But Enough About Me: A Memoir by Reynolds Burt & Winokur Jon

Author:Reynolds, Burt & Winokur, Jon [Reynolds, Burt]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-11-17T05:00:00+00:00

Clint Eastwood

Clint Eastwood is one of the great filmmakers of all time. In the last fifty years, as an actor-producer-director, Clint has created a staggering body of work, in both quantity and quality. The Dirty Harry pictures of the 1970s and ’80s made him a top box-office draw. He single-handedly revived the Western with Hang ’Em High (1968), The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976), Pale Rider (1985), and Unforgiven (1992), one of the greatest Westerns ever made. And just to show he could handle any genre, he threw in a psychological thriller, Play Misty for Me (1971); action comedies like Every Which Way but Loose (1978) and Any Which Way You Can (1980); a prison film, Escape from Alcatraz (1979); a suspense thriller, Tightrope (1984); an action thriller, In the Line of Fire (1993); a romantic drama, The Bridges of Madison County (1995); the sports drama Million Dollar Baby (2004); and war films like Letters from Iwo Jima (2006) and American Sniper (2014).

And he makes it look easy. He’s so relaxed on the set that people think he’s about to doze off, but that’s just a game he plays. What he really does is go into his bus and do his homework. He knows what he wants and how to get it. He also saves the studio more money than any ten directors because he’s good with actors.

Clint and I have been friends since the 1950s, when we were both under contract at Universal. One day an executive called us in and released us both. The guy said Clint’s Adam’s apple stuck out too far.

“What about me?” I said.

“You can’t act,” he said.

We were walking through the studio gate when I told Clint, “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“Why?” he said.

“Because,” I said, “I can learn to act.”

—

CLINT LIVES QUIETLY, and he’s very private. It was a long time before he even invited me to his house for dinner. There was another guest there who asked me how long I knew Clint.

“You first,” I said.

“I went to high school with him,” he said.

“I’ve known him for fifteen years,” I said.

“Fifteen years?” he said. “Nobody’s ever been invited after only fifteen years.”

One Christmas I gave Clint a basset hound because I thought it would be a perfect dog for him. He fell in love with it and named it Grunk. I have no idea what that means. They were perfect together. When Clint went to work, he’d throw Grunk in the car and take him along. Nobody ever worried about him screwing up the take by barking or whatever. He’d just flop down and watch Clint with adoring eyes.

I won’t say Clint was shy, but in those days he only said about nine words a year. And he did have a bit of a temper. When it came out, you had to give him a wide berth. Like the time we were sitting at a bar and a woman came over and said something to him that he didn’t like. I don’t know what it was because I was talking to somebody else and Clint and I were back to back.

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