Blood Work: Review By B. Alan Orange

Code Orange Alert #39126: Blood Work

Sure, go ahead. See this movie. What do I care? It's not like you're doing anything, anyway. You're just sitting there wasting time. And, if you are actually talking to someone, there's ¾'s of a chance that you're talking about whatever lame movie it was you saw last week with someone who only wants to hear the sound of their own voice. Is anyone having a different conversation these days? I want to know. Sure, there's the blatant sex talk that's gone past-blase at this point. But how much of that is true? At least opinions based on crap films are sincere and from the heart. I mean, lets face it. This is Clint Eastwood, directed by Clint Eastwood. When was the last time that combination jumped off the screen and mutherf*cked you in the ear? Hardly never...

Okay, there was that one time, when he was hunting down Kevin Costner. But he was hunting down Kevin Costner. With intent to kill. You can't really go wrong there, even if it is purely a visceral mission. Back then, I wanted nothing more than to see ol' Costner wiped off my screen with a double-barrel shotgun. Not today, though. I feel for the guy. He's been on a losing streak since...

Well, ever since I can remember. Still, that doesn't mean I want to actually sit and watch him jibber-jabber about a post-apocalyptic society where baseball is the new blood sport. Eastwood, though? I'd sit and watch him suffer the flu, on the edge of his bed, and have. Clint is in that special pantheon of celebrity where, it doesn't really matter what the movie is, it's Clint Eastwood. At this point, we'll watch him do anything. And ten times out of ten, it's always a seemingly pleasurable experience. A diversion, a distraction. A movie we don't want to see a dozen times, but a movie we definitely want to see once. Except for The Bridges of Madison County. No one wanted to see that. And we can't overlook his Sondra Locke decade of indulgence, which is comparable to Picasso's Blue Period. Ugh, how awful. I guess the man does have a few nicks in an otherwise illustrious career.

Is Blood Work another one of those nicks?

Right from the start, things look bad. You can sense that this one's headed for the dumpster when Paul Rodriguez appears on screen. His presence is like feeling up a beautiful girl and finding a cancerous lump within ten seconds of hardcore nipple-tweaking. He's not funny here, and he's a bad actor. At first sight he seems locked in the role of Eastwood's 'hilarious' sidekick/partner; a Tom Arnold vibe waxed off of Exit Wounds and that Schwarzenegger flick, True Lies. Luckily, for us, he's quickly passed off as a stooge. His moments are mercifully short, but his seemingly improvised tantrums are hard to take in. He makes this a bitter pill to choke down from time to time.

Aside from Clint's presence, Blood Work is nothing special. It's neither original nor inspiring. Eastwood's simply spilling a jazz riff on a well-written crime novel, and it comes as neither a progressive move nor a shinning example of his best work. The man has staled here, tossing off a rather tame entertainment that harkens back to a simpler era. This is a movie of the week. A one-off to be enjoyed as mere couch fodder. This is Matlock the Movie, and I'm sure, at one point, that idea must have been toyed with. The concept is a clever one: A former FBI Agent recovering from a heart transplant must find his donor's killer. Sure, that sounds cool. And the book was great. But Blood Work turns into a by-the-numbers detective show, and it's been done better on several other occasions. Look at any episode of Law and Order.

What I want to know is, "Why isn't this Dirty Harry six?" It has all the earmarks, and there hasn't been a follow-up to The Dead Pool in almost twenty years. I know, that would be desecrating a Top Ten Best Seller, but other books on that list have been turned to pasture for continuing, established series. Maybe Eastwood doesn't want to have Dirty Harry suffering from a heart attack. It wouldn't be servicing the aura of that character. Still, I think I would have enjoyed Blood Work much more had it been Callahan up on our screen.

Let's face it, it pretty much is. Except this guy has heart. He should, he got it from the chest of a dead Mexican woman. Other than the occasional smile, though, this feels and tastes like one of Harry's tricks. Even the ending is similar to The Dead Pool. Things are tied up nicely on a boat, surrounded by water. When Clint goes to kill the bad guy, you're just waiting for him to say, "You're sh*t out of luck." Close. Instead he says, "I don't need you." Then he shoots the guy in the heart and calls, "Tenring!" Classic, enjoyable stuff; except it's as if we're watching some musical hero play in his own cover band. Even Eastwood's Character's last name, McCaleb, sounds like a riff on Callahan, as if he's knowingly playing that angle. And I bet he is.

(About to be 'givin' it away'. Look out.)

Things move along at a quickened pace, the piece is never boring. The dialogue is stolid at points. Some of this material leaks pure dumbness, but it's never slow. Blood Work is crouching on True Crime's key plot structure. A lot of the Narrative is derived from Eastwood's second-to-last film, and Clint continues to run with his sickness motif, which has been a counterpoint for almost every single one of his projects since Unforgiven.

There, and in In the Line of Fire, he had pneumonia. Here, he has heart problems. He's never once seen not popping pills or having blood work done. He's about the only auteur who aims for his own age bracket and mindset. I've got to give him credit; he's keeping it realer than Spike Lee ever could. There are not a lot of films out there for Senior Citizens, but Eastwood's hitting the mark quite well. I can't wait until we see him chasing the bad guy on a walker. I mean, we almost see that scene here. There's no explanation for why the bad guy can't keep up with Clint chasing him. Until we realize the bad guy is a chubby, out of shape Jeff Daniels (Yeah, this guy's going to make it to 70).

I guess this is where the film really gets me. Everything is easy to figure out and we're always two steps ahead of our man. How am I supposed to have respect for this 'Great Detective' when I can put together all the clues and he can't? Blood Work becomes aggravating at one point. You just want to yell at the screen, "Can't you see? It's right in front of you, Mr. Eastwood." Watching the plot of this thing roll out is like holding your grandfather's hand through a crossword puzzle. It takes the man two days to figure out a four letter word for ass. Then, when he gets it, he still doesn't get it. I almost had to give up; but I stuck through. You can tell very early on that Daniels, looking as if he just strolled off the set of Dumb & Dumber, is the killer. Eastwood gives himself the answer without knowing he's done just that, explaining the name of his boat, "The Following Sea." The resolution is literally behind him. I've never been to detective school, and I can see it. I can figure it out. Why can't he? He's supposed to be the smart one.

I'll admit it, I'm stupid.

Sadly, there are no jokes during the one, quick love scene. It's open for some good one liners, but Eastwood ditches the chance. There's not even an, "I don't know if my heart can take this." Oh, well. All that ends well, I suppose. So, yeah. Why don't you stop being such a slug and go see it? You might get something out of it. I don't care either way. Thumbs up, thumbs down...

It's all irrelevant.

I mean; It is a Clint Eastwood film after all. It is what it is.

And I'm hungry.