Now available at a bookstore (or website) near you: Tough Ain’t Enough: New Perspectives on the Films of Clint Eastwood, edited by Lester Friedman and David Desser. We have a chapter in this volume – “A Man’s Got to Know His Limitations”: The Cop Films from Nixon through Reagan – which considers eight of Eastwood’s films from 1968 to 1988. The best of these are the early entries Coogan’s Bluff and Dirty Harry. Both were directed by Don Siegel, something of a mentor figure to Eastwood, especially as the actor was then setting his sights on directing. (His first two films, Play Misty for Me, and Breezy, which featured William Holden, are intriguing efforts worth seeking out.) In Misty (1971), his debut in the director’s chair, Clint had Siegel on the set as something of a good luck charm (and presumably to have him available for advice)—he plays the bartender.
Unfortunately, at least for my chapter, despite flashes of real promise Eastwood would not emerge as a figure whose work was worth taking seriously until after this slate of films had was behind him – a transition heralded by Bird (1988) and White Hunter, Black Heart (1990) – so with the exception of the two Siegel-helmed efforts, the rest of this run of cop films are a mixed bag at best. Eventually we’ll post the entire chapter on the site; for now, here are a few excerpts:
Despite its occasional flashes of style and small pieces of humor, [Coogan’s Bluff], well received at the time and a commercial success, would nevertheless not be especially notable—but for the fact that can be seen as the Rosetta stone for Dirty Harry and Eastwood’s other cop films in this period. The production brought together contributors who would play essential roles in shaping those future efforts . . . in addition to serving as the progenitor for Harry Callahan, Coogan can also be understood as the middle entry in a Siegel cop-trilogy, following on the heels of his gently revisionist, New York location-infused, similarly-themed Madigan (1968).
Dirty Harry is Eastwood’s best film from his long middle period. Much of this has to do with the talent that was attracted to the picture. Siegel was on board as producer-director (as a Malpaso company production in partnership with Warner Brothers, Eastwood also had the authority of a producer). Dean Riesner was again called in to polish the screenplay . . . not to be underestimated were the contributions of cinematographer Surtees, who also shot the crisp monochromatic Lenny (1974) for Bob Fosse and the so-dark-you-can-barely-see-it masterpiece Night Moves (1975) for Arthur Penn, and was known for his ability to push the envelope with darkness and minimalist lighting. Dirty Harry features extensive night-for-night shooting, which is perhaps the greatest artistic strength of the picture, notably including but not limited to the “Jesus Saves” stake-out.
As for some of the rest: The Enforcer is paint-by-numbers Harry, and takes its shots against the usual suspects: uptight tsk-tsking spinsters in authority, wild-eyed trigger-happy hold-up men, still more sadistic hippie killers, hypocritical police brass, media hungry local politicians, and, of course, misguided liberals, everywhere. [Regarding Sudden Impact]: again content to lean on near-novice (and low-rent) screenwriters, the plot of Impact looks like something that was dragged out of the shallow end of the Death Wish pool (the cationic rape-surviving relative seems directly lifted from Death Wish II, which came out the previous year). Tightrope is an interesting stretch for Clint and for his interpretation of the lawman. It is a film with some notable strengths and even, remarkably, of thoughtful introspection—attributes prominent even now, and which were especially notable in the context of its time.
In the spirit of this “programming note” we’d like to mention a couple of items are now accessible on the “Books, Essays and More” page of the site—our reviews in Cineaste of some recent Blu Ray releases: Orson Welles’ The Stranger and Louis Malle’s Elevator to the Gallows. Regarding The Stranger: Seen as the film that might have been – many extraordinary elements of which still survive – this release . . . is an opportunity to reassess The Stranger as an important element in Welles’ oeuvre. On Elevator: Pure Malle is the long interrogation scene near the end of the film, as police commissioner Cherrier (Lino Ventura, impeccable) and his assistant . . . question the alibi-challenged Tavernier. Shot in total abstraction – a light, a table, three men, and otherwise total darkness (and without a cut for its first four minutes) – the scene is brilliantly choreographed as the two cops circle their prey, drifting in and out of the darkness. A jaw-dropping passage . . .This is one of the great scenes of the 1950s.
