Clint is visibly relaxed on the Carmel cliffs above the Pacific, with his adopted baby deer, Basset hound and young Alison, talking to a ridiculously over-dressed Iain Johnstone. They talk about Clint's early career and his Universal bit part days, Rawhide, Leone and on.
Interesting to hear the differences in two august film critics. Pauline Kael thinks he can barely act, is a lousy director and his later films are right wing political. Dilys Powell loves his films, and thinks he's a great actor (in the Tracy, Mitchum, Stewart mould) and a good director. It's clear which critic I go with.
Editor Ferris Webster rated him over Sturges and Frankenheimer for his consistency. (No doubt he would have revised this opinion in Clint's mixed eighties period.) Burton also rated his acting as one of those people who seem to be doing nothing much but conveying a lot.
Clint reveals that he loves the quaint names of pubs in England and so named The Hog's Breath Inn in that tradition. That he takes his evening run along the beach, views the latest film releases in the local cinema, both without harassment, is a tribute to his standing in the community.
A BBC production. Funny to see all the clips cropped to 4x3 and of dubious quality.
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