Yes, that's what the time machine is. The first time it works in the Twin Pines Mall parking lot, Doc sticks Einstein (the adorable little dog monster) in the car and, using a remote control, slams on the accelerator, shooting the car as fast as he can right at himself and Marty, who's filming it. When Marty tries to move out of the way, Doc pressures him back with a smoldering look.
I'm using "smoldering" correctly, right?
At this point in the movie we've seen quite a few of Doc Brown's inventions, and not a single one has worked properly. Yet when he builds a time machine -- the single most ambitious piece of machinery any human being has ever attempted -- he's willing to gamble Marty's life and his own on the idea that it'll work? That's a distressing amount of confidence for a guy who can't even build a toaster that works properly.
Ya know why? Because it's not confidence. It's desperation. Brown built that time machine out of stolen uranium that he bought from Libyan terrorists. It doesn't matter how great his invention is -- the minute he goes public with it, people are going to ask how it works. Then they're going to ask him where he got the uranium, and then he's going to prison. Brown isn't working for money or recognition, he's working for his own satisfaction, his own identity. Let me paint this picture for you.
Every night since Nov. 5, 1955, when Doc Brown's failed suicide attempt (sure, buddy, you were "hanging a clock"), Brown has dreamed of mattering. Dreamed of creating something important. But every invention, be it a dog-food opener or even a simple amplifier, ends in utter disaster. Night after night he stares blankly at the ceiling until the cracks begin to writhe. Someday, he whispers to himself. Someday.