Cinema
The new old Clint
Mark Amory
There is an extraordinarily satisfying moment in Godfather II when (a little late in my case) you realise that young Robert de Niro is actually going to turn into old Marlon Brando. He is playing the same man: the mantle is being handed on. Clint Eastwood has become the John Wayne de nos fours but they did not and could not have appeared together as for a long time each owned any film they were in.
'The new Clint Eastwood' is a fair description of In the Line of Fire. Nobody, not even Schwarzenegger, we have discov- ered, is now a star in the sense of guaran- teeing an audience, but Eastwood, in spite of flops, oddities and comedies, has a per- sona that persists from film to film: macho man, whatever the odds, wherever the fight — while he is alive the bad guys had better look out; and he never dies.
Eastwood began as a cowboy and changed into its modern counterpart, a cop, with an occasional backward glance. Coogan's Bluff (1968) is an excellent film about the transformation. He has a code of honour, though one that may upset liberals, and in order that he should be isolated, which is necessary, he has to be at odds with authority, a rebel suspended for being too violent or too persistent. Just as villains ought to have learned that they should get on with killing the hero and not stop to explain the plot, senior policemen, specially those in league with a corrupt mayor, should realise by now that it is a waste of breath shouting 'You're off the case, god- dammit!' at Clint. Ford said he made
Wayne a star by keeping him silent, and Eastwood too is a man of few words, many of them repeated.
So In the Line of Fire is a Clint Eastwood film and a good one. The speeding car at the beginning is only speeding because it is late to pick him up and the driver is then allowed to waffle on about his problems until Eastwood interjects, 'Any other excus- es?' His catchphrase here is, 'I know things about people', which is a bit of a cheat as it is used to dignify his hunches, which in turn are often used to cover gaps in the plot.
Frank Horrigan is a secret service agent who 30 years ago failed to protect Presi- dent Kennedy. Telephone threats are being made against the current President and he believes they are serious, so there is a chance to redeem himself. The emphasis, however, is on the duel with the assassin; we do not know or care much about safety procedure, the President or even the mur- der plan. Nothing very surprising or inge- nious happens but the plot is never completely predictable. Still we are danger- ously close to cliche: Horrigan is a loner who lives in a colourless apartment, as does the killer, who suggests, just when I was hoping he wouldn't, that they are really two of a kind. He is also a master of disguise which only the hero can penetrate. Wher- ever anyone goes in Washington there seems to be a familiar building in the back- ground; all is sharp, brilliant and anony- mous (you can hear what they say, thank God). The night streets glisten blue from the rain that does not seem to fall by day.
It is the performances that lift the film above the level of, say, The Bodyguard. John Malkovich, formidably intelligent, sardonic, almost flirtatious, finds moments of subtlety as well as power. The obligatory romance is light and, as far as we see, unconsummated. It has a Forties feel to it: Clint is amusing, even charming, and woos her by playing 'As Time Goes By' on the piano but in a jaunty style, and lisping when he calls her 'sweetheart', which is more a reference to Bogart than an imita- tion. They do go on about his age (63) a bit, but that is better than pretending he is young. Nothing remarkable then, but a good, solid 6.
'Don't you think your restraint techniques are rather excessive?'
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