Cry Macho is like your older relatives. It has wisdom, life experience, and maybe even an idea of the right way to live — but like any life lesson, the message can get lost in the telling. Clint Eastwood’s 2010s filmography was scattered at best, often fine but mostly forgettable, and his latest returns him to the Western setting that’s often signaled as a return to form. Cry Macho tries to shake things up the way Unforgiven and Gran Torino did, and it does with a new perspective on violence, but the means of delivering the film’s wisdom are less than riveting, leaving a thematically profound but strangely awkward film.
I won’t beat around the bush, the writing is bad. Eastwood — who stars and directs — examines aging, idealized strength, racist tropes, and the lone drifter character, but there isn’t anyone to attach these ideas to. Mike (Eastwood) is a ranch hand, and at 91 years old somehow still has his job breaking wild horses for Howard (Dwight Yoakam). In the very first scene, Howard fires Mike for lateness, and rather than yell or storm out, Mike has the last word and calmly leaves the room. Yoakam’s delivery is wooden as can be, and Eastwood floats above the dialogue, leaving an oddly-placed scene emotionally empty. Either Mike wanted to be fired and is unaffected, or he didn’t and is still unaffected: it’s unclear whether his work has meant anything to him at all. Scenes like this are included to give the star an entrance, but it’s a flatly acted introduction that sends all the wrong messages about Howard and Mike’s relationship. It reads like the end of a lifelong friendship, but moments later Howard returns, asking Mike to travel to Mexico to retrieve his long-lost son.
The dark vignettes and shadows of Richard Jewell are gone, replaced with warm sunrises and colorful wardrobes. In practice that means lots of evenly-lit close-ups and long helicopter shots of the endless wilderness, some of the most lifeless and stock photography you’ll see this year. The occasional silhouette of Eastwood outlined by a starburst sunset is gorgeous, but expressive shots emphasize the lack of creativity overall; any color is drowned out by the endless formula of establishing wide shot, medium shot, and close-up. But there is a break in the blandness: after finding Howard’s son Rafo (Eduardo Minett), along with his pet rooster, “Macho,” Mike stops in a small town for some food and rest. The harsh light of mid-day is expelled as the men enter a cantina, while the owner, Marta (Natalia Traven), turns away cops looking for Rafo. It’s hours before the door is opened again, while Mike naps and Marta introduces her children and grandchildren. This sequence places Mike and the audience in a safe, dimly-lit space, free of danger and the everpresent sunlight. Where darkness is often used to indicate fear or guilt, Cry Macho uses it to bring the viewer closer.
The shining moment of the film occurs in the cantina, when Mike relaxes in a booth to sleep and wakes to find Macho inches from his face. The sun has partially set, bringing a dark hue to the light creeping through the blinds, indicating that the restaurant has only become more hospitable over time. Macho is a fighting rooster, but in a safe place like this there is no use for his strength. He awakens Mike, the character we expect to be strong to the exclusion of all other traits, and he simply laughs at the sight of a murderous chicken standing on a table with nothing else to do. In a classic Western this would be a brothel or bar, used to glamourize the hero or show his commitment to his task. Instead the sequence stops the plot in its tracks, communicating emotion through lighting and finally pairing good actors with good writing. Cry Macho uses this as a jumping off point, building the rest of the conflict from the safety Marta provides to Mike and Rafo. It’s where the film should have started, because it’s in safety that Mike opens up as a character, and the bare-bones story actually gets interesting.
Like the darkening cantina, time only makes the small town more welcoming. Rafo learns to break wild horses, and Mike acts as a veterinarian to the town’s injured animals. Eastwood brilliantly delivers a line in response to how he got so good with animals, “No veterinario, I’ve just loved animals all my life,” a perfectly brief history and display of character. A phone call from Howard shakes things up, revealing he wants Rafo as a bargaining tool to get more money from his ex-wife. Mike has a decision to make: admit the selfish truth to Rafo, or lie and hope for the best. This is the good stuff, the kind of character writing that creates great drama and great payoff. The stakes are constantly raised in this last half hour, as the true enemy shifts and the narrative kicks into full gear.
This can be confusing, as badly written movies are typically bad throughout, but Cry Macho turns into a fine character-driven drama after the first hour. The major corners of the film — writing, directing, acting — rarely line up, leaving standout scenes in the cantina isolated, and overdeveloped characters like Howard, and his ex-wife Leta, with lots of dialogue and little to show for it. Uneven is the perfect word.
In between the many car rides and fireside chats, Rafo argues with Mike about macho-ness. Rafo admires Macho for his fighting power, and Mike constantly questions him for it. He asks what use an animal that is trained only to kill will have for Rafo in his new life, and therein lies Cry Macho’s defining message: old or young, strength is nothing to build your life around. As another excellent Eastwood line says, “This macho thing is overrated. Just people trying to be macho to show that they’ve got grit. That’s about all they end up with.” Cry Macho has its moments of deep emotion, of well-directed Western subversions, even a few great shots of the icon in his element, but those moments are dwarfed by an unimaginative and complacent style. The moments are good, but that’s all Cry Macho ends up with.
