Cry Macho Parent Guide

Mike’s (Clint Eastwood) rodeo days are long behind him and, following the tragic deaths of his wife and son, he’s well on his way to being washed up. He’s just lost his job, but his former employer, Howard (Dwight Yoakam) has a favor to call in. Howard’s estranged wife lives in Mexico with their son, Rufo (Eduardo Minett), and Howard hasn’t seen the boy since he was an infant. Rufo is now 13, and Howard feels like he ought to spend some time with his son. However, since Howard has some ongoing legal issues in Mexico, he needs Mike to cross the border and pick him up. The only problem? Rufo’s been getting a little wild, and even his mother isn’t sure where to find him…or if he’ll even want to come.

I’m going to start with the content concerns because, frankly, there aren’t very many of them. There’s some brief scatological profanity, some off-screen violence, and a little bit of social drinking. That’s about it. As Clint Eastwood movies go, that’s a remarkably mild list.

Unfortunately, Cry Macho is also lethally boring. The story is supposed to be another wholesome “crotchety old man finds redemption after spending time with an initially annoying kid” plot, but it doesn’t work for the simple reason that none of these characters change. Sure, different things happen to them, and they are forced into situations where they have to make new choices. But they aren’t fundamentally different people, and it’s unclear what, if anything, the characters or the audience are supposed to learn from any of this.

On top of that, the dialogue is…serviceable. At best. It’s also unbelievably forgettable. Now, the movie might be able to save that with the right casting, but none of these performances are phenomenal either. Clint Eastwood wanders around looking like a geriatric escapee from the local care home squinting at everyone, presumably because he forgot his bifocals. Sometimes he just looks vaguely lost – a feeling I could relate to all too easily. This isn’t a long film, but it’s so drastically uninteresting that I frequently forgot why I was watching it.

In fact, I think the kindest thing I can say about this film is that it’s completely unmemorable. It’s bland, but not aggravating enough to stand out in your memory. As the credits started rolling, I could feel every detail of the film oozing slug-like out of my brain, leaving little more than the image of Eastwood’s lost face behind. Save your money and watch something worth remembering – or, at least, something you’re capable of remembering.