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‘Cry Macho’, By Clint Eastwood: Old Hen Always Makes Good Broth

When you are 91 years old and you have been in this movie business since you were 25, you have few things left to do. Road movies are no exception for Clint Eastwood, who could easily say that of Antonio Machado, “I’ve walked many roads”. Main roads, minor roads and even goat paths have no secrets from him.

Here, he must tour Mexico accompanied by a teenager and his fighting cock, the “Macho” of the title. No brainer for Uncle Clint. Let’s remember that he already did the same with Two mules and a woman (and what a woman!), He threw the end of the 70s by car with the longed-for orangutan Clyde! on the hits Hard to Peel and The Big Fight.

It does not seem that it is animalism or a gallinaceous passion that has decided Eastwood to return to acting. Rather, the possibility of saying goodbye to one of those Hollywood myths that he has embodied throughout his long and prolific career. If in Gran Torino we witnessed the sacrifice of a twilight Dirty Harry, the city gunman willing to renounce violence to achieve his purposes, something similar happens in Cry macho.

Eastwood is Mike Milo, a cowboy who, at the end of his days and like the Kowalski of Gran Torino, also understands that life was not what he thought. In his case, the cowboy, the epitome of the free and uprooted man, with no roof other than heaven and no more home than the world, is desperately looking for a family, a home and a plate of hot mole (or a taco). In a movie with many animals beyond the Male rooster, in which Eastwood becomes a kind of Noah, the sheep wants to go back to the fold and the wild colt wants to be tamed.

If Eastwood is not at the level of his last exceptional deliveries, it is, to a large extent, because that film family he is looking for is not the best of companies. Those responsible for replying to him show an astonishing lack of interpretive expertise. It will be said, with good reason, that this is the job of the director, but it can be argued that, given his obvious physical problems, he has enough to get into the shot.

Perhaps the most surprising thing about the film is that, despite being touted as a buddy movie, the quintessential tough’s latest mission is a surprisingly lovable family comedy, breaking away from the image of the curmudgeon Eastwood has cultivated in recent times. A Clint as always, apologist of the family, but much more tender that, although we do not marvel, I continue to tell stories with an astonishing naturalness, and he reminds us that the old hen always makes good broth.

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