Monday, July 20, 2009

Gran Torino (2008)

I wanted to love “Gran Torino” – an angry film directed by and starring Clint Eastwood, one of my cinematic heroes since I was old enough to watch and follow movies. But I can’t love this.

Eastwood plays the racist, hate-spewing, agnostic Korean War vet Walt Kowalski who is grumbling, grunting and muttering his way through his final years. The occasional sentence comes out thusly: “Get. Off. My. Lawn!” Walt hates his remaining family, who hate him right back. A Ford driver and worker all his life, Detroit-bred Walt only can say “grrrr” at the sight of his son in a foreign car. That the son sells said foreign car model is all the more bothersome. Walt also nearly kicks the collar off a young pastor’s neck, despite the man’s attempt to warn our man of hell and damnation.

Walt, of course, is due for a change of heart. These things happen in movies. And that change comes in the guise of the Hmong family that moves in next door, and the local punk gang that targets the innocent. All are cardboard flat characters.

Much of the film is cardboard flat, though. Eastwood’s face never breaks through that angry rock motion, even as the film draws to its inevitable “he’s really good inside” conclusion. Yes, Clint Eastwood kicks ass, locks and loads and … I won’t give too much away.

Even the worst of Clint Eastwood is better than 90 percent of the films released in any given year in Hollywood’s history, and his one-note performance still is mesmerizing. You never forget for a second that this is a masterful star and director at work, despite the so-so script.

The ending is way too neat, defies logic, and is way too ABC After School Special. Worse, “Gran Torino” never really cracks through and fully explores some major issues inside Walt’s mind and soul, ones that haunt America’s mind and soul even now. But it gives our hero (is he a hero?) a Jesus pose so over-the-top, even the good Lord’s eyes must have rolled when cameras did the same on location. Hmm, did Jesus ever cock a gun, and mutter, “Get. Off. My. Lawn!”? B-

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