Good Ole Burt; Cool-Eyed Clint

(7 of 9)

Eastwood likes to say that he "glorifies competence, " but he also takes some chances. He got into his biggest trouble, ironically, with his biggest hit, 1971's Dirty Harry. The plot concerned a supercompetent San Francisco cop trying to bring a sex criminal to justice. Harry turns roguish when he is thwarted at every turn by the niceties of civil liberties. Eastwood's fans—people worried about crime in the streets and laws that seem to coddle criminals—enjoyed this particular variation on Eastwood's basic antiauthoritarian figure. He himself knew that he was on dangerous ground politically, but went ahead. He liked the idea of playing a man who starts out job oriented and system supporting, then discovers the system cannot encompass anything as human as a man obsessed. What Eastwood was not prepared for was the critical storm that broke over him. The New Yorker's Pauline Kael called it "fascist medievalism." When Magnum Force was released, she complained about "carnage without emotion." She was widely echoed. Eastwood's image, at least among critics, was deeply, perhaps permanently tarnished. A self-described "political nothing," a nosher of health foods, and a man who refuses to hunt because he cannot stand killing, suddenly stood accused of being a right-wing gun nut. The tag is still there despite Harry's milder late outings, despite the comic overtones of his fine road picture, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, the conscious classicism of The Outlaw Josey Wales.

Eastwood's response has been to evoke audience acceptance, to note his avoidance of "slow-motion violence, the ballet of death," which, in his opinion, romanticizes killing. He thinks that if Cooper or Gable were making films today they would play harder, Eastwood-like variations on their basic characters. He is probably right. Years ago, D.H. Lawrence wrote that "the essential American soul is hard, stoic, isolate and a killer." Lawrence was exaggerating, of course, but in his words can be found a kernel of truth about Eastwood's screen character—and audience response to it.

Eastwood seems able to live with that uncomfortable piece of information. If his friends have any criticism of him, it is that he shows no interest in going beyond established limits of self and craft. "It surprises me that he is not more interested in a greater variety of roles," says Dirty Harry Director Don Siegel. Adds Producer Carl Pingitore, once Eastwood's editor: "He's a lot better actor than most people in this town realize. He's just barely scratched the surface." Eastwood sort of agrees. "A lot of actors who play Henry V can't play my character. They'd be ludicrous." Which is, of course, precisely why he is not about to try Shakespeare. He hates the idea of looking ludicrous in any situation. When work is done, he quietly retreats to his home, his wife, his young "sawed-offs," Kyle, 9, and Alison, 5.