Fun
Frisky
Nostalgic
Intense
Adventurous
Choked Up
Curious
Romantic
Weird
We thought Clint Eastwood had hung up his acting spurs a long time ago, but they keep jinglin’ and janglin’, most recently in Cry Macho — now back on HBO Max — a sentimental old-cowboy drama he also directs. Remember when he famously muttered “I ain’t like that no more,” in Unforgiven? His character, Bill Munny, was trying to convince himself he was no longer capable of killing a man, but nobody bought it. That was the first time Eastwood bridged an on-screen character with his iconic Hollywood persona; he subsequently created metaphors for aging and self-reinvention with Gran Torino — which was supposed to mark his retirement from acting — and this new film, in which he plays a washed-up, lonely ex-rodeo star sent to Mexico to fetch his boss’ wayward teenage son. The question here is whether Eastwood, at the age of 91, is finding new shades of wisdom in his work, or coasting on the fumes of the past.
CRY MACHO: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?
The Gist: Mike Milo (Eastwood) used to strap himself to a riled-up bronc or steer and hold on tight as it bucked and thrashed, and he did it longer than many other men. Then he broke his back. Took too many pills. Drank too much booze. Lost his family. Almost certainly lost his sense of self, who he was. Now he doesn’t seem to have much beyond an ability to train horses — and his boss, Howard Polk (Dwight Yoakam), just canned his ass for being late to work again. But the two men go back a ways. Howard was there to pick up Mike when he was at his lowest. Helped him out. And now Mike owes him one. A big one: Howard wants someone to go to Mexico and bring back his 15-year-old son. And Mike’s his man. Mike is stooped over and sullen — an old man. And he’s Howard’s man? OK. Sure.
Mike fires up his Suburban and heads to the border, which is easy to cross because it’s 1979. He pulls up to the Mexico City address Howard gave him and it’s a mansion, in full swing, party central. Two toughs see a hunched geriatric white man making his way among the revelers, and they immediately shuttle him to Leta (Fernanda Urrejola). Howard warned Mike about her. She’s the kid’s mother, and she’s a piece of work. Mike states his business. “He’s MY property,” she shoots back. But the kid isn’t even on her property — he’s R-U-N-N-O-F-T. The boy is a monster, she says, then she lays on her satin sheets and beckons him over. Mike declines. He soon wanders into a cockfighting ring and spots Rafa (Eduardo Minett). The cops conveniently bust up the gathering and after they leave Mike chases down Rafa’s rooster and threatens to wring its neck. Rafa emerges. Is this the auspicious start of a beautiful friendship?
Mike and Rafa hit the road with the rooster, whose name is Macho. They camp out for the night. Rafa is covered with bruises. He wasn’t treated well by his mother. They avoid the federales — who one assumes are bought and sold by people like Rafa’s mother — and stop at a restaurant for breakfast. Macho comes with them, which strikes me as against the health code. Rafa asks Mike, “Can I wear your hat?” And how do you think 91-year-old Clint Eastwood would respond to that? “No. It’s a cowboy hat, and you’re not a cowboy.” Looks like someone’s gonna make the kid a cowboy, though — eventually, anyway. They make their way north. They run in with Leta’s goons, but wriggle away. They meet Marta (Natalia Traven), a lovely and generous cantina owner who’s a widowed grandmother. They hang out. They find a kind rancher who could use an experienced hand like Mike. Mike teaches the kid to put on a saddle and then to climb into one. “Look where you’re goin’ and go where you’re lookin’,” he tells the kid.
What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: I’ll be damned if Cry Macho doesn’t sit in a tiny sliver of the shadow of Unforgiven, a hands-down classic in which Eastwood tough-lessons Jaimz Woolvett’s brash Schofield Kid in the ways of being a cold-blooded mean-as-hell damn killer. Shades of Gran Torino here too. And damned if I didn’t think of the last old guy/young guy cross-country team up movie I saw, The Marksman, a boilerplate Liam Neeson vehicle. These comparisons get less flattering as I go along, don’t they?
Performance Worth Watching: A lot of single notes being played here, and with Minett a relatively unseasoned actor who struggles to make the dialogue convincing, this particular notation is Eastwood’s by default. He finds a little joy and finds a little melancholy here, but you wish he had a better ear for a better script this time.
Memorable Dialogue: “If a guy wants to name his cock Macho, it’s OK by me.” — Mike double-entendres his way into the kid’s heart
Sex and Skin: None.
Our Take: Keep your rooster jokes to yourself, please. It’s too easy. Too, too easy. Same goes for the conflicts in Cry Macho — too easily resolved. Plot devices. Conveniences, one of which involves the chicken. Why else would they carry it around? Actually, I have an answer for that: the chicken is a symbol. Its name is Macho. There’s a question here about what makes a man a man. Mike knows how to take care of animals. Horses, pigs, goats. Why not a rooster? Why not a kid, as in a human kid, not a goat kid? Rafa’s parents aren’t really doing it.
Such is the thematic porridge that seeps through this collection of awkwardly staged scenes weighed down by stilted dialogue. The film moves at an affable dawdle, cowpoking its way through a minimalist plot, Eastwood muttering through a throatful of gravel, Minett overemoting like he’s on the Disney Channel. They do defy expectations by not going as dark as we may anticipate — the spectre of death doesn’t hover over these fellas, but rather, something lighter, whatever it may be. Hope? Acceptance? Redemption? Yeah, sure. It’s vague enough to be these things, and maybe some other things.
Are you going to buy the scenes in which a surly — but not as surly as you think! — Eastwood is irresistible to women? Or the one where he socks an armed man in the nose? An armed man that’s one-third of his age? The struggle to filter true character from this film is all too real. These people are at the whim of a plot, and a flimsy one. It’s easier to swallow the idea that Mike and Rafa bring out the best in each other, the old man sharing his wisdom and the young man sharing his boyish enthusiasm. Eastwood directs as he always has, sparingly, aiming for clarity. There’s a wonderful shot of him stretching out in the darkness beneath the horizon as the sun dips below. It’s really, truly lovely. You’ve gotta see it, especially if you have an appreciation for the many Westerns that are the calling cards of his career.
Eastwood revels more in sentiment than the tough-guy stuff of his past, but that’s not shocking. We knew we had it in him, the old softie. That’s not a criticism, not in the least, although Cry Macho never really puts its boots on solid ground. It’s neither here nor there. It’s a thoroughly middling film. I cringed more than I laughed or felt emotional elevation. I didn’t expect a gale, but neither did I expect such a stale breeze. “I used to be a lot of things. But not now,” Mike says. Or is Eastwood saying that?
Our Call: SKIP IT. Cry Macho is an overly earnest, unfocused clunker, far from Eastwood’s best.
John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Read more of his work at johnserbaatlarge.com or follow him on Twitter: @johnserba.
