Much as it pains me to write these words…
Clint, it’s time to hang up your acting spurs.
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| Although Rafo (Eduardo Minett, right) eventually agrees to accompany Mike (Clint Eastwood) across the border and into Texas, to reunite with his long-estranged father, the boy insists on bringing his prize rooster along. |
It’s also obvious — even though this is a totally calm story, by Eastwood standards — that this man, as presented, couldn’t possibly accomplish the mission he’s been given.
Eastwood would have been perfect for this part 10 years ago, perhaps even five. But not now.
It’s distracting, and rips us right out of the movie.
Mind you, the Nick Schenk/N. Richard Mash screenplay is nothing to write home about. It’s a deliberately old-school entry in the “bonding road trip” genre; that would be fine, if the scripters paid better attention to detail. But their uneven narrative has plot holes that would swallow a pickup, and the non-conclusion leaves far too many hanging chads.
The year is 1979, the setting Texas. Mike Milo (Eastwood) is a former rodeo star and washed-up horse breeder deadened by depression: unable to do the work he loves best, and also devastated by long-ago personal loss. His former employer, Howard Polk (Dwight Yoakam, nicely understated), calls in a favor with a request: Cross the border into Mexico, find Polk’s long-estranged teenage son Rafo, and bring him home.
It won’t be easy, Polk warns. His Mexican ex-wife might know where the boy is, but they’re long past speaking terms. Even so — with one of Eastwood’s long-suffering sighs, and an expression of grim resignation — Mike accepts. It’s not as if he’s otherwise occupied.
Once across the border, his first stop is a chat with Leta (Fernanda Urrejola), the aforementioned ex-wife. She’s a spiteful alcoholic who apparently couldn’t care less about Rafo; Urrejola makes the woman thoroughly unpleasant. But Leta does know where her son can be found: at the local cock-fighting ring.
She cheerfully parts with this information because — and this is important — having appraised Mike, she doesn’t think him capable of making any headway with Rafo.
(People have underestimated Eastwood characters for more than half a century. It has become a Hollywood cliché.)
Predictably, Rafo (Eduardo Minett) is stubborn and contemptuous. But the boy soon is tantalized by the notion of living on a big Texas ranch, so he agrees to accompany Mike across the border. With one condition: He insists on bringing his prize fighting rooster, Macho … much to Mike’s eye-rolling dismay.
Happily, what follows does not devolve into the critter-generated slapstick of Eastwood’s two movies with Clyde the orangutan. Macho proves quite the companion as things proceed: alternately affectionate, amusing and protective. It could be argued that the rooster delivers a more persuasive performance than the excessively earnest Minett, who — in an uneven acting debut — frequently over-plays a scene.
(Head animal wrangler Lisa Brown and rooster trainer Jesus Aguilar actually worked with 11 birds — each capable of one specific action — to get such a complex performance from Macho.)
Naturally, what should have been an easy drive back to the border, becomes anything but. Turns out Polk was less than candid about the actual nature of his relationship with Leta, and she was equally disingenuous. Mike, Rafo and Macho suddenly find themselves on the run, pursued by thugs led by Leta’s henchman, Aurelio (Horacio Garcia-Rojas).
As also is cliché in such sagas, our heroes eventually gain respite via the kindness of strangers: in this case a widowed cantina owner (Natalia Traven, as Marta), and Porfirio (Marco Rodríguez, quietly dignified), a wrangler who corrals wild horses, breaks and then sells them.
Traven’s performance is sublime. Marta is this film’s warm heart: a benevolent, sheltering soul immediately charmed when Mike unexpectedly proves able to communicate with her deaf granddaughter via ASL (a disarming and truly sweet moment). Marta doesn’t speak much English; Mike doesn’t speak much Spanish. And yet they communicate in other ways.
No question: This sequence is the film’s highlight.
Unfortunately, the rest of the sloppy story soon resumes, building to a finale which leads one of our main characters to a highly uncertain fate. This is supposed to be a happy ending?
Mark Mancina’s gentle, often melancholy score is perfect for these events, and cinematographer Ben Davis makes excellent use of the colors and shadows of numerous vast landscapes (with New Mexico standing in for both Texas and Mexico).
Eastwood’s films always look terrific, and this one’s no exception. Unfortunately, it’s a beautiful painting with very little depth; as the end credits roll, viewers will exchange frowns and shrugged shoulders.
Cry Macho certainly isn’t Eastwood’s worst film — Paint Your Wagon, City Heat and Pink Cadillac will forever share that (dis)honor — but if it should prove his acting swan song, it’s an unfortunate way to conclude a stellar career.
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