A(nother) Metaphysical Movie Review from Robert V. Tobin
HEREAFTER & OTHERWISE: Cinematic evolution of Clint Eastwood
From rugged to urbane cowboys and many terse characters in between, Clint Eastwood’s acting persona evolved as far and fast as American society over the past seven decades.
It is fitting his first movie role was in Revenge of the Creature (1955), since his cinematic presence has long gratified viewers’ need for protection from life’s monsters – real and imagined.
This makes all the more surprising Eastwood cited Bronco Billy (1980) among the parts he most enjoyed playing. This shoe salesman fulfills a lifelong dream by organizing a later-day Wild West Show, albeit under a straggly tent with an equally be-straggled cast of characters. In their awkward encounters with so-called civilization, he discovered a story worth telling.
Oddly, this film arrived amongst tales about vigilante cops (the Dirty Harry series – 1971 to 1988), desperate criminals (Outlaw Josey Wales in 1976 and Escape from Alcatraz in 1979), and various loners adrift on the High Plains or elsewhere. But this period also included Honkey Tonk Man (1982), where he displayed musical talent employed in his piano soundtracks for many ensuing productions.
Even more oddly, Broncho Billy was sandwiched between two movies co-starring an orangutan – Any Which Way but Loose (1978) and Any Which Way You Can (1980). These were among his least critically acclaimed, but most audience-appreciated films up to that point in his career.
While Eastwood would never be accused – let alone convicted – of being a Hollywood leftist, his willingness to very publicly contemplate social dilemmas immediately surfaced in his directorial debut. Play Misty for Me (1972) emits stark warning about the hazards of celebrity well before the advent of social media. It also uncovered perverse influences of sexual harassment four decades before onset of the #MeToo movement.
Subsequent work explored sax player Charlie Parker’s interplay between jazz and addiction – Bird (1998); the reverberations of desperation, revenge and remorse – Unforgiven (1992); and political systems’ vulnerability to corruption and scandal – In the Line of Fire (1993) and Absolute Power (1997).
In the New Millennium, he examined the traumas of sexual abuse – Mystic River (2003); the horrors of war – Flags Of Our Fathers and Letters from Iwo Jima (2006); the intimidations of gang thuggery – Gran Torino (2008); the consequences of extremism – J. Edgar (2011); the intricacies of drug trafficking – The Mule (2018); the dangers of media hysteria – Richard Jewell (2019); and, most recently, the vagaries of the criminal (in)justice system – Juror #2 (2024).
Lest anyone misconstrue his own eventual conclusion, Eastwood used one of the last lines in his final acting role to tell a young man that being manly is overrated (Cry Macho – 2020).
All this is a lesson in expecting the unexpected from someone who spent eight seasons performing in the television series Rawhide (1959–1965), and three years in spaghetti westerns directed by Sergio Leone (1964-1966). Reversing direction, later films studied the unstoppable nature of romance – The Bridges of Madison County (1995); possibilities unleashed by healing racial oppression through compassion – Invictus (2009); and transitions in aging parent/adult child relationships – Trouble with the Curve (2012).
Knowing any or even all of this leaves us unprepared for Hereafter (2010), his meditation on the fine line between what’s now and what’s next.
The only thing more surprising than the frequency of ‘white light’ or near-death experiences is that Eastwood gave this often-mocked subject the serious consideration it deserves. Like all good storytellers, his presentation of its three intertwined subplots is so discreet that we are challenged to draw our own opinion instead of simply adopting his.
Hereafter’s arrival prompted an interview with Paul Verhoeven, a member of The Jesus Seminar. These respected biblical researchers found 80% of the sayings and actions attributed to Jesus lack historical authenticity. But the 20% constituting his most likely messages – i.e. judge not, fear not, turn the other cheek, welcome strangers, love your enemies, heal the sick, and help those who need it – are as revolutionary and resisted today as two thousand years ago.
Verhoeven disagreed with those who claim premature heavenly contacts are mere projections of our theological roots. To the contrary, he found these experiences common within societies unexposed to Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism and other reward-based belief systems. It is more likely religion emerged to explain this otherwise troubling universal phenomenon, he argued, than the other way around.
This is true in Irish culture, where Celtic traditions preceding St. Patrick have long acknowledged the existence of “thin places.” Phillip James Tabb, Ph.D. describes them as particular locations or situations “… where the ordinary world yields to something more, a realm beyond our everyday experience.” These arise when the separation between the here-and-now and a world beyond our understanding carries a qualitatively different vibrance recognizable only when we are attuned to its existence.
Socrates, one of the world’s most infamous non-believers, found not just an emotional or mystical basis for such perceptions, but a rational one as well.
In 399 BC, he was forced to drink hemlock for not worshiping local gods, speculating about alternative spiritual forces, and ‘corrupting’ young men by urging them to question authority and think for themselves. In Phaedo, Plato shows Socrates remaining ever logical even when facing his own death, recording his teacher’s observation that – since no one actually knows what happens when we die – it is equally likely it could be nothing at all or something even better than our present existence.
Without invoking any deity or doctrine, Socrates saw acceptance of both possibilities as bringing out one’s best self – not in exchange for any later compensation, but because it fosters peaceful presence and harmonious interactions as beneficial ends-in-themselves. He saw this view of death – not as the ending of one’s personal story, but instead one of many next steps in our continuing evolution – as reducing the sense of senseless tragedy often accompanying life’s only inevitability.
Like Socrates, who believed “… the only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing,” Eastwood seems to have found more value in raising the questions than promoting his answers.
In Hereafter and many other opportunities, he used the power of his position and the skills of his craft to illuminate the difficulties confronted by people like Bronco Billy – those simultaneously striving to define and pursue the Greater Good under adverse circumstances often involving really scary Bad Guys.
Since Eastwood had complete freedom in exercising his artistic options, it might be said of him what one of the ancient Knights Templar said about Indiana Jones: “He chose wisely.”
It’s hard to say what is more unbelievable:
(1) that Clint Eastwood appeared in a musical production – Paint Your Wagon (1969);
(2) that he slipped in a metaphysical treatise like Hereafter among a hundred acting and directorial roles; or
(3) that he continues to intelligently tell interesting stories well into his nineties.
To all of these, Eastwood would probably sigh, wince, and whisper: what’s the big deal?
And that could be his most valued contribution of them all.
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Robert Tobin is lucky to be alive, grateful to still be here, and appreciative of this and all other chances to connect with others.
FROM IMDB:
Clinton Eastwood Jr. was born May 31, 1930 in San Francisco, to Clinton Eastwood Sr., a bond salesman and later manufacturing executive for Georgia-Pacific Corporation, and Ruth Wood (née Margret Ruth Runner), a housewife turned IBM clerk. He grew up in nearby Piedmont. At school Clint took interest in music and mechanics, but was an otherwise bored student; this resulted in being held back a grade.
In 1949, the year he graduated from high school, his parents and younger sister Jeanne moved to Seattle. Clint spent a couple years in the Pacific Northwest himself, operating log broncs in Springfield, Oregon, with summer gigs life-guarding in Renton, Washington. Returning to California in 1951, he did a two-year stint at Fort Ord Military Reservation and later enrolled at L.A. City College, but dropped out to pursue acting.
During the mid-1950s he landed uncredited bit parts in such Z movies as Revenge of the Creature (1955) and Tarantula (1955) while digging swimming pools and driving a garbage truck to supplement his income. In 1958, he landed his first consequential acting role in the long-running TV show Rawhide (1959) with Eric Fleming. Although only a secondary player the first seven seasons, he was promoted to series star when Fleming departed–both literally and figuratively–in its final year, along the way becoming a recognizable face to television viewers around the country.
Eastwood’s big-screen breakthrough came as The Man with No Name in Sergio Leone’s trilogy of excellent spaghetti westerns…