”Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while that you shouldn’t have fucked with? That’s me.”
I railed a bit on Clint Eastwood and his brand of populist filmmaking in my review of Changeling. Gran Torino is a stripped down example of those same techniques. The script isn’t anything wildly innovative, the symbolism is obvious and the themes are presented in heavy-handed fashion. However, what truly elevates the piece is Eastwood himself who steps in for what just might he his final acting role. What Unforgiven did to the Man with No Name archetype; Gran Torino does to Dirty Harry. Eastwood is Walt Kowalski, a Korean War vet and one mean, old bastard. Seriously, he’s the crotchety curmudgeon who sits on his porch drinking beer and staring out at the world with utter contempt while he mutters under his breath. You could imagine Detective Callahan arriving at this same point. Kowalski doesn’t pack a Magnum .44 (”…the most powerful handgun in the world.”). Instead, he’s armed with a Colt .45 and an old M1 rifle. It’s not surprising that rumors swirled about during early development that Gran Torino would be the next installment in the Dirty Harry franchise.
Gran Torino begins with the funeral for Walt’s wife. He’s all alone now with his only friend being his Labrador retriever, Daisy, He can’t stand his own family. His children are self-involved and his grandchildren are spoiled brats. Nor does he have time for a young and earnest Catholic priest who hounds him to come to confession. Walt doesn’t care for his neighbors either. His formerly white neighborhood has been supplanted by Hmong immigrants and Walt has no qualms over throwing around words like, “chink” and “gook.” About the only thing Walt does care for (aside from his dog), is a vintage ’72 Gran Torino bought hot off the assembly line of the Ford factory he once worked at. The Torino stands as more than just the expected phallic symbol of masculinity. It’s a frozen moment in time. It’s not even the best of the classic muscle cars, but that doesn't matter. They just don’t make them like they used to. That goes for the Torino and Walt.
It is that very automobile that intertwines his fate with his next door neighbors. In particular, the introverted Tao (Bee Vang) who is hounded by his older, gangbanger cousin and neither he nor his sister, Sue (Ahney Her) will ”know peace” unless Walt does something about it. As expected, Walt’s stony exterior is chipped away. ”I have more in common with these gooks than my own spoiled, rotten family,” he admits. In turn, young Tao (emasculated by bullies and the domineering women in his family) learns newfound confidence and skills under the reluctant tutorship of Walt.
Gran Torino is a fairly simple film that’s elevated by Eastwood’s sheer presence. It’s a testament to his talent as an actor and filmmaker that he’s able to make racism endearing. And only Eastwood could make you believe a near octogenarian could beat the crap out of punks a fourth of his age. Though the script wasn’t written with him in mind, I cannot imagine anybody else in the role. Walt Kowalski is an extension of the Eastwood persona. The trademark squint and sneer are ever present. He growls like a junkyard dog. The film’s resolution acts as almost a recant of the hard-nosed (some would say fascist) style of vigilantism that made Dirty Harry famous. This is Eastwood’s best work since Unforgiven.
Rating: ****
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