Tag Archives: Geoffrey Lewis

Horror Series Review: Salem’s Lot (by Tobe Hooper & Paul Monash)

Posted on by Arleigh

“Open the window, Mark.” — Danny Glick

A town doesn’t have to look sinister to be hiding something rotten. That idea gives Tobe Hooper’s 1979 Salem’s Lot much of its staying power. Sure, there’s a creepy old house overlooking the neighborhood, but the real trouble settles into places that should feel reassuring: bedrooms, family homes, and familiar streets. Adapted from Stephen King’s novel, the miniseries turns an ordinary community into a feeding ground without losing sight of what made it ordinary in the first place. It’s uneven, occasionally stiff, and unmistakably a television production, yet its best moments deliver the sort of unease that expensive effects can’t guarantee.

The story begins with novelist Ben Mears, played by David Soul, returning to Jerusalem’s Lot, Maine. He’s drawn back partly by disturbing memories of the Marsten House, a property that seems to concentrate the town’s darkness. Unfortunately, antiques dealer Richard Straker and his mysterious partner, Kurt Barlow, have taken an interest in the place, too. Their arrival coincides with disappearances, illnesses, and deaths that suggest something worse than local bad luck. It’s familiar vampire territory, but familiarity works in its favor. We recognize the warning signs while the characters struggle to explain them away, creating tension between what the audience suspects and what the town will believe.

Hooper takes his time getting everyone into position, which is both a strength and a frustration. The early stretches contain plenty of conversation and everyday business before the supernatural threat becomes impossible to ignore. Some scenes could move faster, and a few supporting characters seem more interesting in principle than in practice. Still, the buildup matters. King’s novel isn’t simply about a vampire turning up; it’s about an entire town becoming vulnerable to him. The miniseries cannot reproduce the book’s full social landscape, but it establishes enough relationships and routines to make the destruction feel like more than a body count.

The town also isn’t an innocent paradise suddenly spoiled by an outside monster. Secrets, resentments, and unpleasant impulses already exist beneath its respectable surface. The vampires don’t invent those weaknesses so much as exploit them. This is an important part of King’s novel to preserve, and the adaptation gets the idea across even when individual subplots feel abbreviated. The Marsten House may be the obvious symbol of evil, but it doesn’t exist in isolation. Its presence above the town suggests a darkness everyone can see and would rather leave alone. That indifference makes the setting more interesting than a collection of unsuspecting victims.

Soul provides a steady center as Ben, even if his restrained performance sometimes borders on flatness. He’s convincing as a man returning to unfinished emotional business, and his seriousness keeps the increasingly bizarre events grounded. There’s little danger of him making the material feel campy. His reserve occasionally creates distance, though, especially when the story needs a stronger emotional response. Ben works best as an observer forced into action, someone whose interest in haunted history becomes considerably less comfortable once it stops behaving like material for a book. Soul conveys that shift more effectively than the warmer aspects of the character.

The romance with Susan Norton, played by Bonnie Bedelia, is less satisfying. Their relationship offers a glimpse of the life Ben might build in town, giving him something to move toward rather than simply something to investigate. That’s useful, but the scenes don’t always generate enough warmth to make the possibility compelling. Bedelia brings an appealing directness to Susan, yet the relationship can feel emotionally hurried even when the surrounding story moves slowly. You understand why it belongs without becoming invested in every exchange. A stronger connection would have given the supernatural threat a more painful personal dimension.

Lance Kerwin makes a livelier impression as Mark Petrie, a horror-loving kid whose interests become unexpectedly practical. Mark could have been a convenient walking instruction manual, but Kerwin gives him enough vulnerability to avoid that trap. He recognizes the danger without becoming immune to it. There’s also something satisfying about a character who takes the evidence seriously rather than endlessly refusing to accept it. His imagination helps him understand the situation, but it doesn’t make everything manageable. That distinction captures something essential about King’s treatment of childhood: knowing what the monster is can help you survive, but it won’t stop you from being terrified.

James Mason is the cast’s great weapon. As Straker, he brings such controlled unpleasantness that a polite conversation can feel like a threat. His calm suggests someone completely comfortable with things everyone else would find horrifying. Is he being dismissive, quietly amused, or openly contemptuous? Often, the answer seems to be all three. Mason gives the production authority whenever he appears, making civilized behavior look like something a predator has learned to imitate. He’s particularly effective because he doesn’t strain for menace. The performance lets us sense the cruelty beneath the manners without constantly dragging it into view.

That elegance becomes especially important because Barlow departs sharply from the novel. King’s vampire can speak, manipulate, and present a recognizable personality. Hooper and actor Reggie Nalder instead give us a largely silent creature, leaving Straker to handle the smooth conversation. Readers who miss the original Barlow have a fair argument: something is lost when an articulate villain becomes primarily a physical menace. Onscreen, though, the decision pays off. With his bald head, pointed ears, and jutting teeth, this Barlow recalls Nosferatu rather than a charming drawing-room vampire. He looks fundamentally unwelcome, and Hooper limits his appearances enough to keep that impression potent.

Even so, Barlow isn’t responsible for the miniseries’ most haunting imagery. That honor belongs to the children floating outside bedroom windows. These sequences create a nasty collision of recognition and wrongness: the face is familiar, but its position, movement, and expression are not. The glass offers protection, yet the request to be let inside makes that protection uncertain. Hooper turns the instinct to welcome someone you know into something dangerous. The possibility that affection might defeat caution makes these scenes more troubling than a straightforward attack. They threaten not only physical safety but the trust that makes a home feel secure.

The windows themselves are wonderfully simple horror devices. They let the characters see the danger while leaving them exposed to its attention. A wall would conceal it; an open doorway would admit it. The glass suspends the scene between those possibilities, stretching out the question of whether the barrier will hold. Mist and unnatural movement complete the effect without requiring elaborate explanations. Almost everyone understands the feeling of being awake in a dark room, looking toward a window and wishing something more substantial separated inside from outside. Hooper takes that common vulnerability and gives it a face.

Moments like these make the television restrictions feel less like a handicap than a challenge Hooper knows how to use. Without relying on graphic violence, he builds horror through faces, shadows, sound, and timing. The production doesn’t always escape its limitations: some exchanges feel conventional, transitions can be abrupt, and the pacing occasionally stalls. But the ordinary interiors also help establish the world being invaded. These look like rooms where people eat dinner, argue, and sleep. The adaptation sacrifices some of the novel’s complexity, thinning supporting characters and narrowing the town’s communal collapse, yet preserves the frightening contrast between everyday surroundings and impossible events.

What finally makes Salem’s Lot worth returning to isn’t perfect fidelity or flawless pacing. It’s the way Hooper understands what the vampires take away before they take anyone’s life: the ability to trust familiar surroundings and familiar faces. King explores that collapse more deeply, but the miniseries preserves its central nightmare with remarkable force. Its quieter stretches give the horror somewhere recognizable to live, and its strongest images make that recognition uncomfortable. By the end, the town’s comforting routines have become part of the trap. For a production working within network television’s boundaries, that’s an impressive achievement—and a more lasting scare than extra blood would have provided.

Brad’s thoughts on the rural nightmare, MACON COUNTY LINE (1974)! 

Posted on by Bradley Crain

Max Baer, Jr. co-wrote, co-produced and co-starred in this southern fried thriller about a couple of good ‘ole boys (brothers Alan & Jesse Vint) who break down in the wrong county. The sheriff (Baer), who’s somewhat suspicious of the boys, goes after them with a fierce vengeance when his wife is murdered.

I’m a big fan of this classic drive-in film. Baer is excellent as the small town sheriff who eventually goes mad with rage, which he directs squarely onto a couple of brothers who happen to be passing through. The film takes its time with the story and the characters, and when everything goes to hell near the end, you can somewhat understand why the sheriff goes nuts. It’s a nightmare scenario built around the suspicion of outsiders and then jumping to the wrong conclusions when a tragedy occurs. It definitely seems like something that could happen, and that’s one of the things that makes it so good. The marketers of the film definitely agreed. In a move that was very hot at the time (THE LEGEND OF BOGGY CREEK, WALKING TALL, THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, etc.), the ads for the film implied that the film was based on true events. While that may not be true, the plan worked as the film was made for roughly $250,000 and would go on to earn over $30 million worldwide. Interestingly, I’ve read that Baer wrote the film’s story on the backs of his BEVERLY HILLBILLIES scripts during breaks in filming on the television classic. Eager to break free from his Jethro typecasting, he took matters into his own hands and made it happen!

I’m also a big fan of the Vint Brothers, Alan and Jesse. Both are good here as the drifting brothers looking for a little fun before reporting in for some military service the next week. Their fun turns into a horrific struggle for survival when they find themselves the target of the sheriff’s misplaced wrath. As part of the “This Week in Charles Bronson Podcast,” I was blessed to be part of an interview with Robert F. Lyons, who’s close friends in real life with the boys. He told us a fun story about them all making these motorized airplanes that they would then fly around and try to knock each other out of the sky. Robert would laugh and giggle while he talked about it. Alan had an important role a year after this was made in the Charles Bronson action hit BREAKOUT. In the film, he stands up to Bronson at a critical moment and lives to tell about it, which is not something every actor can say!

And what can I say about Jesse. Over the last few years, he’s actually become a fun acquaintance in real life. If you enjoy these 70’s “redneck” movies, I recommend one called BLACK OAK CONSPIRACY (1977) that Jesse co-wrote and stars in, with his buddy Lyons playing an over the top villain. Jesse’s a great guy, and he’s very proud of MACON COUNTY LINE. He told me one day that Tarantino has said it was one of “the best stories in cinema!” In the first season of his Video Archives podcast, I personally heard Tarantino brag on Jesse’s performance in THE FORBIDDEN WORLD. I love it when good things happen to good people.

Horror Review: High Plains Drifter (dir. by Clint Eastwood)

Posted on by Arleigh

“Don’t count on me to make you feel safe.” — The Stranger

High Plains Drifter stands as one of the bleakest, most enigmatic entries in Clint Eastwood’s filmography—a Western that bleeds unmistakably into the realms of psychological and supernatural horror. This 1973 film is not just another dusty tale of lone gunfighters and frontier justice. It’s a nightmare set in broad daylight, a morality play whose hero is more monster than man.

Eastwood’s Stranger comes riding into the town of Lago from the shimmering desert, a silhouette both akin to and apart from his famed Man With No Name persona. The townsfolk are desperate, haunted by fear—less afraid of imminent violence, more of the sins they’ve half-buried. This is a place where a lawman was brutally murdered by outlaws while the townspeople looked away, their silence paid for with cowardice and greed. When the Stranger assumes command, he does so with often-gleeful sadism—kicking people out of their hotel rooms, replacing the mayor and sheriff with the dwarf Mordecai, and ordering that the entire town be painted red before putting “Hell” on its welcome sign.

There’s a surface plot: the Stranger is hired to protect Lago from the same three outlaws who once butchered its marshal. But he’s there for far more than that. The story unspools through dreamlike sequences, flashbacks that suggest the Stranger may well be an avenging spirit or a revenant—the dead lawman, spectral and merciless, returned to claim what the townsfolk owe to Hell itself.

The horror here isn’t about jump scares or gothic haunted houses. The supernatural lurks everywhere and yet nowhere. The Stranger moves with the implacable calm—and violence—of a slasher villain, transforming Lago into his personal stage for retribution. His nightmares, full of images of past atrocities, are painted with the same vivid brutality as the daytime violence. Eastwood’s use of silence, the squint of a face, the twitch of a pistol replaces musical cues in amplifying dread. The sound design evokes otherness—a howling wind, footsteps echoing across empty streets—that builds a shadow of terror around the Stranger’s presence.

This violence is hurried and brutal; its sexual politics unflinching. When the Stranger enacts revenge, he punishes not just the outlaws, but the townsfolk complicit in their crimes. There is little comfort in his sense of justice—the pleasures he takes border on sadistic. The film’s moral ambiguity cuts deeper than most Westerns or horrors: this is not a clear-cut tale of good versus evil, but a brutal reckoning of collective guilt, cowardice, and corruption.

Lago itself acts almost like a town stuck in purgatory—a holding pen between redemption and eternal damnation. The infamous “Welcome to Hell” sign the Stranger paints at the town’s entrance serves as a grim message. It’s no welcome to law and order, but a symbolic beacon to the very outlaws the Stranger is hired to confront, suggesting that Lago is a place where sin festers and punishes itself. The town’s dance with Hell is both literal and metaphorical. The inhabitants aren’t just awaiting judgment; they have invited it in their desperate attempts to hide their cowardice and greed under the guise of civilization.

This notion of Lago as purgatory stands in sharp contrast to other recent horror Westerns, which serve as prime examples of the genre’s thematic spectrum. These films tend to focus on the primal terror of nature barely held at bay by the fragile veneer of civilization the settlers claim. They pit human beings against the ancient, untamed forces of the wilderness—whether monstrous creatures or surreal phenomena—emphasizing that the supposed order and progress of the West remain fragile and constantly threatened. This dynamic symbolizes the uneasy balance between civilization’s reach and nature’s primal power, often revealing how thin and tenuous that barrier truly is.

Among these, Bone Tomahawk and Ravenous stand out as vivid examples. Bone Tomahawk confronts menacing cannibals lurking in the wild, reminding viewers that the West’s order is fragile and under perpetual threat from untamed wilderness. Ravenous uses cannibalism and survival horror as metaphors for nature’s savage predation hidden beneath the polite façade of civilization—nature’s horrors masked but not erased.

By contrast, High Plains Drifter directs its horror inward, exposing the corruption that manifest destiny imposed on settlers themselves. Instead of fearing nature as an external force, the film presents settlers as haunted by their own moral failures and complicity in violence and betrayal. The Stranger’s vengeance is a reckoning with the darkness festering inside the community, a brutal meditation on guilt, collective cowardice, and the price of greed disguised as progress.

Eastwood’s film strips away the mythic promises of the American West as a land of freedom and opportunity, revealing instead the brutal reality of communities locked in complicity, violence masquerading as justice, and the moral rot at the heart of manifest destiny. This moral ambiguity and psychological depth give High Plains Drifter a unique position in the horror Western subgenre, elevating it beyond simple scares to a profound exploration of American cultural myths.

The Stranger is not a traditional hero but a spectral judge, embodying divine or supernatural retribution. His calm yet ruthless punishment exposes the cruelty, cowardice, and malevolence within Lago’s population, meting out a justice that is neither neat nor forgiving. His supernatural aura and sadistic tendencies make him an unforgettable figure of terror and fate.

Visually, the film’s harsh daylight contrasts with the romanticized Western landscapes of earlier films. Instead of shadows hiding evil, blinding light exposes the town’s moral decay. Characters are reduced to symbols of greed, fear, and cruelty, highlighting that the true horror lies within human nature and the failure to uphold justice.

High Plains Drifter operates on multiple levels—a Western, a ghost story, a horror film, and a dark morality play. It is a relentless meditation on justice and punishment and a dismantling of the traditional Western hero myth. Through layered narrative, stark visuals, and Eastwood’s chilling performance, it remains an essential entry in the horror Western canon.

For those seeking a Western that doesn’t just entertain but unsettles and challenges, High Plains Drifter offers an unforgiving descent into darkness. It strips away the comforting myths of the frontier and exposes the raw, rotting core beneath. Unlike other modern horror Westerns such as Bone Tomahawk and Ravenous, which confront external terrors lurking in the wilderness, this film turns its gaze inward—on the moral decay, guilt, and violence festering within the settlers themselves. It’s a brutal, haunting reckoning, and Eastwood’s Stranger is the cold, relentless agent of that reckoning. This is a journey into a hell both literal and psychological, where justice is merciless and safety is a long-forgotten promise.​

October Hacks: Out of the Dark (dir by Michael Schroeder)

Posted on by Lisa Marie Bowman

In 1989’s Out of the Dark, a man dressed in a clown costume is killing phone sex operators.  He lurks in the darkness and jumps out of the shadows to commit his dastardly crimes.  Especially during the first hour or so, the film has its share of both suspense and gruesome moments.  In the style of Italian giallo and pre-Halloween American slasher pics, the film actually tries to create some mystery about who the killer could be.  Lt. Frank Meyers (Tracey Walter) suspects that the killer might photographer Kevin Silvers (Cameron Dye).  Kevin and his girlfriend, Kristi (Lynn Danielson-Rosenthal), think that the police should be taking a closer look at David Stringer (Bud Cort), an accountant who has an office in the same building as the phone sex company.  Meanwhile, Detective Langella (Divine) thinks that the murders might be linked to a serial killer who is targeting prostitutes.

The main problem with Out of the Dark is that it’s pretty obvious from the start who the killer is and it’s hard not to judge the people who can’t figure it out for themselves.  The movie doesn’t really offer up enough viable suspects to keep you guessing and than it spends so much time trying to make it look like one of the suspects is guilty that any experienced film watcher will automatically know that he isn’t.  The viewers are supposed to be shocked by the killer’s identity but there’s nothing shocking about it.  It’s pretty obvious.

On the plus side, Out of the Dark does have a one-of-a-kind cast.  Divine and Tracy Walter play detectives.  Bud Cort is intense and nerdy as the bitter accountant.  Cameron Dye is vacuously handsome as the photographer.  Geoffrey Lewis shows up as an alcoholic.  Lainie Kazan plays an aging prostitute.  Tab Hunter drives a car.  Paul Bartel manages a motel and gets upset when he sees the blood pooling in one of his rooms.  And finally, Karen Black plays the owner of the phone sex company and gives a far better performance than the material actually deserves.  Black brings some much needed emotional reality to the film.

As I said at the start of this review, Out of the Dark has its moments.  The clown costume is truly creepy and the opening murder is all the more disturbing because it happen outside and in a public park.  (You do have to wonder how no one noticed a weirdo dressed like a clown wandering around.)  A scene in which the clown attacks a phone sex operator who has agreed to serve as bait is also well-done and genuinely frightening.  The story moves at a quick and steady pace and it deserves some credit for ending on a definitive note as opposed to trying to copy the ambiguity that was so popular with other slasher films of the era.

If only the identity of the killer had actually been a surprise, Out of the Dark would probably be considered a classic.  As it is, it’s just another well-made slasher film.

Brad reviews 10 TO MIDNIGHT (1983), starring Charles Bronson!

Posted on by Bradley Crain

Charles Bronson is Leo Kessler, a veteran detective who’s seen it all and has grown sick of a system of justice that he thinks favors criminals over their victims. When girls start getting murdered, he immediately suspects the arrogant Warren Stacy, played by Gene Davis in the best role of his career. When Kessler and his partner Paul McCann (Andrew Stevens) start putting the pressure on Stacy, the killer responds by going after Kessler’s daughter Laurie (Lisa Eilbacher). Needless to say, our hero will do anything to stop the madman, ANYTHING!

10 TO MIDNIGHT is a special movie in my house because it’s my wife’s favorite Charles Bronson film, even when she didn’t have any overall appreciation for Bronson as an actor. Luckily for her, she had me to introduce her to the rest of the iconic actor’s voluminous catalog of movies. I saw 10 TO MIDNIGHT myself when I was pretty young, probably 13 or so. I remember being scared that first night after I watched the movie when I was trying to go to sleep. My wife and I watched it today on my old VHS tape that I’ve owned going back to the late 1980’s. 

There are several elements that elevate 10 TO MIDNIGHT above the average cop / slasher thrillers of the 1980’s. First, it’s Charles Bronson in the lead role. Bronson has such a strong presence on screen that his presence alone elevates almost any material. He looks great in the film, and the role gives him some good opportunities, as both a mentor to the young cop, and even more importantly, as a dad who wants to do better for his daughter. It’s a solid role that seems to fit Bronson like a glove. Second, we know from the very beginning of the movie that Warren Stacy is in fact the killer. We also know that the law seems to be working in his favor. And because of that, we’re on Kessler’s side as he goes to extreme lengths to stop his reign of terror. Finally, the script and director J. Lee Thompson go all in on the sex and violence. Examples include Stacy killing his often naked victims while he himself is in the nude. There is much talk in the film about items of a sexual nature and Stacy even has a sexual release device that almost has to be seen to be believed. It definitely adds a decadent and voyeuristic feel to the proceedings. And I haven’t even mentioned yet that it has one of the very best endings of any Bronson film, second only to THE MECHANIC, in my humble opinion.

I highly recommend 10 TO MIDNIGHT!

For a more detailed review of 10 TO MIDNIGHT, check out Lisa’s review from a couple of years back below:

Film Review: 10 to Midnight (dir by J. Lee Thompson)

I Watched Catch Me If You Can (1989, Dir. by Stephen Sommers)

Posted on by Dazzling Erin

I hated Grind so much that I decided to watch another movie to get it out of my head.  I’m glad I did because, for my second movie, I picked a good one.

Catch Me If You Can takes place in Minnesota.  The school board is planning on closing down Cathedral High School unless the school can raise $200,000.  Class president Melissa (Loryn Locklin) takes charge of the fundraising drive but, even though she pours her heart into all of the car washes and bake sales, she’s only been able to raise $19,000.  Dylan Malone (Matt Lattanzi, who was married to Olivia Newton-John) is the school bad boy, who is always late to class because he’s busy racing other cars on the country roads near the school.  The principal (Geoffrey Lewis) gives Dylan an option.  He can either help Melissa or he can go to detention.  Dylan’s idea of helping is to take the money that Melissa has raised and bet on the illegal races that he’s entering.  At first, it works.  But when the Fat Man (M. Emmet Walsh) challenges Dylan to race his best man and then tells his racer to cheat, Dylan and Melissa lose all the money.  The Fat Man has a proposition.  The Fat Man dares Dylan to enter an impossible, timed race.  If Dylan wins, he’ll make the double the money that he lost and he and Melissa will be able to save the school. Dylan agrees.  Luckily, it turns out that the school’s principal is also the legendary Fast Freddie, the only person to ever win the Fat Man’s race.

It may not be anyone’s idea of great art but Catch Me If You Can is still a delightful and fun 80s teen movie, complete with a nerdy sidekick who turns out to be secretly cool, a bad boy with a heart of gold and a mullet, and a big football game at the end.  The plot doesn’t even make sense but the cast gave it their all and, as someone who took part in way too many car wash fund raisers in high school, I knew exactly what Melissa was going through!  I’ll admit that, towards the end of the film when everyone was counting down how many seconds Dylan had to make it to the finish line, I got a little caught up in the moment and I may have even cheered a little.  Catch Me If You Can is a wonderful slice of 80s goodness.

Film Review: Bronco Billy (dir by Clint Eastwood)

Posted on by Lisa Marie Bowman

In 1980’s Bronco Billy, Clint Eastwood plays Billy McCoy.

Billy is an aging cowboy, a trick-shooter who owns Bronco Billy’s Wild West, a traveling circus that has definitely seen better days.  Bronco Billy and his friends travel the country, going from small town to small town and putting on a show.  Billy is definitely the star and the highlight of each show is him shooting balloons and tossing a knife while his female assistant is strapped on a revolving disk.  Unfortunately, Billy’s latest assistant flinches and gets a knife in her leg.  Billy needs a new assistant and, wouldn’t you know it, Antoinette Lily (Sondra Locke) needs a job!

Antoinette is a runaway bride.  She married John Arlington (Geoffrey Lewis), not because she loved him but because she needed to get married by the time she turned 30 or she would lose her inheritance.  After the ceremony but before the wedding night, Antoinette fled.  The police assume that John murdered her and promptly arrest him.  John, suspecting that his wife is still alive, pleads insanity so that he can avoid the electric chair.

As Billy’s assistant, Antoinette challenges the way that Billy has always done the show, often to such an extent that you really have to wonder why she sticks around.  Since this is a Clint Eastwood film, there a bar brawl where Billy rescues her from being assaulted by a couple of rednecks.  Unfortunately, Antoinette’s arrival coincides with a string of accidents and other unfortunate incidents.  The other members of the show start to suspect that Antoinette might be bad luck.  Myself, I’m not superstitious and I don’t think that people can bring bad luck.  I think people make their own luck.  However, it’s hard to overlook the fact that Antoinette finds out that her husband is facing the death penalty due to her disappearance and her reaction is to basically shrug it off.  Sondra Locke gives a rather flat performance was Antoinette, suggesting none of the quirkiness necessary to make her anything more than a very childish and very self-centered person.  Antoinette is a role that demands the eccentricity of a young Sissy Spacek or Shelley Duvall or even Beverly D’Angelo, who did such a good job in Every Which Way But Loose.  Sondra Locke gives a boring performance and it drags down the film.

That said, there is a lot to like about Bronco Billy.  In many ways, this film feels like Clint Eastwood’s take on a Robert Altman film.  The plot is episodic and casual and the best scenes are the ones the emphasize the members of the circus as being a family of misfits.  (Indeed, one reason why Locke’s performance feels so jarringly wrong is because both she and Antoinette never seem to be interested in the other members of the show.)  Billy may be their leader and their main attraction but every member of the show plays a role in keeping Billy’s Wild West alive.  Scotman Crothers, Sam Bottoms, Bill McKinney, Dan Vadis, and Sierra Pecheur all give likable performances that bring the film’s world to life.  The film becomes about more than just the aging Billy trying to find his place in a changing world.  It’s a film about a group of people who have come together to form their own community and, by the end of the movie, it’s a community that you can’t help but love.  In many ways, this film features both Eastwood the director and Eastwood the actor at his gentlest and most humanistic.  Billy and his show bring the old west to a new America and, in the end, you’re happy they did.

Film Review: Any Which Way You Can (dir by Buddy Van Horn)

Posted on by Lisa Marie Bowman

In this 1980 sequel to Every Which Way But Loose, Philo and his orangutan Clyde are still living next door to Orville (Geoffrey Lewis) and his mother (Ruth Gordon).  Philo is still working as a truck driver but he’s becoming far better known as a bare-knuckles brawler.  In fact, when another famous fighter named Jack Wilson (William Smith), moves to the area, everyone assumes that Jack wants to challenge Philo.  It turns out that Jack’s actually a pretty nice guy.  He and Philo become jogging buddies.

Remember Lynn Halsey-Taylor (Sondra Locke), the extremely self-centered singer who broke Philo’s heart in the first film?  Well, she’s back and she’s changed her ways.  When she and Philo meet in a bar, Lynn apologizes to him for her past behavior and soon, she and Philo are a couple again.  Booo!  Seriously, Eastwood and Locke somehow have even less chemistry here than they did in the first film.  (Again, Locke and Eastwood were in a relationship at the time, which makes their total lack of chemistry even more interesting to consider.)  Everyone in the film is surprisingly forgiving of Lynn, considering that she was portrayed as being nearly sociopathic in the previous film.  Even Clyde seems to be happy to have her back.  Of course, Clyde gets to have a romance of his own, with another orangutan.  Clyde has sex with his partner while Philo and Lynne fool around in the room next door.  It’s …. kind of weird.

Anyway, the Mafia really wants Philo and Jack to fight so they decide to kidnap Lynn in order to force the fight to happen.  Instead, Jack and Philo team up to rescue Lynn and to put those gangsters in their place.  That might sound dramatic but this film is very much a redneck comedy so these are probably the least intimidating mafia soldier that I’ve ever seen.  Just as the previous film’s outlaw bikers (and they also make a return appearance in this film) were too buffoonish to be truly menacing, the same is true of the Mafia in this film.

In the end, Philo and Jack do have a fight but it’s under their own terms and, afterwards, they accompany each other to the hospital.  It’s kind of a nice moment, really.  Even after beating the hell out of each other and causing more than a few broken bones, Philo and Jack are still friends.  It’s a nice touch that Jack was played by William Smith, who was a bit of a low-budget version of Clint Eastwood.

Indeed, with Geoffrey Lewis relegated to a supporting role and Sondra Locke abducted by the mafia, the friendship between Philo and Jack becomes the heart of the film and if there is really anything that makes this film memorable, it’s the scenes that Eastwood shares with William Smith.  These two tough guys actors seem to have a natural understanding of each other and their friendship and mutual respect feels real.  They may fight but it’s only out respect for each other.  It’s a shame that Eastwood and Smith didn’t team up for more films.

Any Which Way You Can is an amiable comedy.  It’s not as much fun as Every Which Way But Loose.  Beverly D’Angelo’s Echo is missed but she was presumably busy filming Coal Miner’s Daughter at the time.  The film works best as a buddy movie.  Clint Eastwood, William Smith, Geoffrey Lewis, and an orangutan.  What a team!

Film Review: Every Which Way But Loose (dir by James Fargo)

Posted on by Lisa Marie Bowman

In 1978’s Every Which Way But Loose, Clint Eastwood plays Philo Beddoe.

Philo’s an ordinary guy with beautiful hair and a way with throwing punches.  He’s a truck driver.  He enjoys a cold beer.  He enjoys country music.  He makes some extra money by taking part in bare-knuckle brawls.  Everyone says that he could be the next Tank Murdock, a legendary fighter.  Philo is just a simple, blue collar guy who lives in a small house, next door to his best friend Orville (Geoffrey Lewis) and Orville’s profanity-loving mother (Ruth Gordon).  Philo also owns an orangutan named Clyde.  He saved Clyde from being sent to live in a “desert zoo.”

(Actually, now that I think about it, most blue collar guys don’t own monkeys but whatever.  Clyde’s cute and Eastwood’s Eastwood.)

When Philo meets a country singer named Lynn Halsey-Taylor (Sondra Locke), he is immediately smitten.  When Lynn disappears and leaves Philo a cryptic note, Philo decides to go looking for her.  Clyde, Orville, and Philo hit the road.  Along the way, Orville meets and picks up a woman named Echo (Beverly D’Angelo).  This is a road movie so, of course, Clyde, Orville, Philo, and Echo have their adventures on the way to Colorado.  They end running afoul both a corrupt cop and a gang of buffoonish bikers.  Philo enters a fight whenever they need money and one occasionally gets the feeling that Eastwood took this role to show off the fact that, for someone approaching 50, he still looked good without a shirt on.  And good for him!  Because, seriously, Clint does look good in this movie….

I have to admit that, for all of my attempts at sophistication, my roots are in the country and I’ve traveled down enough dirt roads that I find it hard to resist a good redneck story.  And really, there aren’t many films that as proudly and unashamedly redneck than Every Which Way But Loose.  It’s a film that has a laid back, take-it-as-it-comes vibe to it.  Philo may be looking for Lynn but he seems to be okay with taking a few detour along the way.  There’s no real sense of urgency to any part of the movie.  Instead, Every Which Way But Loose was made for people who like a cold beer at the end of the day and who find Ruth Gordon to be hilarious when she curses.  Myself, I don’t drink.  That’s one part of the country lifestyle that passed me over.  But I did enjoy seeing Ruth Gordon cuss out the Nazi biker gang.

Eastwood, Lewis, and D’Angelo have a likable chemistry and the monkey’s cute.  Unfortunately, Sondra Locke isn’t particularly well-cast in the role of Lynn.  (Considering that she was in a relationship with Eastwood, it’s amazing how little chemistry they have in this movie.)  As I watched the film, it occurred to me that it probably would have worked better if Locke and D’Angelo had switched roles.  Locke’s character is supposed to be a femme fatale type but she gives a boring performance and, as a result, the revelation that Philo has misjudged her doesn’t really carry any emotional weight.

That said, this film features some beautiful shots of the wilderness, a charming romance between Lewis and D’Angelo, and a shirtless Clint Eastwood beating folks up.  That’s more than enough to please this secret country girl.

Film Review: Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (dir by Michael Cimino)

Posted on by Lisa Marie Bowman

1974’s Thunderbolt and Lightfoot opens with two men, one young and one middle-aged, facing a moment of truth.

The younger of the two is Lightfoot (Jeff Bridges), a wild and hyperactive rich kid who is in his 20s and who steals a corvette right off of a used car lot.  The other man is simply known by his nickname, Thunderbolt (Clint Eastwood).  When we first see Thunderbolt, he’s giving a sermon in a small Montana church.  When a gun-wielding man steps into the church and promptly starts firing at Thunderbolt, he takes off running.  Pursued by his attacker, Thunderbolt runs through a field and just happens to jump onto Lightfoot’s speeding corvette.  Lightfoot runs over the Thunderbolt’s pursuer.  Thunderbolt slips into the car and Lightfoot drives on for a bit.  Lightfoot is excited and talkative.  Thunderbolt is more concerned with popping his shoulder back into its socket.  A stop at a gas station leads to the men stealing someone else’s car.

And so it goes for a good deal of the movie.  Thunderbolt and Lightfoot is a road movie, the majority of which is taken up with scenes of the two men just hanging out.  Thunderbolt and Lightfoot take an instant liking to each other.  When Lightfoot picks up a prostitute (Catherine Bach), he makes sure to ask that she bring along a friend for Thunderbolt.  When a criminal punches Lightfoot, Thunderbolt is quick to punch back.  “That’s for the kid,” Thunderbolt says.  That’s the type of friendship that they have.  Jeff Bridges is handsome and full of energy as Lightfoot and Clint Eastwood smiles more in this film than I think I’ve seen him smile in any other film.  For once, Eastwood is not playing a perpetually grumpy stranger or a supercop.  Instead, he’s just a blue collar guy who enjoys having a friend to travel with.

Eventually, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot meet up with two of Thunderbolt’s former associates.  Red (George Kennedy) is a brutal brawler who, it is suggested, served with Thunderbolt in the Korean War.  Goody (Geoffrey Lewis) is a gentle soul who takes orders from Red but still can’t bring himself to shoot anyone, no matter how much Red demands that he pull the trigger.  Red and Goody have always assumed that Thunderbolt stole the loot from a bank robbery that they pulled off.  Thunderbolt explains that he didn’t steal the money.  He just got arrested after hiding it.  Lightfoot suggests that maybe the four of them could pull off another bank heist….

Kennedy and Lewis are perfectly cast as the two criminals who end up working with Thunderbolt and Lightfoot.  In many ways, the relationship between Red and Goody mirrors the relationship between our lead characters.  The main difference is that Red is sadistic and quick to loose his temper, whereas Thunderbolt controls his emotions and tries not to hurt anyone while committing his crimes.  Lightfoot looks up to Thunderbolt and Goody looks up to Red.  Again, the difference is that Thunderbolt actually cares about Lightfoot, whereas Red is incapable of truly caring about anyone but himself.  Eastwood, Bridges, Kennedy, and Lewis make quite a team and it’s hard not to worry about all four of them, especially when the film takes an unexpectedly dramatic turn during its third act.

I really wasn’t expecting Thunderbolt and Lightfoot to make me cry but the final thirty minutes of the film brought tears to my eyes as what started out as a buddy comedy turned into a tragedy.  (I shouldn’t have been surprised.  I’ve seen enough 70s movies that I really should have known better than to have expected a happy ending.)  Thanks to the perceptive script by Michael Cimino (who would go on to make The Deer Hunter and Heaven’s Gate) and the performances of Eastwood and Bridges, the movie’s final moments carry quite a punch and they leave you wondering if Thunderbolt and Lightfoot’s road trip was worth the price that was ultimately paid.  The film works as not only a tribute to friendship but also as a fatalistic portrait of life on the backroads of America.

Thunderbolt and Lightfoot was the first Eastwood film to receive an Oscar nomination, with Jeff Bridges competing for Best Supporting Actor.  (He lost to Robert De Niro’s star turn in The Godfather, Part II.)  Eastwood, reportedly, felt that he deserved a nomination for his performance as Thunderbolt and, considering that that Oscar itself was won by Art Carney for his pleasant but hardly revelatory work in Harry and Tonto, Eastwood was correct.  Instead, Eastwood would have to wait for another 18 years before he finally received Academy recognition for starring in, producing, and directing Unforgiven.