I love Clint Eastwood. I’ve loved him since he first appeared as Rowdy Yates in the TV series “Rawhide,” way back in 1959. I loved him through all the spaghetti Westerns and Dirty Harry movies and everything else he’s done. I probably loved him most in Gran Torino as a cantankerous old Korean army vet. But I didn’t love him tonight when he spoke at the Republican National Convention. He’s an 82-year-old man and he looked and acted every bit of it tonight. His “speech” was hesitating and rambling and convinced me only that he is indeed an old man. It saddened me; I was embarrassed for him.
I don’t know what the Republicans expected from Eastwood, but his appearance tonight did accomplish one thing. It got me to tune in for the first time this week. (I left the TV on through Romney’s speech, only half listening. As nearly as I could tell, he was the same boring, vacuous, vague man as always, with that same tight-lipped, apologetic, “aw shucks” smile.)
Sorry, Clint. I still love you but you bombed tonight. Big time. Unless, of course, you intended all along to have everyone talking more about your performance than about Mitt Romney’s speech.