True Crime is flawed but still largely enjoyable, with an ending that confirmed my deepest suspicions: that the movie would end up as Hollywood formula. It is really, really bad, surely the darkest hour of what is otherwise a well-composed movie.
The plot isn't always great, but the people moving through it are the centerpieces. All of the key players are incredibly interesting, and their respective actors offer great performances. Eastwood himself is an odd pick, because he is far too old to be playing the woman-stealing lothario. Fuck my wife? Sure, if you can find the Viagra first! And I'm aware that there's a touch of narcissism in this, as I'm sure there is in Eastwood himself. Remember how he was constantly running around in his underwear in Play Misty for Me? Clint Eastwood thinks he's got it and is not afraid to flaunt it, even if he's like 200 years old.
So perhaps casting himself as the protagonist was a flaw, but all it really gets from you is a derisive chuckle or two. The rest of the movie's pretty tight. Certainly a little formulaic, and a little implausible, but the human aspects of it really shine. For whatever reason, it kept reminding me of Zodiac, but it doesn't take a film critic to see that Zodiac was far more absorbing. It's not a knock on Eastwood, so much as the material he chose to work with.