Gunsmoke & Grit: 'Clint: The Man and the Movies' by Shawn Levy

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Welcome back, dear readers. It feels like I’m welcoming myself back to my Gunsmoke & Grit series, which has been collecting dust in the corner while I navigated the fog of burnout over the last few months. But here I am with a review of Clint: The Man and the Movies ^[*], published by Marnier in 2025 and written by Shawn Levy—not to be confused with the director. Now, I know this isn’t Western fiction, but let’s face it: Rowdy Yates graces the half-jacket, which made it impossible for me to resist featuring it in my Gunsmoke & Grit reviews.

Somehow, this book slipped under my radar when it was released last summer. It wasn't until I unwrapped it as a Christmas present that I discovered its existence. I cracked it open on January 5th and savored every page until I finished it on January 13th. Yes, I took my time, but that was intentional—I wanted to relish every word and fact about my favorite actor, Clint Eastwood.

Here’s my take on the blurb: From Shawn Levy, an acclaimed film critic and New York Times bestselling biographer known for his work on Paul Newman, this definitive biography of Clint Eastwood offers a revelatory glimpse into the life of a Hollywood titan. For more than sixty years, Clint has dominated the silver screen as one of the most prolific and versatile actors and directors in cinema history, embodying the very essence of American culture.

C-L-I-N-T. This single, sharp syllable has become a symbol of American manhood, morality, and a fierce, unyielding spirit—both on-screen and off—for over six decades. Whether he’s confronting villains in a dusty Western (Old West or new, it makes no difference) or commanding the director’s chair, Clint’s presence is as raw, honest, and solid as his name suggests. He’s not just another star of the old-school variety; he’s one of the most accomplished actor-directors of his time; a man forged from rock and iron—a relentless force named Clint.

To delve into Clint Eastwood's story is to traverse nearly a century of American film history and culture. No other Hollywood figure has navigated the turbulent waters of post-World War II America with such complexity. At ninety-five, he stands as a vibrant testament to a tumultuous century, embodying the contradictions, struggles, and triumphs of his era.

Picture Clint squinting through cigarillo smoke in the iconic Spaghetti Westerns like A Fistful of Dollars or The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, meting out rough justice with a .44 Magnum in Dirty Harry, or seeking vengeance in The Outlaw Josey Wales, Pale Rider, or the Oscar-winning Unforgiven. Consider the gritty training he imparts to a female boxer in Million Dollar Baby, or the complex portrayal of a man grappling with his prejudices in Gran Torino. Behind the camera, he creates haunting narratives of violence, morality, and humanity, crafting films like Mystic River, Letters from Iwo Jima, and American Sniper.

Yet, for all his iconic roles and masterfully crafted films, they pale in comparison to the deep, multifaceted life he’s led. Clint Eastwood isn't merely a character on screen; he represents a living piece of American mythology, a narrative woven from the threads of our collective consciousness.

In Clint: The Man and the Movies ^[*], Shawn Levy undertakes the ambitious task of crafting the most comprehensive portrait of Clint Eastwood to date. What emerges is a narrative far richer and more intricate than one might expect. It’s a saga woven with cunning, determination, and artistic conquest—a testament to a man who ascended the Hollywood pantheon while keeping one foot firmly grounded outside its gilded doors.

Let’s start with “the good.” Levy delves into Eastwood's unassuming childhood, highlighting his passion for piano and jazz, a brief, formative stint in the Army, his two marriages, and his tumultuous relationship with Sondra Locke, along with his various romantic entanglements. He even touches on Eastwood's brief tenure as mayor of Carmel-by-the-Sea, California. But the narrative digs deeper—Levy explores Eastwood's challenging early years as a self-taught actor, his willingness to accept whatever meager roles came his way, his breakthrough on TV with Rawhide, and his daring leap into the cinematic realm of Spaghetti Westerns, notably the iconic Man With No Name trilogy. This foundational narrative of struggle and resilience sets the stage for Eastwood's evolution into a master filmmaker.

Now, onto “the bad.” It’s no small feat to write an engaging biography, and perhaps it’s this ambition that led Levy to infuse his narrative with his subjective critiques of Eastwood’s work. Notably, he doesn’t hold back his disdain for certain projects, including the classic Western series Rawhide, the musical Paint Your Wagon, and comedies that followed. While it’s normal to have personal film preferences, Levy’s tone often veers into elitism, as if his opinions must be viewed as the final verdict. Despite his claims, Rawhide clearly resonated with audiences—lasting 217 episodes over eight seasons and maintaining a presence in syndication long after its cancellation. I have to wonder: did he really need to rehash his grievances about a show that, despite its flaws, has had a lasting cultural impact?

And then there’s my disappointment regarding a glaring omission—the lack of details about my favorite Eastwood Western, Two Mules for Sister Sara. This film, which I’ve watched over a hundred times, deserved more than a cursory mention about Shirley MacLaine’s delays during filming. There are bound to be other interesting stories from the production that could have enriched the narrative, yet Levy chose not to share them. It’s a shame, considering how much that depth could have added to the understanding of Eastwood’s versatility.

Finally, we come to “the ugly.” Levy devotes considerable attention to Eastwood's complicated relationship with Sondra Locke—narrating their breakup and subsequent legal battles with an apparent bias that leaves a sour taste. Eastwood’s reputation as a relentless womanizer is hard to dispute, but Levy's one-sided portrayal shifts the blame almost entirely onto him while glossing over Locke’s own choices and behaviors. Yes, Eastwood did leave his wife for her, a decision steeped in its own set of complexities. Yet, it’s impossible to ignore that their relationship was fraught from its inception, and relationships, after all, require the participation and failures of both parties. Unfortunately, Levy fails to acknowledge this nuance, directing the narrative in a way that skews perception.

In conclusion, Clint: The Man and the Movies is an extensive read, one that I savored word by word. As a lifelong Clint Eastwood fan, I have an insatiable curiosity for the behind-the-scenes stories of classic TV and films. While the book stretches over 500 pages and could have benefited from trimming some of Levy’s biases—particularly his misguided opinions on Rawhide and several Eastwood films—my personal ambivalence didn’t overshadow the quality of the writing. Levy is, without a doubt, a skilled storyteller, even if I disagree with his selective criticisms. Ultimately, the book provides an exceptional look at Eastwood’s life and career, and despite my nitpicks, I would still highly recommend it to anyone interested in the man behind the legend. ╌★★★★✰

⁓B.J. Burgess