UNFORGIVEN: 4K Blu-ray (Warner Bros. 1992) Warner Home Video
BEST PICTURE - 1992
“Respect your efforts, respect yourself. Self-respect
leads to self-discipline. When you have both firmly under your belt, that's
real power.”
– Clint Eastwood
Even after all
these years, and with copious work to illustrate the point, I find it difficult
to refer to Clint Eastwood as ‘a
director’. This is not to suggest Eastwood has not excelled in his ‘other’
vocation. In point of fact, he has…over and over again. And yet, his
iconography as a western anti-hero and all-around tough guy, gleaned mostly
from impressions made during a formative part of his transitional career as the
only actor who could – by his own joking admission – say ten lines in as many
movies and typify the solitary loner of either urban or rural landscapes;
Eastwood has long since become an ingrained part of our collective movie-goer’s
pop culture that to cleave his reputation from these legendary performances is
about as easy as peeling a turtle. Eastwood, for me, will always be a star
first/director second, even though and undeniably he has made some very
engaging, and on occasion ground-breaking movies. Personally, I think Eastwood
is most in his element when he wears two hats – as star and director. So, in
some ways 1992’s Unforgiven is the
epitome of this triangulation of star, director and western anti-hero
converging on a grizzly, post-postmodern epitaph, not only to close the door on
a certain kind of Hollywood western film but also Eastwood’s place within its
legendary pantheon.
Unforgiven is imbued with a world-weariness few westerns have
embraced so completely or successfully and with such emotional clarity and
content of character; our ‘hero’ –
Will Munny (Eastwood) – a craggy, careworn relic from an era that refuses to
remain bygone, revived by The Schofield Kid (Jaimz Woolvett) solely to erode
what little salvation Munny has left as a notorious murderer, thief and
all-around bad guy. Lanky, forlorn and stoic to a fault, Will has managed to
purge himself of those frustrated youthful impulses to be a hell raiser
extraordinaire with the aid of a good woman he wed and by whom has sired a pair
of children he now almost willfully abandons with the best of intentions – to
return to them a richer man – monetarily, if not in spirit – than all his
failed attempts as a farmer have thus far managed to procure for the family.
None of it would be possible had Munny’s sainted wife not died of small pox
three years before; the first of his recompenses for having lived as no man
should, by the blood of others, some undeserving of his particular brand of
frontier wickedness. Huddled around a campfire with his one-time partner in
crime, Ned Logan (Morgan Freeman), Will confesses that more recently memories
of his despicable behavior have surged with a vengeance to keep him up at
night. Eastwood gives us Will Munny warts and all: a deadly assassin whose nerve
has dimmed – not dulled.
Scripted by
David Webb Peoples, Unforgiven is,
in fact a story, not of the glories of the old west nor even its affirmation or
noble declaration to echo any sentiment that might suggest a necessity to fight
and kill for what is a man’s place in the world. Will Munny once killed for
sport and pleasure. He enjoyed decimating anything that walked, leaving a
bloody trail of conquest behind and a notorious reputation long endured after
his retirement. Only now, Will has developed a crisis of conscience. He did not
do it alone. But once discovered, no purge of the past is possible. Will is a
fractured soul, a broken man and a lost cause; not because he has found
goodness, but rather, because knowing it, no amount of it can expunge this
record of a past imperfect. Will’s one revelatory act is not avenging the ‘wrong’ done to the whore, Delilah
Fitzgerald (Anna Thomson) in this desolate outpost of Big Whiskey, Wyoming (for
which Will has come and expects to be paid handsomely for his time and ‘art’),
but rather his parceling off a few well-fermented nuggets of wisdom to the
Schofield Kid; the novice who fancies himself a real ‘killer’ in Munny’s vein
without first having weighed the consequences yet to emerge from his misguided
notions of rugged masculinity. The true
merit of a man is not in gun slinging; nor in his implacable resolve to remain
the last man standing after many a brutal confrontation betwixt the stark skies
and tumbleweed; rather, within the strength of kindness that escaped Will’s sensibilities
in youth, now come to haunt and taunt him in the twilight’s last gleaming of
his craggy middle age.
Unforgiven is grandly edifying: history without the legend, or
rather, scraping beneath the surface of ‘legacy’
to reveal a warped, sad and infinitely tragic little thing is ‘fortune and glory’ achieved at the
point of a pistol. Thievery and murder are the lowest aspirations. They serve
only personal greed while satisfying no master. They erode common decency and
strike at the heart of an ingrained moral code that cannot be expunged; hence,
Peoples’ almost Shakespearean arc of misfortune is brought to bear on a
deliciously sad and sobering tale of one man, lost and friendless; shamed, yet
perennially angry and determined to outlast his competition. Such is Will
Munny. Unforgiven is exceptionally
well cast; Eastwood’s beady-eyed and thoroughly weathered isolationist, flanked
by two of Hollywood’s biggest stars, Morgan Freeman and Gene Hackman; the
latter, as Little Bill Daggett, a disreputable lawman with an ax to grind and
the props to maintain his one-man show of force in Big Whiskey, despite the
odds. Hackman’s is the showier part; Freeman’s the more short-lived (literally)
yet, unexpectedly sustained – even after his character as died. Both actors are
at the top of their game. Also augmenting the cast are Frances Fisher, as the
whore, Strawberry Alice, Saul Rubinek (as fair-weather biographer, W.W.
Beauchamp), and finally, in a brilliant cameo, the late Richard Harris (exuding
equal portions silken smooth culture and deviousness as the cold-blooded
assassin, English Bob).
Unforgiven opens with what appears to be a prologue in wide
aperture; actually more an epitaph to the tale that will follow it: a stark
sunset set against the silhouette of a cabin, a single sparsely decorated tree
and a man facing the tombstone of his late wife - a brief recap of a mother’s
disappointment in her daughter’s willful marriage to William Munny; a man
considerably older than she and of no account, except for his positively
tarnished repute as a professional killer. We learn Will’s wife, Ruth has died
of small pox, leaving him to rear their two children: Will Jr. (Shane Meier)
and Penny (Aline Levasseur). Long ago, Ruth reformed her husband – curing him
of the evils of strong drink and his other wicked ways. Nevertheless, even her
blind devotion has not managed enough to make Will a successful pig farmer. The
shack he calls their homestead is a mess; the hogs, more recently infected with
‘the flu’. And Will, pretty much at the
end of his rope and resources, is urged to reconsider – if nothing else – the
profitability of his former days as a gunslinger for hire by the Schofield Kid.
Seems The Kid is hell bent on emulating Munny's reign of vengeance, this time
to collect on a $1000 reward to be paid to anyone who will avenge the
disfigurement of the prostitute, Delilah at the hands of one of her drunken
clients.
The Kid
professes ‘a reputation’. Unfortunately, that is all it is. So, he enlists
Will’s help. Initially turned down, Will decides to stake a claim on his
children’s’ future. Delayed in his departure by an obstinate pony, Will rides
off to a neighboring farm to second his friend and one-time partner, Ned Logan
to the cause. Logan is a very reluctant participant, not the least because his
Cheyenne wife, Sally Two Trees’ (Cherrilene Cardinal) is displeased. After all,
they have achieved modest success in farming. Why should Ned risk it all now?
For old time’s sake? Nevertheless, Ned
follows his ex-partner on the desolate, many days journey to Big Whiskey. In
the meantime, word of the avenging ransom money has spread far and wide,
attracting the attentions of the assassin, English Bob and his biographer, W.W.
Beauchamp. The saloon keeper, Skinny Dubois (Anthony James) is outraged. After
all, there is sure to be trouble in town once the hired guns discover the
whores have yet to raise the thousand dollars needed for the big payoff. So
Skinny wastes no time informing Sheriff Little Bill Daggett, who, in turn, vets
English Bob’s flamboyant arrival in town. To prove his point – that violence of
any kind will not be tolerated in Big Whiskey - Little Bill ambushes and
pummels English Bob to the point of unconsciousness in the middle of the town’s
square; imprisoning Bob and his biographer as a warning to all other
gunslingers.
Little Bill
would be a decent lawman if he were not so unscrupulous in his enforcement of
the law. At some base level, the more cowardly Beauchamp fawning, admires such
men, switching horses in mid-stride by suggesting he and Little Bill
collaborate on the unvarnished account of his memoirs. Little Bill sends
English Bob packing on the next stagecoach out of town. Now, Munny, Logan and
The Kid arrive in Big Whiskey. Systematically brutalized by Little Bill and his
posse, Munny is taken to a safe haven by Delilah where he is nursed back to
health. The Kid is disgusted by how easily Munny was defeated and goads Logan
into reconsidering their three-way split of the money for assassinating the
cowboys; suggesting he and Logan go it alone. Ned refuses. Autumn turns to
winter, then spring and Munny, on the mend, gathers his resolve to continue the
hunt. Only now it is Logan who has second thoughts. Gun slinging is in his past
and he is determined it should remain there. Departing the group to return to
his land, Logan is captured by the cowboy posse and taken into town where
Little Bill repeatedly whips him until he confesses the true identity of his
cohorts. Meanwhile, Munny and The Kid shoot one of the cowboys dead as he
proceeds to use an outhouse behind their log cabin hideout in the woods. The
other cowboys pursue Munny and The Kid but are unsuccessful. Skinny informs
Little Bill of the ambush and, in turn, Little Bill exacts his revenge on
Logan.
As a director, Clint
Eastwood respects his audience enough to spare us the grotesque cruelty that
must have followed, as we, and Munny, later learn from Little Sue (Tara Dawn
Frederick), the tearful prostitute come to payout the reward money for the job,
that Logan has since died from injuries sustained; his corpse, propped in a
coffin outside the Big Whiskey saloon with a sign reading, “This is what happens to assassins” as a warning to any and all who
may wish to follow in his footsteps. Munny’s vengeance shifts from the rest of
the cowboys to Little Bill. Alas, in regaling Munny with this information, Sue
also gives an account of Logan’s forced confession; that Little Bill has been
forewarned Will Munny is the meanest, craziest son of a bitch that ever lived; a
man who murdered women and children on a train simply to steal the loot inside,
and who indiscriminately killed men for the pleasure in it. The Kid, who has
thus far lied through his teeth about his reputation as a hired gun, only
having achieved his first kill (the cowboy in the outhouse) that afternoon, and
who regarded Will as something of a relic, now suffers from a bout of crippling
anxiety. Gun slinging is not for him. Attempting to drown his nerves in a
bottle of booze, The Kid, in an attempt to offset his own guilt, now suggests, “He had it coming,” to which Munny
coolly replies, “We all got it coming.”
The Kid bows
out. He wants neither the money nor the notorious reputation Will has achieved.
The crisis of conscience is decidedly not worth it. So, Will goes it alone in
the pouring rain; back to Big Whiskey, past Logan’s open casket, and, marching
into the saloon where Little Bill has gathered the remaining cowboys and his
own men in preparation for a ride out in search of Will and The Kid. Without batting an eye, Will clears the room
of potential ‘heroes’; shooting Skinny dead first, then the rest of the cowboy
posse, and finally, Little Bill, as the whores and Beauchamp look on in abject
horror. Mounting his horse just outside, Munny declares his name and the
purpose of his visit to Big Whiskey, encouraging anyone frisky or dumb enough
to take a pot shot at him right now. There are no takers. In a bellowing voice
he further instructs that unless Logan is given a proper burial at the first
opportunity, he will return to Big Whiskey to murder every last citizen until
the town is wiped off the map. As his reputation has preceded him, we assume
the citizenry will follow through with his request post haste. In an epilogue,
virtually the mirror of the prologue, we learn Munny pulled up stakes after Big
Whiskey and left his farm. Hence, when Mrs. Feathers, the mother of his late
Ruth came in search of her daughter, she found only her grave site, providing
no sense of closure or explanation as to why such a good woman should have
married this very bad man. The epilogue also suggests Munny moved his family to
San Francisco, hanging up his pistols for good and perhaps even prospered as a
merchant in dried goods.
With Unforgiven, Clint Eastwood illustrates,
as though proof were needed, he has evolved as one of the finest all-around
talents ever to work in the picture biz. With very few exceptions, Eastwood has
excelled in every field of his endeavors (we’ll overlook his woefully bad
performance in 1969’s as bizarrely idiotic Paint
Your Wagon). Even so, Eastwood had the strength of his convictions; in Unforgiven’s case, also the legacy of
his alter-ego/on-screen persona gleaned from those fabulous Sergio Leone
westerns. Eastwood’s Will Munny is very much cleaved from this particular limb
of the actor’s tree of expertise. Herein, Eastwood delves into the solitary
temptations eviscerating a man’s soul, compelled to sin, but perhaps also to
satisfy – or at least, placate, the rage from within he merely suspected lay dormant.
It goes without saying, Eastwood possesses rare and elusive ‘star quality’ too
oft professes by lesser talents. But he also knows his way around good solid
story-telling. Possessing an eye for composition, editing, writing, casting and
yes, directing, Clint Eastwood can visually convey a good yarn almost
single-handed with the finesse of his own guiding principles at the forefront
to achieve an end result. That he graciously shares the screen and the credit
with other artisans toiling behind and in front of the camera is a testament to
not only his intuitiveness and good nature, but magnanimity towards others
besides.
At 87-years
young, Eastwood today is one of Hollywood’s most admired and respected elder
statesmen; of late, the victim of yet another cruel celebrity death hoax. Were
that he was in his prime to point that oversized Magnum pistol at the culprit
responsible for it and utter the infamous retort, “Go ahead…make my day! Do you feel lucky, punk? Well…do you?” In
essence, Eastwood does just that in Unforgiven.
It is a delayed reaction however, brought on by Munny’s discovery the best
friend he cajoled into partaking of their assassin’s creed has paid the supreme
sacrifice that ought to have awaited him instead. Eastwood is triumphant as
both star and director in Unforgiven,
his actor’s sensibilities better informing his directorial decision-making and
vice versa. There is an almost mathematical certainty to the way Eastwood
effortlessly breaks the third wall of his proscenium; the ten-gallon and
six-shooters traded for a can of celluloid and a viewfinder; then, back again.
If it all looks effortless, it isn’t; Eastwood, wringing a performance on both
sides of the camera with a lot of blood, sweat and tears poured into every last
shot. “I've always felt that if I examine
myself too much, I'll find out what I know and don't know, and I'll burst the
bubble,” Eastwood once commented,
“I've gotten so lucky relying on my animal instincts, I'd rather keep a little
bit of the animal alive…the one advantage an actor has of converting to a
director is he's been in front of the camera. He doesn't have to get in front
of the camera again, subliminally or otherwise.” Unforgiven is likely Eastwood’s opus magnum in a career of many
highlights.
It has been ten
years since Warner Home Video bowed its first Blu-Ray incarnation of
Unforgiven. Then, the results were a very mixed bag; an image with markedly
improved image clarity over its DVD counterpart, but also quite a bit of
built-in instability and, worst of all, a PCM Surround Stereo audio that left a
lot of fans flat. This reissued Blu-ray is simultaneously a cause for applause
and some consternation. I’ll explain. It may be sacrilege, but I prefer the
newly remastered 1080p Blu-ray release of Unforgiven
to its HDR Ultra Hi-def 4K remaster. Now, I should preface my comments by
suggesting that if memory serves me correctly, the 4K Blu-ray, with its
decidedly bleak, desaturated and subdued color palette, and eye-squinting dark
contrast is probably a lot closer to what my theatrical viewing experience of Unforgiven was back in 1992. The 1080p
Blu-ray offers an entirely different visual presentation; richer, warmer hues
but with less than fully saturated black levels. Even so, fine detail pops more
on the Blu-ray than its 4K counterpart. The 4K visuals can only be appreciated
in a completely darkened room. The Blu-ray allows for ambient light sources to
be present and still achieve a level of pleasing overall image clarity. So, is
the new 4K disc truer to Unforgiven
theatrically? Hmmm. I have to say, it’s different than the Blu-ray Warner has
also remastered for this 2-disc reissue. Was I blown away by the uber-clarity
of 4K as directly compared to its Blu-ray counterpart? Not really. In fact, I
would suggest my first reaction herein was ho-hum ‘disappointment’.
So, which
version will I likely be inclined to watch again? Probably the Blu-ray.
Regrets. In both instances, the soundtrack has been remastered in 5.1 DTS. As
far as I am concerned, and save a few noteworthy exceptions, the aural
discrepancies between these two tracks are virtually unknown without, again,
straining to focus on the particulars. I realize this isn’t saying much for the
4K format – at least not where Unforgiven
is concerned. For now, I will wait in the hope of better transfers of some of
my other favorite movies to follow it. Extras are all ported over from the
2-disc DVD and include an extensive reflection by Eastwood on the making of the
film, plus 3 additional featurettes on Eastwood, his career and the afterlife
of this movie. We also an episode of Maverick, Richard Schickel’s audio
commentary and a theatrical trailer. If you are buying this combo reissue of Unforgiven for the Blu-ray copy, then
this disc comes very highly recommended by yours truly. If you are looking
forward to it as your foray into 4K (as I was) you may be left wanting.
Regrets.
FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
Blu-ray – 5
4K Blu-ray – 3.5
EXTRAS
3.5
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