New REVIEWS AND OTHERWISE: 1970s WESTERNS: CLINT EASTWOOD/GENRE DECONSTRUCTION

 The latest episode continues my occasional examination of 70s Westerns (essentially the last hurrah for the genre before it became mostly niche product seen in 80s art houses).  First 12 minutes on Clint Eastwood, with a shoutout to Burbank’s LexG and his comprehensive podcast episode on Clint’s career from Sergio Leone’s Man With No Name trilogy to 1990’s THE ROOKIE, which could be regarded (in spirit) as a better farewell to Dirty Harry Callahan than Clint and Buddy Van Horn’s THE DEAD POOL.

Remainder of the episode defines deconstruction of the Western as a conscious veering away from traditional storytelling by way of scripting, aesthetic choices, directorial/actor decisions.  Films discussed include McCABE AND MRS. MILLER, BUFFALO BILL AND THE INDIANS, BAD COMPANY (1972), THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JUDGE ROY BEAN, ZANDY’S BRIDE, THE MISSOURI BREAKS and PAT GARRETT AND BILLY THE KID (with mentions of Sam Peckinpah’s later BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA and CONVOY).

https://open.spotify.com/episode/7pC8HI5tw0s6nlHVC4n88N?si=RZ6tnfK6RoifNrYiRp71NA&dl_branch=1

New REVIEWS AND OTHERWISE: 1970s WESTERNS: THE TWILIGHT OF JOHN WAYNE

 I’ll be doing some non consecutive episodes on the decline of the Hollywood Western in the 1970s.  And, as with genre films in decline, there are some interesting to good ones (largely ignored by audiences) released during this period.

This episode discusses John Wayne’s trajectory from the Oscar-winning peak of TRUE GRIT into the valley of clinging to an outdated image/stubbornly staying at one with his core, tradition-bound audience (one exception being Mark Rydell’s THE COWBOYS, which shocked some 1971-72 viewers with Wayne dying from multiple gunshot wounds by primary villain Bruce Dern).

Also, the 1971 PLAYBOY interview (where Wayne let loose with racist views of Native Americans and racist/patronizing commentary on Black people) is discussed—along with my guess as to why the pushback (and yes, there was criticism at the time) did little damage to Wayne’s career.

Finally, after 1976’s THE SHOOTIST, Wayne said goodbye to the Western genre—as a commercial pitchperson for headache medicine Datril and Great Western Bank.

https://anchor.fm/terry-mccarty/episodes/1970s-WESTERNS-THE-TWILIGHT-OF-JOHN-WAYNE-e12enrl

Clint Eastwood at 91

I was too young for the original run of RAWHIDE, but I can remember the impact of Clint Eastwood’s Man With No Name in the Sergio Leone trilogy released 1967-68 in America.  Eastwood, dispensing with niceties and amused/bemused by the transparent scheming of others, was a transgressive figure in an era where John Wayne’s unyielding patriarchy was still a predominant influence on mainstream Westerns.  In those days, black and white stills of Eastwood wearing his trademark poncho were turned into posters bought by antiestablishment youth.

And we know the rest of the story: Eastwood became a director in the early 70s, began courting film critic Respect with 1976’s THE OUTLAW JOSEY WALES—and, as filmmaker, has a canon that mixes thoughtful classics (BIRD, WHITE HUNTER BLACK HEART, UNFORGIVEN, MYSTIC RIVER, LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA, the underrated CHANGELING, FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS) with simple reactionary shoutouts to his aging, first generation audience who want their political/social conservatism validated (HEARTBREAK RIDGE, GRAN TORINO, THE MULE, RICHARD JEWELL).  One hopes Clint’s latest in a subgenre of valedictory films, CRY MACHO, will be a try-following-this mic drop to an almost seven-decade career.  [UPDATE 9/20/2021: It isn’t.  Less reactionary, but also paced like drinking a glass of warm milk before bedtime.]

New poem: WORKING ON WILD BILL

Wild Bill e un Western terminale--from WALTER HILL by Simone Emillani and Mauro Gervasini

it was a pleasure to do next to nothing

first, curling into a fetal position

and then lay on a bed with a blank stare

all of this meant to simulate opium addiction

while Jeff Bridges as Wild Bill Hickok

carrying the foreground part of the scene

as a pretend cowboy with real facial growth,

I had a couple of good days

at what used to be the

Samuel Goldwyn studio

where, at lunch,

I was less than a foot away

from part of the history of Hollywood:

producer Richard Zanuck

sat at the same lunch table

not too proud to eat with

mere 65-dollar-a-day extras