CLINT EASTWOOD: THE UNIVERSAL PICTURES 7-MOVIE COLLECTION (Universal 1968-75) Universal Home Video
In 1973, Clint
Eastwood cheerily stepped up to the podium at the annual Oscar telecast, a very
last minute replacement for Charlton Heston, delayed by a flat tire on the
Santa Monica freeway. Attempting to recite a monologue obviously scripted for
Heston, with its references to Moses and Cecil B. DeMille, Eastwood paused
after stumbling over the script, adding, “They
replaced Chuck Heston with a guy who’s said ten lines in eight movies!”; a
self-deprecating quip that brought down the house. The point, however, was well
taken. For Eastwood’s screen presence has little to do with his oratorical
skills. Here is an actor who can fill a room or command a scene with a mere
flick of a match or the ever so slight raising of his eyebrows; for whom one
steely-eyed glance registers mountains of contempt or spell foreboding disaster
for the other fellow playing the scene. Time and again, Eastwood has proven (as
though proof were required) he can hold court seemingly without even trying.
Had he been born a century earlier, he likely could have become the greatest
silent actor of his generation.
As it stands,
Clint Eastwood has made (and continues to make) indelible impressions in the
world of sound and fury, either as the towering ‘man with no name’ – at once
the essence and antithesis of overt masculinity, or as the director calling the
shots from behind the camera. The transition from Eastwood – star, to Eastwood
‘star director’ has ostensibly been as unforced as his command of the camera. Of
course, it is all just an act. For no artist who has remained so utterly
consistent for so long has done so without first carefully considering the
variables of his self-worth, honing his craft through meticulous research and
planning, and, cleverly maintained that essence of untouchable super-stardom
without a lot of talent, charm and business savvy. No, Eastwood undeniably has
professionalism plus; the advantage now, more so than ever, of being a beloved
and iconographic figurehead straddling the chasm between old Hollywood and the
new.
The awkwardly
titled, Clint Eastwood: The Universal
7-Movie Collection gives us Eastwood the star; his tenure at Universal
Studios including a few hits, a miss and a pair of oddities. Only 1968’s Coogan’s Bluff, 1971’s The Beguiled, Play Misty for Me and 1975’s The
Eiger Sanction are new to Blu-ray; the rest of the titles, including Two Mules for Sister Sara (1970), Joe Kidd (1972) and High Plains Drifter (1973) already
available for over a year. The work herein spans Eastwood’s fame in modest
B-budgeted westerns, cop dramas and tepid thrillers. While one can debate the
consistency of this oeuvre, there’s little to deny the lesser known, and even
less desirable among this lot still hold sway after nearly 40 years; mostly
because of Eastwood. Without him, a few of these aforementioned titles would
have long vanished from the public’s consciousness. Indeed, Eastwood was on
somewhat shaky ground after dusting off his chaps and retiring his six-shooter
after Sergio Leone’s ‘man with no name’ trilogy, diving headstrong into a trio
of projects in 1968; Hang 'Em High, Where Eagles Dare and Coogan's Bluff. Of these, Coogan’s Bluff is perhaps the most insignificant,
though it established Eastwood’s enduring run with director, Don Siegel, who
would prove something of a mentor a few years later, together creating the
iconic Dirty Harry (1971).
In many ways, Coogan’s Bluff now plays like a dry run
for the anti-heroic Harry Callahan, its ‘hippies
vs. the establishment’ scenario feeding into the anti-authoritarian strain
that was all the rage – generating as much anger in the inner city lower class
neighborhoods; director and star arguably testing the boundaries of screen
censorship with this shockingly hard-edged detective story. The Herman Miller, Dean
Riesner, Howard Rodman screenplay focuses on an Arizona cop, Coogan (Eastwood),
whose unorthodox lifestyle forces his superior’s hand to punish him with a
menial assignment. Coogan is to extradite a known fugitive, Ringerman (Don
Stroud) from New York back to Arizona; his seemingly straight-forward task
unexpectedly hitting a detour when Ringerman attempts suicide by taking an
overdose of LSD, landing him in Bellevue. Caustic New York police lieutenant, McElroy
(Lee J. Cobb) gives Coogan and his assignment short shrift. He’s overworked and
undervalued and expects Coogan to handle the necessary paperwork before
claiming the prisoner.
Naturally, Coogan
has other ideas, settling into his gritty cosmopolitan surroundings by falling
back on his gruff charm as a lady killer, landing in hot water after a
flagrante delicto with probation officer, Julie (Susan George) gets him access
to Ringerman’s necessary police files. Like Dirty Harry, Coogan’s Bluff
rails against the ‘free love/let it all hang out/flower power’ generation,
Coogan coming across as something of an antiquated conservative dinosaur; his bluntness,
always answering a question with one of his own, inevitably incurring a lot of
bureaucratic ire while wrecking his laissez faire sex romps with the more
liberal-minded Julie.
Coogan’s Bluff might have come across as just
another cop drama, but its gutsy cultural and philosophical ramifications add
bite to our so-called antihero; his stubborn resolve destined to become
entangled as he ruthlessly cuts his way through the bureaucratic red tape with
a certain infectious disregard for the niceties. Eastwood brings a sense of irony to the character,
more inclined to use sex than his gun as his preferred weapon of choice to get
what he wants. While the running gag about Coogan being from Texas gets fairly
stale fast and the general ‘throw caution
to the wind’ attitude Coogan has about bedding practically anything that
moves (except a hooker residing in his moth-eaten hotel) now seems grotesquely flawed
from our current post-STD and AIDS savvy pop culture, the overall impact of Coogan’s Bluff is frequently engaging
without actually being memorable beyond the few hours it takes to enjoy the
film.
Let’s get
real: Coogan is not our Dudley Do-Right. This being 1968, his tactics with the
fairer sex simply reek of some carbon-dated brutality a la the Mesozoic period;
pinching, pawing and ass-slapping his way into an ever-revolving series of
boudoirs; his ‘me Tarzan/you Jane’ approach to love-making framed as quaintly
desirable. He’s also not above bitch-slapping his gal pals when they get out of
line or enjoying an off-handed remark about rape that probably had Gloria
Steinem picketing the movie’s premiere in protest. Professionally speaking, if one can reference
anything this guy does on the job as hallmarked by professionalism, Coogan
frequently does wrong to get his way, his ‘principles’
fractured by an egotistical desire to win at all costs, no matter the odds or
obstacles set before him. The screenplay occasionally loses direction, but
Siegel maintains a forward trajectory and momentum, interpolating Coogan’s
quieter moments as a lover with some truly outstanding examples of just how raw
and uninhibited he can be as a fighter when pressed into service for a cause.
Even so, Coogan’s Bluff is more a
melodrama than an action flick and this infrequently is its biggest hurdle to
overcome; also, its weakness.
For their
second collaboration, Eastwood and Siegel elected to return to very familiar
territory; a Sergio Leone-esque styled western, Two Mules for Sister Sara, pitting a stoic mercenary, Hogan
(Eastwood) against a no-nonsense nun, Sara (Shirley MacLaine); shades of the
ole Heaven Knows Mr. Allison (1957)
high concept cropping up now and then. The film is something of a Leone
knockoff, right down to its Ennio Morricone score and earthy Mexican locales.
But the chemistry between MacLaine and Eastwood is unique and compelling. He
saves her from being raped by banditos while on a mission during the French
intervention and she repays him with…well…spunk – plenty of it. Here is a gal
who isn’t about to let either her vows or her habit get in the way of telling
her earthly savior what’s what. As a pair of mismatched drifters, Eastwood and
MacLaine have great fun achieving their common goal from different
perspectives; flirtations and short fuses aside.
Besides, Sara
isn’t exactly Hogan idea of a nun; her external religiosity punctuated by some
strange behaviors and occasionally saucy wit. As with practically every western
you’ve ever seen, it’s the journey rather than the destination that counts;
this Mutt and Jeff crossing some of the most unforgiving scorched earth on the
planet, intermittently plagued by enemies aplenty, both human and animal,
forcing the unlikely compatriots much closer together. The Albert Maltz
screenplay is dependent on a revelation undisclosed until the movie’s last act
to alter the tenor of this otherwise straightforward and fairly predictable
western yarn. Maltz has cleverly spaced out his suggestive glimmers Sister Sara
is not all she first appears, and MacLaine is, of course, her usual playful and
naughty self, allowing Hogan to experience full-on awkwardness out of
necessity, as he forces Sara up a tree by grabbing onto her buttocks. She
enjoys it too, along with wielding her silver crucifix like a pick axe to ward
off unwanted advances, while taking liberal swigs of hooch and using a few
choice words that would likely set the Papacy back and bring out the Holy
waters for an exorcism of her meandering soul.
It sounds
hokey, but it works – at least, partly, the pair’s ‘getting to know you’ infrequently interrupted by their
misadventures in ole Mexico; the most suspenseful vignette, their
precision-planned destruction of a train trestle, interrupted when Hogan takes
a Yaqui arrow in his backside, forcing the squeamish Sara to cauterize his
gaping wound under his expert guidance. Because
Two Mules for Sister Sara is not
heavily plotted, it excels as the unlikeliest of buddy/buddy flicks; a joyously
obtuse trifle that never strains the brain, even as it generally warms the
heart. We quietly observe as Eastwood’s stoic loner, hardened by years of
solitary travel, is forced to rediscover the pleasures – and pitfalls – of
having a companion along for this journey. He’s not up to being sociable and
that is part of the fun in it too; watching Hogan stumble through a burgeoning
friendship with this occasionally bawdy yet businesslike nun. And MacLaine’s
Sara is no Deborah Kerr. She may have put her faith in the Almighty, but she
sure as hell will not be taking orders from any man, including Hogan; ‘turn the
other cheek’ not part of her religious upbringing.
1971 would
mark a turning point for the Eastwood/Siegel alliance with the debut of Dirty Harry. In retrospect, the shadow
cast by Harry Callahan would obscure the team’s other offering from that year. The Beguiled is a darkly probative and
bravely executed suspense/thriller, miraculous for its ability to compel while
introducing us to a disreputable array of truly unlikeable characters; starting
with Eastwood’s John McBurney; a wounded Civil War Union soldier, saved from
certain death by a precocious twelve year old girl and taken into the
confidences of an all-girl’s seminary outside of Louisiana. The Albert
Maltz/Irene Kamp screenplay is based on Thomas Cullinan’s novel, first
published in 1966. As in the book, the movie begins with the premise of a pair
of chastised school marms, one – Martha (Geraldine Page) – bitterly opposed to
saving John’s life except to see him hang or rot in a Southern prison, and
their impressionable virginal brood of seminary students doing good; John’s
recovery and obvious masculine appeal incrementally stirring the girl’s
dishonorable intensions and leading to some truly disturbing sexual conquests
along the way.
It doesn’t take
long for repressed teacher, Edwina (Elizabeth Hartman) to fall for John’s
charms, fancifully hoping they will lead to longstanding love. On the other end
of the spectrum is student, Carol (Jo Ann Harris) who is merely interested in
being deflowered; preferably with fantasies primed for some truly hot sex.
Finally, there’s the slave, Hallie (Mae Mercer) who is hoping to use John as
her ticket to freedom. Alas, Martha’s caustic disapproval of John will give way
to more amorous pursuits after her own troubled past resurfaces. But are these
women using John or has he already assessed how best to play them against each
other to gain control of the seminary and its residents? From the outset,
Siegel and Eastwood have set up a fairly salacious premise; the worldly scamp
who has no compunction or scruples; just as ably enticing a pre-teen with a
very adult kiss as using his overt masculinity like an intoxicating elixir to
tempt, tease and torture these chaste seminary gals into wild distraction,
leaving Martha as the only hold out to manage their frustrations with a
cautious eye. While John’s intensions are undeniably wicked, the screenplay
takes great pains not to present the women as entirely without sin or flaws. In
fact, all endure under a poisonous cloud of raging hormones; feral creatures
prodded by jealous impulses, often with disastrous results. Siegel instills the
movie with a sense of genuine claustrophobia, also a hellacious intensity as
John’s psychological rape of their already surrendering innocence begins to
take hold. Using internal monologues, Siegel reveals each character’s truer
intensions; yielding to the shocking discovery John’s tales of noble combat are
absolute lies, designed to mask his more destructive impulses.
For his next
outing, Eastwood elected to strike out on his own, coming up a winner with his
directorial debut; Play Misty for Me
(1971) drawing on a decade’s worth of acting experience to bolster what is
essentially a basic stalker flick with some exquisite touches in character
development and off-beat timing. Here is
a bone-chillingly effective thriller with a few hokey touches that never
undermine the audience’s expectations or intelligence; Eastwood delving into
elements of grand guignol and a certain fascination for rarer oddities of
humanity that would continue to fuel and inform his directorial work for
decades yet to follow. Eastwood casts himself as Dave, a small-time
Carmel-by-the-Sea radio jockey, filling the airwaves with five hours of
prophetic conversation, personal requests and spinning the occasional obscure
record for his biggest fan, Evelyn (Jessica Walter).
But what
starts out as an enthusiastic woman’s lovelorn fantasy with a disembodied voice
on the radio quickly escalates into a not so cute meet, then vigorous one night
stand, and finally a murderous obsession, equally threatening Dave’s sanity and
safety. The more Evelyn presses in her desire to completely possess him, the
more Dave strives to work out the glitches in his on again/off again
relationship with ex, Tobie (Donna Mills). Eastwood brings an
uncharacteristically layered performance to this otherwise straight forward thriller.
His Dave is not your average suburban DJ, but a very smooth operator about to
get his wings clipped. Alas, Dave simply could not leave well enough alone,
casually bedding anything that writhed in his direction, using his favorite
neighborhood bar (the proprietor played by Siegel) as his own private bordello.
The Jo Heims/Dean Riesner screenplay is careful to suggest there are
consequences to this loose lifestyle; chiefly, in Evelyn’s gradual spiral into
psychotic fits of revenge. Forget about the usual tortured victim syndrome
herein. Evelyn is a cold and calculating monster; a real loon too with a
penchant for devouring her lovers as a praying mantis might; stalking Tobie and
slashing to death Dave’s unsuspecting housekeeper, Birdie (Clarice Taylor) with
unbridled and bloodthirsty relish. It all makes for great suspense and more
than a few horrific frights along the way.
Play Misty for Me encounters a few narrative
hiccups along the way, beginning with Dave’s handling of his own complicity in
Evelyn’s psychosis. Downplaying her insanity to save his own face, Dave
increasingly masks his own concerns over where it will all lead; allowing Sgt.
McCallum (John Larch), who is investigating Birdie’s homicide, to toy with him.
It really doesn’t add up though. Evelyn is crazy. She will kill again – and not just Dave’s career. As though unable to
resolve this narrative predicament, Eastwood suddenly makes an incalculably
ridiculous decision to essentially sideline his story for a leaden musical
interlude at the Monterey Jazz Festival. It’s a pointless inclusion and it
begins an ever-increasing dependency on Eastwood’s part to show off the
resplendent California scenery to its best advantage in montage; long walks
along windswept beaches, pastoral strolls through the forest or the sight of
Tobie and Dave making passionate love in a shallow river. What’s the point?
There isn’t one, and Play Misty for Me
devolves into a not altogether successful romp about some very moneyed
California real estate.
Sandwiched
between Misty and Eastwood’s
penultimate stab at the Hollywood western – 1973’s supremely satisfying, High Plains Drifter – is 1972’s all but
forgotten gem, Joe Kidd; a
disquieting ‘little picture’ that ought to have been a big success for all
concerned. Not only does it star Eastwood the puckish rabble-rouser, but the
cast also features heavy-hitter, Robert Duvall as Frank Harlan, a wealthy
landowner out for revenge; the helmsman on this project, the impeccable action
director, John Sturges. Alas, and despite the best intensions in Elmore
Leonard’s tautly structured screenplay, the movie quickly settles into a sort
of unimpressive ennui; a great picture chipped away to reveal a fairly okay one
underneath. The story never branches out from its central premise established
during its first fifteen minutes; Eastwood’s steely-eyed prankster pretty much
remaining above it all. The scope of the production equally lags in any sort of
consistency as Harlan hires Joe as his guide into the mountains, dead set to
capture a Mexican revolutionary named Chama (John Saxton) who has disrupted the
‘natural’ order of western expansion, but who Joe has begun to admire. The rest
of the characters who populate this sojourn are cardboard cutouts at best while
the manhunt scenario unraveling before our eyes is less adventuresome than par
for the course. To be sure, there are a few grandly executed vignettes of
violent gunplay to satisfy the paying customer. Even so, Joe Kidd is a fairly enjoyable excursion, chiefly in Eastwood’s
embodiment of the disreputable rake who is mildly amused by other people’s
reaction to his poise under pressure.
Eastwood plays
to the strengths of his well-ensconced public persona; the solitary and
friendless man of personal convictions and God be damned if any man tries asserting
his own authority in their place. This includes Harlan, whose bloodlust to see
Chama swing from the gallows supersedes any sort of stabilizing logic. There
are lots of opportunities herein for Eastwood to do his archetype proud. But
unlike many of the mysterious frontiersman he has so often played, Joe Kidd is
really more of a schemer than a foreboding man of mystery. There’s no arc or
progression to his character either; Joe, merely one tough hombre with a
devilish mean streak lurking just beneath the surface. Nevertheless, its Joe’s ability to keep a
cool head in matters of crisis that wins the audience; sneaking kisses from
Harlan’s Spanish tart, Helen Sanchez (Stella Garcia) or relishing new ways to
outfox his bubble-headed ‘enforcer’, Lamarr (Don Stroud, clearly having a good
time playing the fool).
As no movie
ever directed by Sturges is a total waste of time, Joe Kidd is imbued with some gorgeous location work lensed by Bruce
Surtees; Sturges occupying his run time with some expertly parceled out action
sequences, distracting and married to breathtaking vistas of natural splendor,
punctuated by Lalo Schifrin’s Morricone-inspired underscore. Elmore Leonard’s
screenplay approaches the crisis of land reform from a different perspective, siding
with Chama’s view of Americans as greedy, scheming usurpers decimating Mexico’s
native lands for their own purpose of conquest. But our story runs into trouble
with the character of Chama; emasculated between his initial foray as the fiery
foe with all the impassioned desire to regain control over territories
rightfully belonging to his peoples, and his penultimate acquiescence to debate
the lawmakers intellectually in the hopes of triggering a more open and
progressive dialogue. The movie’s ending is also problematic – somehow
escalating to its climax without ever making the audience aware the end is at
hand, then fading to black while still leaving a curious aftertaste of ‘now what?’ in the back of their minds.
By 1973,
Eastwood was ready to get back in the saddle again with High Plains Drifter; arguably, the last great western made in
America until Eastwood’s own Unforgiven
resurrected the flipside of this genre in 1992. Taking his cue from personal
experiences accrued under Sergio Leone’s expert tutelage, and perhaps borrowing
a page from Sam Peckinpah’s Wild Bunch
(1969), working from an original screenplay by Ernest Tidyman, High Plains Drifter is as merciless as
it remains raw and fierce. Eastwood channels the revisionist precepts of the
classic Hollywood western and its newfound deification of the antihero into a thrilling
and uncanny spectacle with unanticipated viciousness running through its
revenge scenario. Tidyman’s screenplay is not particularly interested in the
revenge per say; rather, the machinations that go into its intricate plotting
and ultimate implosion; perhaps, feeding off the old Chinese proverb that
suggests before embarking on any form of vengeance one should dig ‘two’ graves.
There is an ethereal, yet haunted characteristic to Eastwood’s nameless ‘stranger’
– materializing from the early morning fog like one of the four horsemen from
the apocalypse and just as lethal to the inhabitants of Lago; a desolate mining
village plagued by violence.
Making short
shrift of some baddies, the Stranger is clearly up to no good as he accepts a
commission to act as the town’s enforcer against a trio of advancing
gunslingers. Why any man, though predominantly one as clever and skilled as
‘the stranger’, should care what happens to this nearly forgotten outpost remains
a mystery undisclosed. The inhabitants
are mostly ungrateful and bitter, frequently resenting the stranger’s
interventions and eventually stirring chaos forth from the calm. An equal dread
is generated by Mordecai (Billy Curtis), the absolute worst of these
demoralized peoples, whom the stranger elects as his sheriff and mayor. Although
running true to the form and traditions of the western genre, High Plains Drifter never succumbs to
the anticipated ennui of ‘been there/done that’; Eastwood’s
direction/performance and Tidyman’s screenplay gradually revealing a deeper,
almost Biblical, and far more sinister malaise afflicting Lago’s vial populace.
The Stranger’s modus operandi is fairly bleak, though relatively unclear, except
to say he has committed himself to training the disparate townsfolk to become
cold-blooded murderers.
What’s in it
for ‘the stranger’? Free reign for one;
also, absolute dominion over the town and their endless supply of sex-starved
females, presumably meant to satisfy his less than honorable intentions. This
latter commodity is dealt with heartlessly; Eastwood’s tatty ruffian embroiled
in a ferocious rape, the victim suddenly transformed by its orgasmic nirvana
into his love-sick rag doll, seemingly not only surrendering, but thoroughly
having relished his vigorous penetration. The unflattering complexity of this
episode is never bravely addressed, either by Eastwood’s performance or
Tidyman’s screenplay. Essentially, it is par for the course of any frontier woman’s
lot in life. After all, what did she expect, placing herself as the buxom
object of temptation in a wilderness populated by unsavory and
testosterone-driven beasts, primed for a raucous bump and grind?
Interestingly,
the last act of High Plains Drifter
is not about protecting Lago from an external threat from these advancing
angels of death who have adopted a scorched earth policy as they make their way
across the plains; rather, a standoff between the stranger and the town’s
undisciplined pessimists, watching rather helplessly as he is unable to prevent
this community’s descend into a purgatory of chaos and paralyzing fear. To face
the enemy they must first conquer and set aside their contempt for each other.
Is that even possible? High Plains
Drifter teems with subtext; whether analyzing the dystopian breakdown of a
community into authoritarianism met with divisive mob rule or the societal
devolution of a presumably once God-fearing conclave into godless, inhumane
chaos, the film has much more going for it than the deceptively transparent
central narrative about a solitary reaper passing through town.
As a
director/star, Eastwood would have his least successful venture to date with The Eiger Sanction (1975); a fairly transparent,
turgidly scripted and not altogether efficacious homage to the James Bond
franchise after reportedly being offered, but turning down, the opportunity to
replace Sean Connery as agent 007. The plot can be summarized in a sentence: classical
art professor and collector, Jonathan Hemlock (Eastwood) doubles as a
professional assassin to avenge the murder of an old friend. It’s an impossibly
fanciful yarn at best; California college prof/ex-military/black market art
junkie meets positively weird vindictive albino of spurious means, the leader
of secretive organization C-2, appropriately nicknamed Dragon (Thayer David),
who offers a king’s ransom for something Jon – on a good day - would do for
free: get the man who killed his buddy. The catch: he has to join a climbing
party of which the murderer is a part of, preparing to scale the Eiger Mountain
in the Alps. Is it Freytag (Reiner Schone), Meyer (Michael Grimm), or Montaigne
(Jean-Pierre Bernard)? Hmmm. A lot of ‘training’ follows, Hemlock turning to
fellow ex-military, Ben Bowman (George Kennedy, whom I really couldn’t take
seriously as the go-to guy for health and fitness). Pressure mounts as a
tempestuous lover, Jemima Brown (Vonette McGee), and rival, Miles Mellough
(Jack Cassidy, playing bisexual?
while owning a dog named ‘Faggot’), press Jon into a dangerous game of cat and
mouse as he embarks to scale this craterous peak, forcing Jon to place his
faith and trust in a fellow hunter of men.
Although
beautifully photographed by Frank Stanley, The
Eiger Sanction lumbers along with a screenplay by Hal Dresner, Warren
Murphy and Rod Whitaker, cribbing from Whitaker’s best-selling novel of the
same name, written under the nom de plume, Trevanian. Eastwood is a classics
prof like I’m Noam Chomsky, almost immediate recognizing his noblesse oblige
approach to crime-solving will have to take a backseat to his more readily ensconced
persona as a rough n’ tumble brute, belting baddies and giving every disposable
gal pal he encounters a light crack on the butt with equal contempt. This
multilayered tale of misfiring intrigues gets bogged down by Eastwood’s rather
laid back directorial style, diffusing the elemental quality of suspense essential
for any superspy thriller.
Instead, we
get a lot of travelogue footage cobbled together with flashes of mystery and
intervallic fits of violence. The Eiger
Sanction definitely suffers from James Bond penis-envy; making the not
altogether challenge to squeeze Eastwood’s particular brand of big screen brawn
into the more cultured shoes of the elegant spy awkward at best and severely
trying at times. Wrong size. Bad fit. There is a disconnect between the movie’s
opening scenes, where Eastwood is still amiably endeavoring to do the whole
jaunty academic thing, and the latter half of the picture, where he simply
discards this Ricco Suave façade in favor of the more familiar ‘Go ahead…make my day’ earthy brand of
male machismo he obviously is much more comfortable at playing.
All of the
films featured in Universal’s Blu-ray compendium are given competent 1080p
transfers. Framed in 1.85:1, Coogan’s
Bluff offers up some solid color saturation, naturalistic flesh tones and a
good solid smattering of film grain looking fairly indigenous to its source.
Fine detail pops as expected with textures in hair, clothing and facial
features in close-up exceptionally pleasing. There is some light speckling and
a hint of built-in flicker, but otherwise, this is a good hi-def presentation.
The results are slightly less pleasing on Two
Mules for Sister Sara, chiefly because I suspect some undue DNR scrubbing
has been applied to soften and remove the grain from this otherwise generally
satisfying 2.35:1 hi-def image. Minor hints of black crush do not distract,
though they are present. Nevertheless, color saturation is good. The Beguiled is the most problematic
transfer; its 1.85:1 image full of untoward filtering, making fine details waxy
and soft. Vontrast levels are weak; colors, severely muted. Although the print
shows signs of speckling and a few minor scratches, it’s the overall wan
quality that I cannot abide.
To a lesser
degree, similar issues afflict Play
Misty for Me, its’ 1.85:1 hi-def presentation suffering from heavy filtering
at the expense of more robust textures and fine detail. Film grain is a virtual
non-issue. There is none! The overall characteristic herein is soft – period!
Flesh tones are accurately rendered, while other colors favored in this palette
of psychedelic swing look appropriately bright and pop from the screen. No speckling to speak of, but again – I
consider this transfer subpar for what it might have been. Much more
satisfactory results on Joe Kidd and
High Plains Drifter, each appearing
to have been sourced from revitalized film elements having undergone at least a
partial restoration and concerted preservation effort. After the initial
disappointments, prepare to be dazzled by crisp and very clean images on both
films, while visually rich and varied, the ‘wow’ factor evident in everything
from deeply satisfying primaries to some truly stunning and varied flesh tones.
Lots to admire here, from fine detail popping as it should to zero age-related
artifacts. Even during darkly lit scenes detail is extraordinarily realized and
clearly delineated. Top marks on both transfers.
The Eiger Sanction falls a few notches from such
perfection, its 2.35:1 image again suffering from DNR liberally applied and all
but wiping out fine detail and grain for a smooth, but video-based
presentation. Honestly, Universal has one of the spottiest records with this
sort of misguided ‘clean-up’. Close-ups are fairly impressive, but detail gets
lost in establishing shots, a residual softness creeping in after the main
titles and never entirely leaving thereafter. Colors are pleasing, benefiting
from the outdoorsy photography and flesh looks natural and appealing. But delineation
is just awful, black levels transforming scene after dimly lit scene into a
murky mess of shadows with some haloing also factored in. Badly done!
With the
exception of High Plains Drifter,
which has received an impressive and newly remastered 5.1 DTS soundtrack, all
of the movies herein sport a DTS 2.0 audio mix. The results are fairly
predictable; a lot of crisp sounding dialogue and accurately integrated SFX,
generally lacking bass tonality, but otherwise mostly acceptable with minor
stridency detected and owing more to its source elements than any lack in the
mastering process itself. The only title in this set to receive any
consideration by way of extras is Play
Misty for Me; offering up the 2001 documentary, ‘Play It Again’. At just under 50 min. it is well worth the price of
admission alone. We also get a rather superfluous 6-minute overview of the Siegel/Eastwood
collaboration, framed by Richard Schickel’s glib repartee, an almost 4-minute
montage of publicity junkets, and another montage running less than 3-minutes.
There’s also ‘Evolution of a Poster’
that provides a backstage pass into how movies are promoted via marketing, plus
the original theatrical trailer; the only commodity included on every other
release in this set.
Parting
thoughts: it’s rather obvious Universal has slapped together this set, blending
the impeccable work done earlier on some of these independently released films
with less than progressively minded work done on the MIA titles now made a part
of the Eastwood film franchise in hi-def. I’m not a proponent of this sort of
slapdash compendium; preferring the studios take their time to remaster every
movie they release in 1080p as though it were their very best – or very last.
Still, it’s Eastwood we’ve come to see and the man, in spite of some spottier
quality issues herein, delivers the goods as few stars of his generation can or
have. Bottom line: recommended, but with caveats.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
Two Mules for
Sister Sara 3
Joe Kidd 3
High Plains
Drifter 4.5
Coogan’s Bluff
3
The Beguiled
3.5
Play Misty For
Me 4
The Eiger
Sanction 3
VIDEO/AUDIO
Two Mules for
Sister Sara 3.5
Joe Kidd 4
High Plains
Drifter 4
Coogan’s Bluff
3
The Beguiled
2.5
Play Misty For
Me 3
The Eiger
Sanction 3
EXTRAS
2
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