Clint Eastwood

Paint Your Wagon

Play Misty for Me

Well, howdy, partners! This week I endured the psychological thriller that is being laid off from a job and the body horror that is getting one’s wisdom teeth extracted and somehow I am still standing. Unemployed and somewhat toothless but still standing, nonetheless. In these rough times I feel like I’m living in a noir, or perhaps a war-torn Western, which brings me to tonight’s double feature honoree. You may be thinking, “why would a progressive, twenty-first century feminist who’s allergic to toxic masculinity have a whole night dedicated to well-known crazy conservative douchebag Clint Eastwood?”, and you’d be right to be confused. In the handful of old-timey Texas films and Westerns I’ve watched, I’m fairly certain I spent my viewing cursing the likes of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood for all that they represent and all that they have done. But there comes a time in every film critic’s life when they must come to terms with the fact that even actors they do not care for have made excellent movies. I’ve had a few moments like this in my life, but one actor and filmmaker whom I’ve avoided time and time again is Clint Eastwood—who was, at one time at least, a respected artist. But his connections to the republican party and countless scummy politicians has muddied his image, as well as the bizarre films he’s made in the latter half of this career. I’m not saying I like the guy, literally at all, but unfortunately Clint Eastwood is just one of those actors and directors involved in a shocking amount of films that are necessary to be seen by cinephiles who want a well-rounded and appropriately-complex education in cinema. And, most unfortunately of all, Clint Eastwood used to be a hottie, and for this reason, alone, my curiosity to see his early work has never ceased. This 93 year old chaotic libertarian Gemini has directed, starred in, and produced countless films, many of which have been critically acclaimed or, at least, infamous. He and Francis Ford Coppola are the only two people alive who have directed two Best Picture winners, and in addition to composing music for some of his later films Clint had a short-lived but significant singing career early on. He was held back in middle school, never graduated high school, and tells everyone he served in the Korean War when, in actuality, he was stationed at Port Ord in California where he worked as a lifeguard for his entire two-year military stint. The only action Clint saw was when he chartered a plane to have an affair with a woman in Seattle, the plane ran out of fuel and crashed, and he and the pilot had to swim two miles to safety. The stories of Clint Eastwood’s love affairs are certainly more interesting than his film career: he has eight known kids by six women, often parenting children with his side chicks only—making him the Nick Cannon of the 20th Century. I feel for his kids, especially Scott, who’s most notable acting role to date was in Taylor Swift’s Wildest Dreams music video. This actor, director, producer, singer, one-time mayor of Carmel-by-the-Sea, CA, stubborn old fart symbol of masculinity has fought to uphold his tough-guy persona, well into his 90s—often making macho guy films and casting himself as the lead macho man. He used to make intriguing films with interesting and provocative stories like Mystic River, The Bridges of Madison County, Changeling, and now he makes republican war porn like American Sniper and grumpy old white man “get off my lawn” porn like Gran Torino and The Mule (where his character allegedly has 2 threesomes [he directed and and cast himself in this role…]) He’s conservative but he’s not uptight I guess? He’s not religious or bound by any specific creed or code of ethics (clearly) but instead has spoken about how he finds spirituality in nature, and dabbles in transcendental meditation. All of this is to say that Clint Eastwood is a fascinating figure, and a problematic favorite to many, but much like Charlton Heston, the films Eastwood used to star in rarely reflected his political or personal beliefs. Both of tonight’s films were surprisingly progressive and pleasantly peculiar, and while these films only bolstered Eastwood’s tough-guy typecasting, they were anything but straightforwardly macho. Clint got his start on the Western television show Rawhide, which would catapult him to stardom and pigeon-hole him into strictly cowboy roles for decades. One such role was in the musical-comedy adaptation of Paint Your Wagon, directed by Joshua Logan in 1969. Tough guy actors throughout history have often been born with a song in their hearts and an undeniable talent for singing and dancing—Clint was not the first and he will not be the last. This song and dance man was handsome and heavenly in Paint Your Wagon, as the unwitting partner to Lee Marvin’s drunkard character Ben Rumson, but if it weren’t for his gorgeous face, I’m not sure if he would’ve stood out. Alongside costars Lee Marvin and Jean Seberg, Clint Eastwood is decently charming, and his voice is soft and sensitive in a way that was very unexpected. I would explain the plot of Paint Your Wagon to you, but I will spare you that labor, dear reader, because it hardly makes any sense at all—even for a Western musical. Just know that there is far more polyamory in this story than you might expect. Obviously Paint Your Wagon was not the joyfully silly and fabulously queer spectacle that Calamity Jane was. Narratively it was all over the place but even if the film gave us a coherent plot with enough time built in for its characters to build chemistry, this film would still be a mess. Clint and Jean Seberg were stunning and sexy and viable enough as a couple I suppose. And Lee Marvin was fully committed to the never-ending whisky bender that his character was on, his physical comedy and performance overall was the standout of the entire film for me. It just lacked the cohesion and memorable storytelling that I crave from musicals. The music in a musical should be captivating, it should help carry out the story—not hinder the story from being told—and unfortunately I didn’t feel that the music added anything to this tale. And it’s not that I expected a ton from a musical-Western—which are statistically the two least favorite genres among most people—but there was a lack of vibrancy, excitement, and intrigue in this film. Paint Your Wagon was an expensive flop that even Clint’s squinty James Dean good looks couldn’t save, and on top of everything else Eastwood and Seberg had an affair on set and yet he fully ignored Seberg for years to come—even though they often ran into each other on the Paramount lot. Typical. This messy film was worth the watch, though, if only to see how young and hot and sweet Clint Eastwood used to be—or used to pretend to be. I, personally, am always entertained when I see the bros who have worked so hard on their macho image sing a little diddy and dance a little jig but maybe that’s just me. Just two years later, Eastwood would star in another role where he had to be tough but sweet, the first film he ever directed: Play Misty for Me. Play Misty for Me is just one film in a long line of movies about crazed female stalkers and the poor, greedy men who attract them (a la Fatal Attraction) but there was something extremely captivating about this one. Eastwood stars as Dave Garber, a nighttime radio disc jockey in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California—making remarkable use of his low, slow, almost devoid of any energy vocal tone. Play Misty for Me features many Carmel and Monterrey attractions like the bridge famously-featured in the show Big Little Lies, and the scenery of this place in general was just as eye-catching as its attractive leads. One night after a late night broadcast, Dave goes to his favorite little bar and meets a woman named Evelyn Draper (played by the legendary dramatic and comedic actress Jessica Walter)—who admits that she was hoping she’d run into him, because she’s a huge fan of his radio show. She is such a devoted listener that she never misses a show, and often calls in to request that Dave play an old jazz standard that she adores called “Misty.” Instead of being off-put by Evelyn’s obsessive fanaticism, he is thoroughly charmed by it, and swiftly has sex with her. She comes off very laid back for a superfan, and fulfills Dave’s desire to have a no-strings-attached fling just before he settles down with his real girlfriend, Tobie (played by Donna Mills) The only problem, is that Evelyn is a far better actress than Dave is a judge of character, and what begins as a casual tryst becomes a formidable nightmare. Evelyn becomes Dave’s stalker, and the naive and cocky Dave is incredibly easy to stalk. Jessica Walter is a beautifully bonkers antagonist to Eastwood’s dry but sexy “hero”. Her wardrobe was impeccable, and her performance was electric and terrifying while remaining somewhat sympathetic, which is not easy to do. I haven’t seen the other Clint-films written by his longtime collaborators Jo Heims and Dean Riesner (Dirty Harry, The Enforcer) but I can’t imagine that they’re any better than the script written for Play Misty for Me—one that was overflowing with hilarious dialogue and genuine suspense. Much like Keanu in the ferocious flop Knock Knock, I couldn’t feel too bad for Play Misty for Me’s leading man, given the fact that he played a major role in leading on his stalker. But unlike Keanu, in any given film, Clint’s bad acting was difficult to ignore or forgive. This may or may not be a hot take, but Clint Eastwood couldn’t act then, and he can’t act now. And observing the comedic genius of Lee Marvin and the dramatic prowess of Jessica Walter acting circles around Eastwood, respectively, just made his acting inability all the more clear. Sure, he can squint and look dashing as he leans against a saloon door, but can he deliver a line without sounding out-of-breath and bored? That would “make my day” as Clint famously once said, but I don’t think that’ll happen in his or my lifetime. But as much shit as I talk about his acting abilities, I thoroughly enjoyed Play Misty for Me, and all of the times him and Jessica Walter implicitly had crazy-eye competitions (which she always won) because I enjoy films about psychopathic women far more than I should. I know there are far more Clint Eastwood movies left to see, though I doubt I’ll ever prioritize them, but now I at least understand what all the Clint-hype was about back in his hey-day. Clint may be an old curmudgeon who hates poor people and loves guns but he is also a shining example of Hollywood’s obsession with hot dudes that cannot act—a tradition that many actors still uphold to this day. Thanks for reading along this week, partners, may your favorite hot guy actors be like Keanu, and not Clint. Toodles!