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A masculine variation of The Last Dance with Clint Eastwood in his typically boring, clichéd and overused protagonist, who drowns his promising life as a reporter in glasses of alcohol and constantly sticks his hands under someone else’s skirt instead of devoting himself to his family. Eastwood as a director, screenwriter, and actor all in one, but the result is exactly as expected. The story of an innocent black man with his heart in the right place and a devotion to God is interspersed with a few funny moments, typically tough gestures, and a bit of faster-paced shots (approximately the final twenty-minutes). Let's admit it honestly and without compromise, these kinds of movies are no longer interesting. Not because they are necessarily bad, but because there are thousands of them on every corner. And even the excellent cast in this one (James Woods, Bernard Hill, Diane Venora) cannot change that. Eastwood is unable to dynamically film an non-dynamic story, which I consider a tragic offense. (2007.05.16)