"Santa Claus rides alone".
A proposition: Clint Eastwood makes better movies out of airport novels than David Fincher because he is approch has little to do with elevating but just rides them for whatever meaningful subtext they might have and just let the plot play up. Despite his reputation as some kind of last bastion of classicism, Eastwood is more interested in drama than storytelling. True Crime plotiing is rather ludicrous a very rushed parade of catastrophic events in two men whose lives are so puse to echo each other. The film means are very depedent of those echoes and how the very fast moving day of Eastwood's journalist plays against the very static last day of Isaiah Washington's death…

Steve Everett, a recovering alcoholic, veteran reporter, is assigned to write the profile of Frank Beachum, a death row inmate about to be executed. After a little digging, Everett starts having doubts about the case, but he has only a few hours at his disposal to prove Beachum's innocence.

While "True Crime" might not be the most important or the best movie Clint Eastwood ever directed, it's undoubtedly his most fun. Mixing elements of thriller and screwball comedy like a master chef, old man Clint delivers a highly entertaining final product that is perfect for mass consumption without compromising his narrative or characters in order to appeal to the lowest common denominator. His eye for detail is present when he…

O tema de Eastwood

Após a parceria com Sergio Leone e os seus primeiros trabalhos como realizador (de Perversa Paixão [Play Misty for Me, 1971] a Raposa de Fogo [Firefox, 1982]), Clint Eastwood passa a demonstrar um interesse por personagens marcadamente trágicas a partir de Honkytonk Man, no ano de 1982. Desde então ele nunca mais deixou de se fascinar pela vida “das exceções”, como disse Tolstói a respeito do universo do colega Dostoiévski. Assim como o escritor, Eastwood escolheu almas capazes de suportar o sofrimento que o mundo impinge, e mesmo com a consciência da existência do mal no mundo (que pode ou não acompanhar a ideia da permissão de tal estado por Deus, como no caso de Meia-noite…

Eastwood's idiosyncrasies can occasionally be his own worst enemy. Making the story of a black man unjustly on death row into the story of a white rapscallion reporter's redemption isn't inherently a problem, but he peppers the narrative with some patience-testing, typically cornball comic interludes (what's with the homeless guy's repeated appearances begging passing women for some "pussy on toast"?), and his character's constant pursuit of younger women would seem charmingly irascible if he weren't so inexplicably successful. And then there's an apparent, pesky denial of race as a factor in the crime at the center of the film. Some lip service is paid to white witnesses railroading a black suspect but it comes largely from the mother of another…

Eastwood decided to make another thriller based on a novel following Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, this time it would be among his bigger commercial failures. In the grand scheme of Eastwood's career it is obscure for a reason, showing his vanity by playing a role that he is at least 20 years too old for (hotshot womanizing reporter) and even throwing in a kissing scene with a character we are told is 23! I' d put this in the same category as Blood Work another clunky thriller in which Clint for some reason takes his shirt off and unleashes his inner Romeo despite being well past retirement age.

The plot is really not that great, feeling…

A mystery thriller with very little mystery, and barely any thrills. Living in what seems like the golden age of true crime consumption, I thought this would have all the hallmarks of stories I've heard on endless podcasts, or read in numerous books. And while the basic plot summary may sound like something up a true crime fan's alley, the execution is woeful. The movie is set in a single day, but the story doesn't really start to unfold until nearly half way through the movie. By that stage we've already wasted so much time without moving towards anything resembling what the movie initially promises. There is no urgency, and very little investigation.

The only thing the movie deserves any…

i like this more than the consensus which i really wasn't expecting. part of that is because clint inexplicably often has incredibly interesting things to say about race for a white director, and he seems really aware and self-reflective as to his place as an Old White Man. (i just read another review here that says actually this movie is bad on race and i'd like to point out that i'm very stupid but also i sort of believe that it's better than given credit for.) this and white hunter black heart both tackle things like privilege and colonization and gentrification(?) in ways that really have no business being as poignant as they are, especially in a movie like this…