One Paragraph Movie Review: High Plains Drifter
Two hundred and twenty-seventh film: High Plains Drifter, a 1973 starring-and-directed-by Clint Eastwood western with high melodrama and a lot of staring. Now, I have to start by mentioning the raping. There is some of it, and it is strongly suggested that the victims enjoy it, and that is not fun or cool or okay. There are arguments that this lets us know that Eastwood’s antihero character is a bit of a bastard, and I get that rape scenes can be legitimate plot tools (I love you forever, Thelma and Louise), but there is no plot imaginable that is helped by the ridiculous trope in which a woman starts enjoying a rape halfway through. This film has gunfights, sweat, dust, suspense, vengeance, double-crossing, horsies, maybe a ghost, a completely bizarre scene where an entire town is literally painted red, a whip murder, a predictable twist, and whiskey. But it also has rapes, and it has dumb rapes. A pity, because there’s good stuff here. But. Nah. Two cloudy baths with a wet cigar out of five.