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It’s the third film that Eastwood has collaborated on with Nick Schenk. I do like the former quite a bit, but the latter is truly great. This year in Late Style we’ve got quite a haul already: Paul Schrader’s The Card Counter and Clint’s Cry Macho. I’m a fan of Late Style quite generally: I’m deeply fascinated by the final stages of a great artistic career, where an acknowledged master has nothing left to prove and no shits left to give and just follows their inspiration where it takes them. If you know me at all, you know that I’m a fan of Clint’s late work. His war movies interrogate American mythologies of heroism and his crime movies find the cops lost in the same moral fog as the criminals.
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His Unforgiven is the ne plus ultra of the deromanticized Western. His films reveal an obsession with dismantling his own status in the American imagination as the Man’s Man– the cop who won’t play by the rules, the tough guy badass hero who saves the day and spits on the ground, the ultimate cowboy. He set straight to work on dismantling and subverting his own iconography ( High Plains Drifter, anyone?). He was Rowdy Yates from Rawhide, then he was The Man With No Name, and in 1971 (the same year he directed his first feature), he became Dirty Harry Callahan. When Clint Eastwood began his 50 year directorial career at age 41, he was already an icon.