Cry Macho: Clint Eastwood's Soft, Stale Takedown On Toxic Masculinity
With Cry Macho, Clint Eastwood climbs back in the Western saddle for the first time since 1992’s classic Unforgiven. After nearly 30 years, his return is hardly a triumph. This ambling slow-burn isn’t without its charms, but its soft-boiled sentiments on masculinity don’t amount to much, either.
A one-time rodeo star and washed-up horse breeder takes a job to bring a man's young son home and away from his alcoholic mom. On their journey, the horseman finds redemption through teaching the boy what it means to be a good man.
At 91 years old, Clint Eastwood shows no signs of stopping. Since his directorial debut with 1971’s Play Misty For Me, Eastwood has directed an astounding 40 films over his 50 years in the director’s chair — and that’s not even counting the films he’s appeared in as just an actor, which stretch as far back as the mid-50s. He’s a veritable relic of old-school Hollywood, but he doesn’t have an off switch. This is mostly a bad thing.
The truth is: since 1992’s classic Unforgiven, which probably sits as his best film, Eastwood has churned out 23 films and a vast majority of them are misses. This doesn’t stop him from loading the gun and firing bullets though. For his last six films, he’s taken his inspiration from headlines and true stories, but Cry Macho has been a passion project for this actor-turned-director since 1988, where he turned down the starring role because he felt he wasn’t old enough but offered to direct with Robert Mitchum as the suggested lead. The film has had a rough road to the silver screen, starting all the way back in the 70s when screenwriter N. Richard Nash unsuccessfully pitched it to 20th Century Fox before reworking it into a novel where it’s remained until now.
After several false starts, it’s finally here, and it couldn’t be any more underwhelming. Calling it a “Western” is a bit of a stretch. It seems like that label is really only there to wrangle in the old cowpokes so it can make them weepy and inform them that "Walkin’ this here line don’t mean yah got’tah act all hard, pilgrim.” It might work for those folks, but for youngsters (meaning anyone below Boomers), it’s gonna be a sleepy, air-whipped slow-burn with fleeting moments of charm.
Oddly, the film’s lackadaisical pace and sentimental charms give it a feeling more akin to a light-hearted Pixar drama, which would have been honestly more fun because the comedy would be more heightened, the heartstrings would be more effectively tugged, and the visuals would be a whole lot more appetizing. Of course, if Cry Macho were a Pixar film, it would lack the tension of seeing a 91-year-old man (and his stunt double) ride a horse — which is literally the most suspense Eastwood’s siesta of a “Western” can muster.
As much as Cry Macho eschews the typical Western narrative, Eastwood leans into the Western aesthetic to maintain the illusion. There are some beautiful twilight-hour shots that ape the style of Chloé Zhao’s superior Neo-Western, The Rider (Eastwood’s Mike Milo is even a faded rodeo star, too). Characters sleep out under the open sky instead of shacking. up in a motel, and they lay low from the law. Heck, there’s even a hilarious shot where Eastwood runs his Chevy Silverado alongside some roaming stallions because Westerns!
Gun fights are too macho, so don’t expect get any of that here. You do get to see Eastwood throw a feeble punch though, and then suspend your disbelief as it knocks out a young, capable thug. You’ll also have to do that when the attractive Fernanda Urrejola throws herself at the 91-year-old hunk (?) and begs him to sleep with her (spoiler alert: he does not. That is also too macho). While he’s not bad in the role, he is, ironically, too old to fill the character’s boots, and sense this is meant to be taken seriously, a lot of it just doesn’t jive.
Mostly, you just watch Eastwood bond with the tequila-drinking, cock-fighting Mexican boy, Rafo (Eduardo Minet), he was sent to retrieve for the boy’s father (Dwight Yoakam) on account of some vague debt. You also get to see Eastwood flirt with Natalia Traven’s Marta (which is a real pleasure — and far more believable), AND basque in the glory of the film’s charismatic star, Macho, the cock-fighting rooster (who was actually played by 11 different birds).
Small charms aside, Cry Macho is mostly a flatline that offers a stale and musty takedown on masculinity. There are many films that grapple with this concept, such as Fight Club, The Art Of Self-Defense, The Social Network, and The Irishman (just to name a few), that do it much better. It’s essentially the light, kid-friendly yang to Gran Torino’s politically-incorrect yin (and we’d personally rather rewatch that instead). It doesn’t add anything new or do anything particularly well; it’s just another slap-dash Eastwood film that’s neither terrible or great.
Recommendation: Cry Macho is an excellent sleepy matinee that will either make a cowboy’s eyes wet or provoke them to take a siesta. It’s currently on HBO Max, if interested.
Rating: 2.5 Chevy Silverados running with stallions outta 5.
What do you think? We want to know. Share your thoughts and feelings in the comments section below, and as always, remember to viddy well!