The idea seems unimaginable, maybe partly because most spry 91-year-old women have a lot more on their minds than the pursuit of younger men-too many museums to go to, operas to attend, mahjongg games to play.
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I do wonder what 91-year-old actress could-or would-cast herself in a movie where she finds redemption and tender love with a man at least 30 years younger than she. In Cry Macho, he’s slim and straight as a rod, and his every movement says, “Don’t worry about me, kid.” Damned if it doesn’t feel like a blessing-because who wants to have to worry about eternal legend Clint Eastwood? He confronts the indignities of old age with a surly, comforting growl. In these pictures, Eastwood no longer tries to hide his age, because he knows he no longer can. But in recent years, movies like The Mule and Gran Torino have brought us some unexpected riches of crankiness. In his long and fertile career, Eastwood has sometimes been a great director and often just an O.K. Richard Nash-has some age to it: Eastwood first became aware of it some 40 years ago, and it bounced around Hollywood for decades with no luck, until Eastwood remembered it and sought to bring it to life.Īnd through it all, he pokes along with admirable energy.
The material itself-written by Nick Schenck and N. Shot by Ben Davis, Cry Macho has a handsome, muted sheen: Its vistas of dusty purple clouds and ochre desert plains evoke warm winds and the slow passage of time. The sparks between Mike and Marta fly, or at least skitter toward one another with resolute, shuffleboard-style jauntiness. The two set off on a desert odyssey that involves stolen vehicles, some lessons in training wild horses, and pleasant days and evenings spent in a café owned by a kind, observant, gorgeous middle-aged widow named Marta (Natalia Traven). Besides, he’s already located Rafo-and met the boy’s prize rooster, a flinty, handsome creature named Macho-and senses that the kid isn’t as tough as he thinks he is. (Somehow, you knew this was coming.)Ĭlaire Folger Copyright: © 2021 Warner Bros.
(You can’t make this stuff up.) She tells Mike her son is no good-he’s a thief, and spends his nights at the cockfights-before appearing in a silky boudoir outfit, the better to lure Mike into her bed. Rafo’s mother, Leta (Fernanda Urrejola), is a rich sex nymphomaniac who lives in a lavish house. A fistful of dollars in his pocket, Mike-who once had a family himself, now long gone-heads across the border. He sends Mike to Mexico City, where Rafo lives with his mother his instructions are to retrieve the boy, luring him with promises of his own horse and other fun stuff. The plot, set in 1979, goes something like this: Mike’s old boss, rancher and rodeo owner Howard (Dwight Yoakam, always a welcome presence), is concerned that his son, Rafo-a boy he’s never really known, the result of a one-night stand-is being abused.
But the picture slides by pleasantly enough like a stream in a Budd Boetticher movie, a calm place to take off your boots and set a spell as you reflect on the true meaning of manhood, the necessity of overcoming hidden heartache and the pleasures of finally, in your sunset years, succumbing to the love of a good woman. The story is almost embarrassingly simple.