Review by Sarah Stanek
Parents often complain that there are so few movies they can watch with their young children, but gone unheard are the cries of older children who bemoan the fact that there aren’t many movies they can watch with their parents, either. One group or the other will inevitably be embarrassed by excessive gore, sex, and swearing, or be bored silly by something aimed at the other demographic.
Blood Work will not embarrass you or your parents. In fact, they will probably like it more than you do; it’s the sort of film my father would have made a rare exception for and seen in the theater, or at least stayed awake for if he rented it on a Saturday night.
Directed by and starring the stalwart Clint Eastwood, Blood Work is based on a novel by Michael Connelly. The very serviceable Brian Helgeland (A Knight’s Tale) wrote the screenplay, which proceeds at a stately pace with a decent amount of economy. Like Clint himself, the film is staid, old-fashioned and still moves pretty well, if slowly, but it’s just a bit musty. There’s really nothing wrong with it, aside from a gratuitous love scene, but nothing makes it stand out.
Terry McCaleb (Eastwood) is a former FBI agent, only vaguely haunted by the escape of the Code Killer, a serial murderer he nearly caught before being felled by a heart attack. His rare blood type forces him to wait two years for a heart transplant, but the surgery has been successful and McCaleb is on the road to an uneventful retirement.
As a minor celebrity in the world of law enforcement, his ordeal was covered in the newspapers, which leads Graciela Rivers (Wanda De Jesus) right to him. Her sister, with the same rare blood type, was murdered in a convenience store robbery and McCaleb now has her heart. She wants him to solve the murder. Not terribly reluctantly, he agrees, and continues the investigation despite his faltering health.
The strength of a thriller doesn’t necessarily lie in the “whodunit” but in the development of the whole case. Another possibly connected murder at a bank a few weeks earlier, mysterious mutterings into soundless security cameras, the long-quiet Code Killer, and McCaleb’s own involvement all swim into play. It’s easy enough to see that everything has to connect somehow, which of course is the privilege of the viewer. Unfortunately, it makes the laborious process of watching the dots get connected frustrating at times.
Like many mysteries, Blood Work probably worked very well on the page. Paper, after all, grows on trees, and the larger scope of a novel makes the clues blend better into the background. This isn’t to say mysteries can’t be done well on screen. It’s just that this one isn’t particularly difficult to figure out, however realistic it might be (until the end, that is). Every clue is either too straightforward or just a shred too transparent.
Eastwood is now 72 years old, much older than the character was originally written, but it works. His usual gravelly line readings befit McCaleb’s worn-out physical state, just two months post-op, and lend a real weight to his doctor’s concerns, voiced by Anjelica Huston.
Though neither De Jesus, Huston nor Tina Lifford (playing a detective with the sheriff’s department) is anywhere near Eastwood’s age, they are still “old” by Hollywood standards. As a director, he seems to be making a single-handed effort to combat the ageism the industry is so often charged with.
Jeff Daniels, apparently tired of being confused with Jeff Bridges, turns in a Dude-like performance of his own as Buddy, McCaleb’s slacker neighbor and occasional chauffeur. Paul Rodriguez also provides some slightly stale comic relief as a blustery LAPD detective.
Like any of Eastwood’s 25 directorial efforts, Blood Work is solid and entertaining in a middle-of-the-road way. So do your folks a favor, take them to dinner and movie and remind them what a good time they had the next time they complain that you never call.
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