Get Off My Lawn!

Eastwood, retorna... en rigor, nunca se ha ido, siempre está ahí.

Changeling me interesa, me intriga, pero... la que quiero ver pero la que necesito ver, la que ya siento una de mis películas del año (¿...del año 2009?) es,
sin lugar a dudas, GRAN TORINO

simplemente me tinca
simplemente ya me habló...

ya estoy escuchando más de la cuenta mientras escribo la banda sonora de la cinta compuesta por Clint y su hijo Kyle (el chico de Honky Tonk Man).

su frase-escupo "Get Off My Lawn!" ya es un clásico y se usa para dejar en claro
que es mejor no pisar el terreno del otro.

Por lo que se ve, y me he leído, esta cinta no sólo "Dirty Harry cumple 78" sino una elegía acerca de la vejez, la segunda ooprtunidad, una ciudad devastada y la posibilidad de creer en uno al apostar por otro.

Los Globos de Oro no creyeron en Eastwood como mejor actor del año. Ojalá el Oscar sí.
Y si no, qué importa. Eastwood es Eastwood.

¿Cuánta gente pude decir eso de sí mismos?


Unos trozos de una estupenda crítica de la gran Manoha Dargis de The NY Times acerca de
esta cinta de Eastwood: no sólo habla bien de ella sino hace lo que un crítico bueno debe hacer: escribe de maravillas y, de paso, no sólo habla del filme sino de la vida.

"Mr. Eastwood’s loose, at times very funny performance in the early part of the film is one of its great pleasures. While some of this enjoyment can be likened to spending time with an old friend, Mr. Eastwood is also an adept director of his own performances and, perhaps more important, a canny manipulator of his own iconographic presence. He knows that when we’re looking at him, we’re also seeing Dirty Harry and the Man With No Name and all his other outlaws and avenging angels who have roamed across the screen for the last half-century. All these are embedded in his every furrow and gesture.

...We’ve seen this western before, though not quite. Because this isn’t John Wayne near the end of the 20th century, but Clint Eastwood at the start of the still-new 21st, remaking the image of the hero for one more and perhaps final time, one generation of Americans making way for the next.

That probably sounds heavier than I mean, but Gran Torino doesn’t go down lightly. Despite all the jokes — the scenes of Walt lighting up at female flattery and scrambling for Hmong delicacies — the film has the feel of a requiem. Melancholy is etched in every long shot of Detroit’s decimated, emptied streets and in the faces of those who remain to still walk in them. Made in the 1960s and ’70s, the Gran Torino was never a great symbol of American automotive might, which makes Walt’s love for the car more poignant. It was made by an industry that now barely makes cars, in a city that hardly works, in a country that too often has felt recently as if it can’t do anything right anymore except, every so often, make a movie like this one".