it is a machine whose story has come to encapsulate the postwar Philippines in ways that its citizens still hear today. The horns tattle tales of keeping up with the boundary system, the engines grumble about rising gas prices, and the wheels murmur about floods that induce rush on the under-chassis.

Yet 40% of Filipinos still hitch a ride to work, school and outings, carrying both people and cargo depending on the need. Its legend doesn't seem to have an end, even if it's running up to an age that's about to leave it behind for the wonders of electrification. The jeepney, then, is hero and villain; i's both folk anti-hero and bane of the road, a king wearing a durag band and Good Morning towel cape. No one can mistake it for anything else, so when I saw leaked prototypes of a supposed replica from a foreign toymaker, I had to drop everything I was doing to take a closer look.

Mattel's die-cast cars division isn't a stranger to Southeast Asian public transport fare: their Matchbox line had already done the Thai Tuk-Tuk (pictured above) and it was well-received by collectors especially in Thailand as Mattel, owner of the Matchbox brand, has a factory there. That means this mini-scale tuk-tuk is made in the same place as the real thing, a result of deep cooperation between designer Abe Lugo and the workers at the Thailand factory to create a faithful representation while still meeting the requisite one-US-dollar price limit.

On the other hand, the Road Bandit was built in Malaysia, and as a double-whammy to the Pinoy Pride(TM) angle, the two units pictured (out of a total of five) were sent to me from the United States. Think about it. There's a toy version of a Filipino street icon yet I couldn't even buy it at any mall here -- and there are five malls within at most one LRT ride away from my home!

But that was the thing: such was the popularity and novelty of having a Hot Wheels jeepney that hordes of collectors bought it, and more significantly, hoarders kept large stocks to themselves to resell at a markup that I thought was too much. Already it was antithetical to the basic ethos of the jeepney, so I'm just grateful someone out there heard my plea at all.

CHAPTER 2: Simply no place like Manila

Because it's not like the jeepney hasn't been represented in die-cast form before. The best-known example is PhilCraft's replica (above), a four to five-inch-long toy scaled roughly 1:43 scale but with a shorter cabin, powered by a pull-back drive. It was nice, but a little too big and weirdly proportioned to fit in my mostly 3-inch-or-smaller collection, so I passed on it whenever I happened to stop by any of the park stores that sold them.

Tomica also made a jeepney, the jamboree cruiser, that's closer to the mini size I buy, but it still didn't feel right (and it was also too rare for me to even find in stores).

Hot Wheels' jeepney, on the other hand, is far more exciting.

Immediately you can tell that something's different, yet familiar, with the Road Bandit. It has the face of a typical jeepney (which descended from Willy's MB jeeps) but the chromed plastic engine is so huge it pops the bonnet clean off, its supercharger intake turning into a giant snout that can only inhale air so that the newly-transplanted V8 engine can breathe. Typical jeepneys use a diesel motor from Isuzu or Mitsubishi, so you can tell that Dmitriy Shakhmatov is going the extra mile with this model.

Look at it from the side, though, and you can still tell that it's the same sort of jeep you've come to rely on, from the flared fenders to the open passenger-side seating (the ideal seat), chromed underside and multicolour graphics.

It's not too fancy, at least it's not nearly as fancy as some jeepneys I've seen, and the fact that the text says "ROAD BANDIT TAXI" is blasphemous because taxis wish they could seat 20 to 24 passengers and some more hangers-on and roof riders. But the silhouette is unmistakable: it's a jeepney from bumper to bumper, but with gym-built pumps and rear wheels big enough that it could pop a sick wheelie once the light turns green at España Boulevard.

It even has a door! Granted, not every jeepney has a door but most cargo-hauling jeepneys do, and I've even ridden in jeeps that have doors there at the back (I've also seen at least two jeepneys that use side doors like a typical bus). I can't pull it out, though, even with the tab of clear violet plastic jutting out of the back -- it's inset to the rest of the metal body, stretching to the end of the roof, forming a fairly trippy sunroof that imparts a fun purple hue. All it needs are some cheap subwoofers.

Speaking of cheap, that's the other defining trait of the Road Bandit. Having to hit the one-US-dollar price point means that some sacrifices have to be made. It's easy to see on the roof: while it's a clever sunroof, it could use more metal as it would've been a good place to add some more expressive graphics. That's a cost-cutting measure; so is the chromed-plastic part that builds the engine, side trim and interior. It's still not nearly as long as I thought it'd be.

And it's a little too light. Don't get me wrong, this casting is well-built and robust, able to withstand typical play and even a bout of Boracay sand. But it also doesn't inspire much confidence in terms of longevity, and I like the effect made by the plastic roof a bit too much to scuff it. It feels too thick in some places and too thin in others.

CHAPTER 3: Manila I'm coming home

Which, I suppose, checks out for the jeepney. I'm not looking for anything fancy like the ultra-high-detail ones from Kyosho or Tarmac Works. If anything, the fact that it's made cheaply works in its favour; it still looks good, and its low-buck construction makes it relatively accessible to anyone with Php120 to Php130. That's not a lot of money, but the daily minimum wage is Php537 so it's for sure a vanity one can only afford if they have some leftover pocket money.

And in this economy, that's hard to justify, especially when one has to go to a mall to buy it and even then there's the chance of the jeepney getting scalped out of the hangers. At that point, you've gone hungry; might as well spend it on a value meal from Jollibee.

But if you do have the money for one or two, is the Road bandit worth it? I'd say it is, and not merely because it's a hot-rod jeepney. Novelty and pride go a long way in proving this casting's worth in the Philippines, but elsewhere it's a generic casting that's filling a spot that a fun licensed car from Porsche or Datsun could have been in.

Representation counts for the largest chunk of its appeal. And to see a jeepney brush alongside animal-shaped cars, Japanese tuner classics, American muscle and European rarities is to see the flag of the Philippines fly alongside others. "I'm here now," so says the Road Bandit, "and I've brought the extended family for the car show." Much like the Tuk-Tuk, it's a toy for locals sold everywhere in the world, a small reminder of the sights and sounds of home.

But I've always wondered why the Road Bandit jeepney looked the way it did; why it has a gigantic engine and rear wheels that are as thick as steamrollers. Why Shakhmatov saw a hot rod in the jeepney. Does he reckon that the jeepney is a BIG DEAL kind of big deal? That the engine is enough to pull entire neighbourhoods out of poverty? If the Road Bandit represents a brash yet flamboyant minibus fit for a resilient nation, where is its crown? Why can't we Filipinos see the jeepney with the same sort of imagination?

I don't think I'd find all the answers just from taking stills of this casting. I'd have to go out there, into the streets, to find them. But what I can say is this: you'll never see anything quite like the Road Bandit. Take one. Treasure it.

Final verdict: 7/10

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EPILOGUE: This review constitutes only one part of a 3-part look into jeepney culture and the greater problem surrounding public transportation in the Philippines. I don't want to stop here, but I wanted to start here, from a hobby angle, as it's both a more familiar space to me and a baseline for a micro-level look. This review is only the beginning.