Play Dumb for Me.

Last night I watched Play Misty for Me, Clint Eastwood's directorial debut. It was OnDemand, so I didn't waste any money or a Netflix rental watching it, which was fine because it was dumb. It's saving grace was Clarice Taylor, most memorable (at least to me, anyways) as Cliff Huxtable's mother from The Cosby Show. In this movie, she gets cut by the crazy bitch who is in love with Clint Eastwood:


Recognize the crazy bitch? Why, that's Gangy from Arrested Development!


If you haven't guessed, the plot of this movie is similar to Fatal Attraction: Clint Eastwood is a jazz DJ who sleeps with a fan. He thinks it's a one-time thing, but she's in love with him and starts showing up at his house with groceries and yelling at his neighbors for no reason. And when he finally tells her to GET OFF HIS BACK, she goes crazy and tries to kill herself. Then him and his other lady friend, who has a bad Klute-knockoff haircut. I cannot find a picture of her, but that's okay because the only TV show she was on was Knot's Landing and SNOOZE ALERT.

The movie did have a couple of great moments, like when Eastwood decided it'd be a great idea to play "The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face" by Roberta Flack in its entirety during a montage where his character walks on the beach with his non-crazy girlfriend, whom he then fucks in a stream under a waterfall.

Also, Jessica Walter's "lounging pajamas":

I need to get me a pair of those.

Also, this is the trailer, which makes it look like a hilarious, swingin', jazzy film:



The best scene is shown at the end of the trailer, and since I can't find a clip of it, I'll have to describe it with the "written communication skills" I brag about on my resume. Clint is lying in bed and rolls over to see Jessica Walter standing above him with a knife, which she plunges into the pillow next to his head while screaming her face off. Then he gets out of bed and calmly walks around his house in his underwear, which makes you think, "Oh, it was just a dream. THANK GOODNESS." But then he walks back to his bed and you see that the knife is still there in the pillow, and the fact that it wasn't a dream and the bitch just disappeared and he wasn't, you know, freaking the fuck out makes you wonder what the hell kind of world these people are living in. How can you not be frightened by that, Clint? It's the elephant in the room, or, if you're familiar with the similarly bad film Cruising, the big black man in a jockstrap who smacks the shit out of you. In fact, I wouldn't have been totally surprised if something on this caliber of random and fucked up (and obvs. NSFW) happened:



Oh, did you need to see him again? Fine.



The '70s were weird.