“A man’s got to know his limit Asians.”

The Enforcer in the ‘burbs.

It’s not a Dirty Harry film… But someone forgot to tell Clint Eastwood.

Clint Eastwood carries around so much Legend with him that no matter how he approaches a character, we view him through the prism of his inimitable Avenger archetypes. He was Dirty Harry in only five of his nearly 60 starring films (DIRTY HARRY, MAGNUM FORCE, THE ENFORCER, SUDDEN IMPACT, and THE DEAD POOL) yet when Clint goes Avenger, no matter his character name – from TIGHTROPE to IN THE LINE OF FIRE – he’ll always be Harry Callahan to us. So it’s hard to be objective about GRAN TORINO.

Gran Poffino.

Foul-mouthed Walt Kowalski (Eastwood) is an outspoken racist who demeans religion, drinks and smokes, estranges himself from his children and grandchildren, mocks foreign families, and pulls a rifle on a boy who tries to steal his car. Only Clint could play this 78-year-old, unrepentant Korean War vet and still be loved for it. No one else could have pulled it off – after all, a man’s got to know his limitations.

Recently widowed Kowalski is the last white man standing in a Detroit neighborhood overrun by Hmong immigrant families from Southeast Asia and Vietnam. He is none too happy with his social situation – in fact, he acts the hell out of the Actor’s Workshop definitions of Cantankerous and Surly – and keeps busy by obsessively mowing his lawn (seemingly subsisting on nothing but beef jerky and beer) and fawning over his prized 1972 Gran Torino (“put the engine block in myself”).

A local gang forces Kowalski’s young neighbor, Thao (Bee Vang), to “mess with another man’s vehicles” and steal the Gran Torino as initiation, but Thao comes up against Kowalski’s aforementioned rifle and flees. The next night when the gang returns for the unwilling Thao, a scuffle breaks out and ends up on Kowalski’s well-tended lawn.

There can be nothing more foreboding, and yet so hysterically funny, than Clint Eastwood aiming a rifle at a gangbanger’s head and bringing his velvet rasp to bear on that age-old phrase of grumpy old men: “Get off my lawn!”

In the history of this icon’s menacing, clenched-teeth deliveries, that has got to be one of the most hilarious. Because that is the moment Walt/Clint/Philo becomes Dirty Harry. And for once, we cheer the grumpy old man.

That’s why no one else could have played this role. When someone offends a character played by Clint, we expect Clint to pull a gun. It’s as natural for him as pulling out his keys. Anything less would detract from his Avenger awesomeness. Now if Woody Allen played Kowalski, we’d have a more believable “Everyman pushed to the edge.” Clint is hardly Everyman. And you don’t have to push him to the edge to get a gun in your face – the middle will do. That’s what keeps Clint Harry.

While the Hmong neighborhood showers Kowalski with gifts for his “heroism,” the gang harbors a vendetta against Thao’s family, which only escalates. Meanwhile, Thao offers his services to Kowalski to atone for his attempted theft; thus even as events concatenate to bring out the Callahan in Kowalski, his paternal side is awakened as he mentors Thao.

As Kowalski’s own doughy W.A.S.P. sons and their shiftless children grow more distant every day, Kowalski forms a begrudging bond with Thao and elder sister, Sue (Ahney Her), who brings Kowalski out of his provincial shell, showing him the world beyond American borders – just over the other side of his lawn.

Clint’s performance, though not Oscar-worthy, is vintage Clint, all sneering one-liners and avenger glares, recognizing his own star quality and humor and playing to those strengths. He even croaks the outro song. Because he can. Because he’s Clint. The cast of unknowns supporting him is another matter. All the Asians (except for Ahney Her and Doua Moua as the gang leader) cannot act and seem like props for the story to progress. In his first film role, Bee Vang does such a useless job as Thao that we’re constantly wondering whether he’s acting socially inept or whether his acting is inept. When you “fall out” of the film to wonder – Game Over.

An Asian shaman “reads” Kowalski like he’s reading his lines; to say nothing of the pseudo-mysticism, “You made a mistake in your life you’re not happy with.” Oh, Profundity! At 78, who hasn’t made a mistake in their life? “You’re not at peace.” Bet I can pick any 78 year old out of an audience and “prophesy” the same and his reply would be, “Duh!”

While on the other side of superstition, a young Catholic priest (Christopher Carley) serves as an annoying “conscience” for Kowalski; he consoled Kowalski’s wife in her last days and pesters Kowalski to take confession. Kowalski tells him straight: “I think you’re an overeducated 27 year old virgin who likes to hold the hands of superstitious old ladies and promise them everlasting life.”

We love you too, Harry.

As violence in the neighborhood escalates, the specter of Harry rises to meet it: “Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while you shouldn’t have messed with? That’s me.”

“I blow a hole in your face and sleep like a baby.”

This man has tongue-kissed Death, garnering war medals he has no use – and even less respect – for; we feel his visceral absence of fear against tiresome street punks who think they are tough because their pants are low. Eastwood shows us it has nothing to do with height of pants, as his are up somewhere near his armpits.

The pants are a dead giveaway – we realize with a sudden impact this man is a “grandpa.” It takes a bit of getting used to hearing his actual grandkids say it, rather than a bad guy mocking him before getting the subsequent knuckle sandwich or magnum opus.

Unflinching vigilantism: a staple of all Eastwood’s avenger films – GRAN TORINO, no exception. Whether Clint endorses it or not, judging by the audience cheers when Kowalski breaks the face of a gangbanger with his fists, I’d say we all know the difference between The Law and Justice, and that vigilantes do have their place in a world gone wimp.

So we feel the inevitable coming: Screenwriter Protocol decrees the Curmudgeon must soften and the Patsy must harden (i.e. racist Kowalski learns tolerance and wimpy Thao learns manliness – they “complete” each other) – but it doesn’t come! Taking their cue from that rubber bracelet, “What Would Harry Do?” director Eastwood and writers Nick Schenk and Dave Johannson allow Kowalski to become a hero without becoming insufferably pc.

Yet another Eastwood film that defines “heroism” clearly: A hero is someone who has the option NOT to be.

Kowalski does make that confession, but it is not what the priest expected – innocuous deeds that warrant ten Hail Marys. The real sins that haunt Kowalski are not confessable. “The thing that haunts a man the most… is what he isn’t ordered to do.”

Killing boy-soldiers in Korea still haunts Kowalski, so to save Thao’s and Sue’s lives and to redeem his own, Kowalski’s fearless, fading warrior goes out with a bang – literally. We can see the showdown looming, but because it’s Clint, we don’t quite accept what is happening until it happens. What Would Harry Do? At his age… in the ‘burbs… Harry just might…

Eastwood has claimed GRAN TORINO is his acting swansong, which is a tragedy for over four generations of boys who became men on his avenger characters. Perhaps this story’s conclusion is so stark because he finally, decisively, wants to put the specter of Harry to rest. That might be hard to do after 37 years, punk.

In LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD, I called Bruce Willis the screen’s Last Action Hero. I was wrong. There’s always gonna be some Dirty left in our Harry.

END

Retirement never looked so good – for the YOUNG guy!

Rocky LX: Grandpa’s Revenge, OR, The Senior Citizen that became a Child Beater.

Something old (Stallone), something new (this film), something borrowed (the script from ROCKY), something blue (Talia Shire, excised from this story for dramatic impact and watching from the ropes as ROCKY BALBOA garners accolades as the best Rocky movie since ROCKY).

Whilst working in one mediocre/forgotten/unseen film after another, Sylvester Stallone must have champed at the bit watching the glut of sequels, prequels and freak-quels litter the Hollywood wasteland. So it was never a question of IF his dambuster icon, Rocky, would tread the canvas once more, but whether the excursion would be a worthwhile one or just another throwaway sequel adding to the dilution of Rocky’s legacy. Thankfully, writer-director-star Stallone waited for the right time and the right script to make it worthwhile. (We are told that his other stormbringer, Rambo, is following suit.)

Yes, it’s about resurrecting a staple source of income, mining a well long thought run dry – but there’s nothing wrong with that if it is done this compellingly. The problem with franchises revisiting their roots is that they neglect the very elements that earned them their laurels, going “Hollywood” to chase the wider demographics and the easy cash. Stallone has gone the way of the darker prequels and pared-down sequels, in giving us an earthy, gritty final chapter in the Rocky legacy, which makes for a sturdy bookend to the series.

No blows below the belt.

Bringing to mind two recent revampings, viewing ROCKY BALBOA is like watching BATMAN BEGINS (a grittier character study of a well-worn icon, using latest filmic techniques), but with the content of SUPERMAN RETURNS (the script for the first movie in the series dusted off and sold as original).

The opening lines unashamedly foreshadow the plot, as we see current World Heavyweight Boxing Champion, Mason “The Line” Dixon (real-life light heavyweight champion, Antonio Tarver) in a television broadcast, being criticized as winning against losers in uninspiring matches (mayhaps a commentary on the state of boxing today?), commentator opining that boxing is “looking for a warrior to thrill us with his passion.” Cue Rocky’s saddened Philadelphia existence, wife Adrian having died five years ago, the Italian Stallion now eking out a living managing a reasonably popular Italian restaurant called “Adrian’s” (with Mexican cooks – most definitely a commentary on the workforce of today).

In yet another snide commentary – on the virtual world of the iPod and eFluenced generation – the plot is jogged into training by a televised computer matchup pitting a former boxing champ, Rocky, with the current champ, Dixon, Rocky’s pixels knocking out Dixon’s pixels, which – like the soft-minded real world of today – causes untold media debate and streetside squabbles pertaining to the “reality” of the computer’s decision.

Meanwhile, Rocky (Stallone, doing his best acting since COP LAND, 1997), pushing 60 and experiencing the mid-life crisis most of us go through at 40, points to his stomach and confesses to Pauly (Burt Young, as acerbic as ever) that he’s “still got some junk in the basement.” (I imagine the “basement” would be lower than the abdominal area, but I suppose it wouldn’t read as well if he said, “Yo, Pauly. I’ve still got some junk in my mezzanine.”)

Whatever the metaphor, we gather that Rocky wants to taste his own blood again as it spurts from his gashed brow ridges and broken teeth. Just local matches, he asserts. But fate will once more trip him into the spotlight, as Dixon’s managers, with cash signs in their eyes, cajole Rocky into an exhibition match on the strength of the public outcry of the computer matchup.

Cue – The Montage. Add Bill Conti‘s fanfare. Add beefcake. Serve hot. Enjoy. Admit it – every time you hear those blaring horns you make a promise to yourself to lose some pounds via one-handed pushups. Conti’s Rocky theme (Gonna Fly Now, birthed to be married to the ROCKY franchise forever, amen) stands as tall as Lalo Schifrin’s MISSION IMPOSSIBLE theme or Ennio Morricone’s DOLLAR trilogy figures – as iconic as the movie it was created for.

A welcome cameo by Tony Burton as Duke, hardened corner man from all six ROCKY movies: “We’re gonna develop those hurtin’ bombs.” Milo Ventimiglia plays Rocky’s accountant son as blandly as only an accountant could. (Stallone’s real son Sage, who appeared in ROCKY V, opting out. An exchange between Pauly and Rocky ostensibly regards his son’s absence from Adrian’s grave, but is really a wry nod to Sage’s absence due to business commitments. Pauly: “The kid shoulda been here.” Rocky: “The kid gets a little busy sometimes.”)

A girl who has been scared all her life (Geraldine Hughes) gives Rocky the inspirational “Fighters fight” speech. Character realism? No. But it’s a Rocky movie. Rocky himself soliloquys on life, which a young generation will no doubt latch onto as their philosophies, but which us geezers are inured to: “You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward.” Like the KISS legacy, youngsters who witness this “rebirth” of Rocky will soon rediscover a wealth of past glories. And bad fashion decisions. (To whit: Mr. T. in ROCKY III and Gene Simmons from the Asylum era – both with bad haircuts and wearing about the same amount of man-jewelry.)

Burt Young was 36 when he made ROCKY. And he looked 60. Stallone is now 60.
And Burt Young still looks like that…

ROCKY BALBOA, like ROCKY, is not about boxing. It’s not about winning. Like ROCKY, it’s about heart. So no matter the improbability of a geezer going up against a freight train, it’s not about the outcome. It’s about “going the distance.” And Stallone surely looks to be in the shape to do it. The only aspect that gives away his sexagenarian status is a few varicose veins in his right shoulder, otherwise, even if Stallone himself could never stand up to a real life champion half his age, it surely looks like Rocky could. (In later years, Stallone would attest to having a torn vein in that area from injuries on ROCKY II, and has since covered the blemish with massive tattoos.)

Dixon is also given a compelling reason to enter this match which will make him a loser whether he wins or loses the bout. (He wins – he beat up an old man; he loses – an old man beat him up.) An old trainer tells him, “Pride is what brought you here. Losing it is what brought you back.” He may be a winner in the ring – but a loser when it comes to pride. He is not made out to be too shallow or villainous, which is credit on Stallone’s part, whose controlled directorial and writing style in this film evokes an Eastwood-ian self-composure. Even in Rocky’s first streetside scuffle, there is initially an expectation that we are going to see him pull the guns out – but the two-second pushing scene is merely a cinematic hiccup. There is no manipulative music or camera god-angles.

Admittedly, the manipulation is saved for the final act, most obviously with Gotta Fly Now and then surprisingly, filmed entirely like a HBO pay-per-view sports event, with god-angles galore, which speaks derogatory volumes about our current sensibilities – meaning, real-life modern sports events have adopted the glam and slam of a Rocky movie, so filming this Rocky segment as if it was a real life event is an ironic case of art imitating life, which imitated art in the first place. The final fight scene also pays homage to Frank Miller’s sterling SIN CITY (2005) with certain shots in black and white with snatches of startling color.

Dare I state the outcome? If you’ve seen ROCKY, you’ll know the ending. And Rocky/Stallone makes it clear that this will be Rocky’s swansong, “I’ve gotten rid of the Beast.” The end credits feature shots of people running up the famous stairs of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, putting a capper on the series, as we all realize, with a parting tear, that any more would definitely be parody.

No more junk in the mezzanine.

END