IT'S NOT EXACTLY BJ AND THE BEAR:

WHEN IT COMES to self-driving technology, some of the biggest and earliest gains could come in the biggest vehicles. More than a few companies are working to deliver 18-wheelers that eliminate the human behind the wheel, drastically reduce their workload, or relocate them to a driving simulator in a cubicle.

That's great for trucking companies eager to cut costs, and for safety as well: Crashes involving trucks kill about 4,000 people on US roads every year. Artificial intelligence systems excel at the kind of monotonous concentration where humans so often fail. They don't get bored, complain about roadside food options, or demand pay raises. They see farther and react faster, so it makes sense to bake computer control into big-rigs, to make them safer and more efficient.

The tech is not so great, however, the people who work one of the most common jobs in the country, one that provides a steady middle class income. "It's a hard life," says Allie Knight, who drives a big rig and vlogs about life on the road. "You have to maintain a large vehicle on the road for three to four weeks at a time. It's not just a job, it's a lifestyle."

"The truth is, making the movie was a really traumatic experience. I suspect I may have developed some mild PTSD." This is how filmmaker Alexander Perlman describes shooting Lot Lizard, his hypnotic new documentary about truck stop prostitution. While his claim might sound hyperbolic--or like a canny bit of marketing--it rings true: He logged thousands of miles and hundreds of hours to make the film, braving roach motels, crack highs, and homicidal pimps. Indeed, what Perlman captures in Lot Lizard is visceral and harrowing.

The film's three protagonists--Betty, Monica, and Jennifer--work on the fringes of the trucking industry. America's Independent Truckers' Association estimates there are nearly 5,000 truck stops across the country, and although many offer nondescript places to sleep, eat, or shower, many others host a bustling shadow economy of sex and drugs. Lurk on truckers' online message boards long enough and you'll likely come across what amounts to a guide to interstate sex, replete with lurid tall tales (see here, here, and here).

Life on the road, they say, is lonely. To quote one trucker in Lot Lizard: "These walls close in on you. Being in this truck can actually make you crazy." As Perlman discovered, however, the women--and, occasionally, men--who cater to this loneliness don't fare much better. Betty and Monica are addicted to crack, Monica is homeless when she's not crashing with friends or sympathetic drivers, and both are entangled in dysfunctional relationships. "I can feel money," Betty says, a kind of human divining rod, and yet she spends most of the film desperately searching for just that.

Jennifer, an ex-addict and single mother who recently quit prostitution, struggles to maintain her sobriety. She buys a house but can't find a job. With time and money running out, she weighs the economics of earning minimum wage at a McJob versus hustling on the lot again. (Guess which pays more?) It's a particularly wrenching moment in a film loaded with them.

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