Clint Eastwood is 91, so you have to wonder whether the Eastwood film you're watching will be his last—his swan song, as they say. I watched his latest, "Cry Macho," and all I can say is... I sure hope he's got another film in him because I'd hate for Eastwood to be remembered for this. Don't get me wrong: "Cry Macho" has some nice moments, but overall, this is far from one of Eastwood's best efforts. The 2021 film tells the story of an old cowboy in 1979 who is asked to cross into Mexico to bring back his ex-boss's now-thirteen-year-old son.
The story begins with Mike Milo (Eastwood) driving into work and apparently arriving late. Late for what? Well, his boss Howard Polk (country singer Dwight Yoakam, who has an impressive filmography and was memorable as a baddie in 1996's "Sling Blade") is firing him, so Mike is late to clean out his locker and git. But Howard and Mike have a long relationship, and Howard comes to Mike later on to ask him the huge favor of recovering Howard's son Rafo (Eduardo Minett) from a mother he describes as crazy and cruel. The story follows Mike into Mexico where he first encounters Rafo's crazy, cruel, and slutty mother Leta (Fernanda Urrejola, playing it sexy and unhinged), then finally finds Rafo engaging in illegal cockfighting with his rooster Macho (which Rafo says is Spanish for "strong," but which is more like saying "manly"). Mike and Rafo have a prickly relationship: Rafo has, according to his mother, been leading a life of crime—Leta calls her son "a monster"—and the boy obviously has trust issues. But what initially seems like a road movie turns into something more like a hang-out movie as Mike and Rafo stop in one town and get to know the locals, especially the widow Marta (Natalia Traven), a kindly soul who runs a restaurant and cares for her grandkids. Do Mike and Rafo make it to the border, or do they become so comfortable in Marta's town that they decide to stay there, leaving ol' Howard high and dry? I'll let you find out for yourself.
"Cry Macho" is based on the 1975 novel of the same name by N. Richard Nash. The movie apparently sat in development hell for years and went through any number of potential directors and stars. Eastwood actually had the story in his hands back in the 1980s, but he elected to pass on it. There was a moment, in the early 2000s, when even Arnold Schwarzenegger had been tapped for the lead role, but Arnold had to pass so he could deal with the scandal of banging his ugly housekeeper and fathering an illegitimate son with her. Years later, the script fell into Eastwood's hands again, and this time, I guess he felt old enough to play the part of Mike Milo. The film has a sort of cobbled-together feel, and especially in this "woke" day and age, I imagine it was hard for Eastwood, who's no leftie, to find people willing to work with him. The result is something of a hodgepodge of a cast.
The cast is part of the problem. While the Spanish-speaking actors are almost all solid (except for Eduardo Minett—we'll get to him in a moment), I can't say that the English-speaking part of the cast was nearly as good, and that includes Eastwood himself. Eastwood seems to be coasting on the diplomatic capital he's earned from becoming a screen icon after decades in the industry, but if you didn't know who he was, I think your perception of the movie would be that its star seems old and tired, and that events completely out of his control seem to happen around him. You also wouldn't buy the idea that women might find this old, dusty fart even remotely charming. Eastwood still had a twinkle in his eye back when he did "In the Line of Fire" opposite Renée Russo (1993, almost three decades ago); he retained some feistiness and verve, some of his old strength. But now? The man is a wispy shell of his former self. Pairing him up with female cast members, at this point, feels almost embarrassing and depressing, and maybe a bit creepy. Dwight Yoakam, whatever his filmography (which includes a role in "Logan Lucky" that I don't even remember), doesn't exactly give an Oscar-winning performance as Howard; he was much better in "Sling Blade," maybe because his character in that film was better written. And I hate to say it because I wanted to like the kid, but worst of all is Eduardo Minett as Rafo, Howard's son and Mike Milo's foil for most of the film. Minett's line readings almost always feel like just that: readings, unnatural and stilted. The kid doesn't have the easy sincerity that good actors possess; he may have a certain look (Rafo is supposed to be a worldly thirteen-year-old), but he's not too convincing in the role he's given. Of course, part of the problem, here, is the way the character of Rafo was written.
Which brings us to the film's next problem: its script. When the script isn't busy giving us exposition dumps or spelling out thoughts that ought to be left unsaid (remember the writerly rule of "show, don't tell"), it's offering us stiff dialogue that feels as if it should have gone through a few rounds of script-doctoring to produce something a bit smoother, more naturalistic, and wittier. Aspects of the story don't quite make sense: why does Howard, Mike's ex-boss, ask Mike to recover his son after firing Mike? And while Leta calls her son "a monster," where's the evidence that Rafo is one? Perhaps the best-written character in the movie is a minor one: a sheriff's deputy in Marta's town who seems sinister at first, but who turns out only to want Mike to take a look at the family dog (it's established that Mike, as a longtime ranch hand, is good with all kinds of animals). I would've liked for the film to linger a bit more on this aspect of Mike, a man who has come to feel old, depressed, and useless, having lost his family in an accident years ago and having broken his back during a rodeo once. It would have been nice for the film to focus more on how Mike's arrival in Marta's town makes him feel useful and loved among the Mexicans he meets. But while the film does hint at some of this, the story is impatient to press onward: Rafo's crazy mother has sent henchmen after Rafo and Mike, so they can't stay in Marta's town forever.
Along with starring in the lead role, Eastwood produced and directed "Cry Macho." The result is, I'm sad to say, something of a slow, lingering, wet fart. I understand that the age group most interested in this movie is over 65; Eastwood's unpretentious directing style, which allows actors to act and doesn't force the pace too hard, is perfect for that age group. But per the equestrian metaphor, Eastwood could have used a tighter rein, here. A different set of actors should have been chosen (especially for the roles of Rafo and Howard), and Eastwood should have considered staying behind the camera, letting someone else play the role of Mike Milo. Most significantly, Eastwood should not have taken N. Richard Nash's story and made it into yet another opportunity for him to beat the same drum he's been beating since "Unforgiven": that old age sucks, and that all is vanity. This has been Clint Eastwood's message since the late 1980s, and while it's an important message, I think it might be nice for the man to end his career on a more positive note. One reason why I enjoyed "Gran Torino" so much was that Eastwood's Walt Kowalski was ornery and feisty. Sure, he was old, but he was tough and mean, and in the end, he proved cleverer than his enemies. The Eastwood of "Cry Macho" is little more than a whispering ghost in comparison. And as I said above, I really hope this isn't the note that Clint Eastwood goes out on.
Speaking of notes, my final remark is about the music. I've made no secret of the fact that I can't fucking stand twangy country music. I'm fine with the likes of Willie Nelson, Kenny Rogers, Kris Kristofferson, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, and Bonnie Raitt, but singers like Garth Brooks and Winona Judd—the twangers—make my ears bleed. Unfortunately for "Cry Macho," a song written for the movie, "Find a New Home," is sung by Will Banister, who belongs to the Brooks/Judd school of intolerable twanginess. To put it mildly, the song did nothing to predispose me to liking the film more.
Please, Clint, before you leave us, make a decent movie we can all get behind.
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