True Crime

Clint Eastwood’s new film, True Crime, will not be remembered as one of his better efforts. When compared to the barrage of less-than-satisfactory movies that are currently showing at theaters, however, it stands out as a must-see. That’s not saying much.

The background of the movie looms around the death penalty. A man named Frank Beachum (Isaiah Washington) sits on death row in San Quentin, twelve hours before his midnight execution for the murder of a pregnant convenience store clerk.

The movie focuses on the screwed-up life of a hack reporter from the Oakland Tribune named Steve Everett (Eastwood). "Ev," as he is annoyingly called throughout the flick, is assigned by his editor (Denis Leary) to write a human interest story on Beachum. When he goes to interview the condemned man, Ev senses that Beachum is innocent.

The rest of the movie follows Ev’s travails in proving Beachum’s innocence. The clock is ticking.

A strength of True Crime is Eastwood himself, now a movie legend in his own time. The movie is effectively directed by the actor, but the ending could have been better. But Eastwood proves to be a major weakness, as well.

Perhaps it’s his ego at work, but Eastwood insists on doffing his shirt on camera to flex his pipes. Now approaching 69, Eastwood’s body is hardly photogenic these days. Looking at his craggy face and hearing the raspy voice is no longer a treat for film fans. Instead it’s become a major distraction. Eastwood compounds the agony by hitting on a 23 year-old reporter at a bar (yecchh!) and bedding the editor’s wife (double yecchh!).

Note to Clint: Maybe the time has come for you to remain behind the camera, not in front of it...unless you’re going to do a film with Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau.