The film has limited mass appeal, and what Clint Eastwood brings this time out is more a deft shepherding of others’ talents than a showcasing of his own.
The fragile human body, aging or ailing, has been a favorite theme of director Clint Eastwood at least as far back as 1973’s Breezy.
For the first time, I can’t excuse the bull Clint Eastwood is selling.
Both images emit a roaring, pompous confidence in their lead candidates.
The remnants of war are fractious and far-flung in Eastwood’s impressive revisionist western.
Dark and gritty streets don’t get that way by themselves. Lurking eyes, thoughts soured by peril and desperation, and minds numbed by sickness and perversion make them that way.
Film usually reveals itself to audiences with splices and scratches, while Eastwood has shown how DV printing and projection can look pristine.
This trifurcated tale of death, grief, and the great beyond that finds Clint Eastwood succumbing to eye-rolling corniness.
You could disagree, and claim that a few pop selections help people notice the small stuff. Hopefully.
The debate over the evolution of the movies’ depiction of native peoples isn’t always on the mark.
Eastwood’s dull Invictus receives a lackluster welcome to home video.
The director category is starting to feel like an anniversary party we’re not sure we want to go to anymore.
Throughout, stock plot tropes and moral messages are proffered with easy-to-read blandness.
A featurette or liner notes elaborating on the subversive qualities of the film would have been nice.
Like Nixon said, when Harvey Milk stabs Dan White in the back and all but blackmails George Moscone, it’s not illegal.
This week I did something that I rarely ever do: I took the bus into work.
What it loses in some of its labored comedy of invective it gains in its refusal to make Walt as cuddly as late-era Archie Bunker.
Changeling announces itself as an autopsy of an expansive body of lies that it never actually performs.
Clint Eastwood is a masterful director, but he loses control of Changeling’s tone.
San Francisco has a long and diverse film history, yet most roads in Fog City Mavericks seem to lead to either the Skywalker Ranch or Pixar Studios.