One Paragraph Movie Review: Dirty Harry

One hundred and fifth film: Dirty Harry. Crime in the 70s, man. Nearly everything is brown, the blokes have hair on the back of their hands, everyone’s wearing business shoes, and cops who give a crap about murderer’s rights are just getting in the way of a good violent sneer. I love a disgruntled crime solver in wrap-around sunglasses who doesn’t stop chewing his hot dog the entire time he’s shooting at bank robbers. LOVE. And yes there’s casual racism and gratuitous boobs and unnecessary pubic hair, but there’s also absolute kilometres of wood veneer panelling and wide, angry sedans and Clint Eastwood getting up early just so he can spend an extra hour of each day being annoyed. I do feel lucky, thank you so much for asking. Four and a half limping psychopaths out of five.