Well fuck a duck, man. It’s even colder today than yesterday. Today, our thermometer on the porch said negative twenty five. That’s fucking impossible, right? Who makes thermometers that go down to negative twenty five? I don’t have a lot of time today. I’m late, so let me just point out one quick thing that’s been bothering me lately.
Okay, you’ve all seen the trailers, right? You’ve probably all seen the movie, as I’m hearing the shit’s huge. It’s essentially about some mean, shitty gangbangers, some other kids with hearts of gold stuck hanging with the wrong crowd, and a grumpy, racist old man who’s gonna show everybody who’s boss, and in what I hope was a fit of satirical genius (but, I really don’t think it was), the old man in the trailer ACTUALLY SAYS “get off my lawn.” Fuck, man, you can’t write that shit. Well, in this case you can, but you can’t make up how completely deluded Clint Eastwood has become. Okay:
He was a bad ass leading man for what, thirty years? That’s enough to make anyone think they’re awesome, and let’s not be total snarky internet dicks, Clint was pretty fucking awesome. He’s got that whole ‘chicks want to blow me, dudes want to be me, terrorists and (the other kind of) Indians and gangsters want to kill me,’ but nope. None of that shit’s happening (except the blowjobs, probably). Why? Because I’m Clint fucking Eastwood. The world was down with it.
THEN he started directing movies, and beyond Midnight in the garden of good and evil, he’s had a pretty insane career as a director. He’s won tons of Oscars, been nominated for more. The guy is pretty much unstoppable. You know how many times he’s had some tagalong sycophant sidekick dildo indulge one of his dumb ideas? More times than I’ve taken a dump in my life. At this point, everything that guy says has to be interpreted as potentially brilliant…”Okay, listen up. I’m making a movie about a lady boxer who dies. Very, very sad. Hopeless. Soul crushing. You in?” Doesn’t sound that good, but hey, Clint pulled it off, man. He even convinced some motherfuckers to let him put out an album where he sings…No one even called bullshit on that, because it’s kind of a ‘oh, look at the old man and his little pet project’ type of thing. It didn’t have to be good. It’s a novelty, and that’s fine. The world was down with it.
Now, with this new movie, he’s gone too far. What’s the premise? “Hey, you know who the most terrifying, bad ass, hard boiled, tough mother fuckers are? Old ass men. Let’s get some kids standing on his lawn and just watch him go off.”
What’s the climax? They hit a ball onto his roof? Put some dogshit in a bag and set it on fire on his porch? I mean seriously, Clint? Dude, you’re old. No one is afraid of old people….okay, that’s totally wrong. EVERYONE is afraid of old people, but, like in the same way they’re scared of bugs or skeletons, or dogshit on a stick. They try to touch you sometimes, they remind you of death and they smell strange and look gross and are dripping, respectively. BUT, not since the Firm (with Wilford Brimley impossibly cast as an ass whupping senior citizen lawyer who can take out a young tom cruise in a fist fight) has Hollywood made such a monumental miscalculation about the potential of an old ass man to seem like a dangerous badass. Just because that old man is clint eastwood doesn’t’ make it any different. He’s still an old man. He’s yelling ‘get off my lawn’ at kids. That’s what Mr. Wilson yells at Dennis the Menace. That’s what the hobo who invented itchy and scratchy yells at Bart and Lisa. It’s completely refuting the idea that the old man (and I’m referring to both character and director here) is any sort of dynamic badass. He’s the classic old man, that shakes his fist and gets off his belt to show the kids how they did it in the old days just to watch his pants fall down around his ankles and the kids laugh their asses off at his sock garters and gigantic yellow underpants.
Anyway, you get the idea. Nice try eastwood. Can’t wait until you’re dead and making zombie movies.