In The Line of Fire, 1993 - Wolfgang Peterson

 

You'd assume that somewhere in-between directing The NeverEnding Story and Das Boot that a director might have another film. Alright, this is it. This time with Clint Eastwood.

These 90's films are just ageing better and better for me. It's not just a dissatisfaction with modern film and modern life that sees every millenial proudly don a pair of rose-tinted glasses and bemoan modern culture as their parents did before them. I can't simply do that without drowning in bigotry. 

After this film was over though, I can confirm that there really are no lenses that you're looking through. This is reverse disillusionment; a nostalgic vindication. You won't find any motivations or irrelevant politics baked into casting or plot. You won't have your attention span or intelligence questioned. You aren't having to watch an art house film to have character development. You aren't watching a strong independent woman.

It's just an ageing Clint, too old to do the job asked of him, but doing it anyway. A thriller, with style and substance, providing a vibe and a sense of pacing from the start. What better way than to break it all up by Clint playing the piano. No 10 part TV series needed. 

One thing this film wouldn't have had at the time - was charm it does now. You watch it now, and you'll see the way Clint talks to his colleagues, especially the female ones - and you'll smile. Absolutely would be thrown out with a sexual harrassment claim to talk like that today. The great thing - she gives it back as good as she gets. It wasn't offensive back then. It's endearing to see, and it's culture differences depicted in films like this now that's putting them in a very special place.