Directed by: Clint Eastwood

Starring: Clint Eastwood, Bee Vang, Ahney Her, Chee Thao, Christopher Carley

Rated: R Running time: 116 minutes

Best suited for: Eastwood fans

Least suited for: the ardently PC

The talents of Clint Eastwood, director, have typically played off the talents of Clint Eastwood, actor, conjuring bodacious, largerthan-life films occasionally a bit pretentious but more often intelligent, raucous slices of Americana.

What else to expect from Clint Eastwood, cultural icon? The man's as American as John Wayne, apple pie and Chevro—no, wait, make that Ford. A mint green, mint condition 1972 Gran Torino, as a matter of fact.

Eastwood's latest film, one of his best efforts as director, portrays America at its best and worst.

"Gran Torino" is perhaps a metaphor for America itself, certainly the WWII generation, awakening—literally!—to a brave new world.

In our begrudging realization of fallibility (perhaps even culpability) and our awareness of cultural diversity, we suddenly realize that nobody likes us. But we don't really give a damn, as long as we can keep them off our brown lawn, drink Pabst on our flag-draped porch, reminisce about the friends we lost and the gooks we killed in Korea or 'Nam or a dozen other places, and keep an eye on our precious, gas-guzzling '72 GTs.

"Gran Torino" is the ultimate homage to grouchy-old-white-guy America, and for those of us who are or will soon become grouchy old white guys in America, there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, "Gran Torino" may be a film we reverently display on our mantel (next to our bowling trophies and Amway knickknacks) and take to our graves.

We don't care if the film doesn't depict us in the best light. It's our light, after all (love it or leave it), and I do believe most grouchy old white guys in America are happy to be here.

In terms of Clintwood's depiction of American folklore, forget "Honkytonk Man" or "Heartbreak Ridge" or "The Bridges of Madison County" or even "Unforgiven"—because "Gran Torino" is the most iconoclastic film Eastwood's ever made. In his own stubborn, laconic, wonderfully egocentric way, this one is Eastwood's tribute to who we really are . . . or were.

All of which may be lost on an audience sitting down in a darkened theater to watch yet another Eastwood flick about a rugged, rusty lone wolf breaking rules and kicking butt and just possibly getting away with it. But many of us will be surprised at where "Gran Torino" eventually takes us.

Eastwood plays Walt Kowalski, a retired vet and ex-Ford assembly line employee living in blue-collar Michigan. His wife has recently died, and the local Catholic priest comes calling, having promised Kowalksi's wife to extract a confession (the Catholic type) from her churchaphobic husband.

Most of the neighborhood's WASPs have long moved away, but Kowalski's dug in his heels and watches with muttering distaste as the neighborhood decays and slowly fills up with immigrants from too many other places.

When a Hmong family moves in next door, Kowalski watches from his porch in disgust. But when a local gang terrorizes his new neighbors (and accidently intrudes upon Kowalski's lawn), gun-toting Walt steps in and inadvertently begins a relationship with the family that drives the story forward, pedalto-the-metal.

"Gran Torino" is Kowalski's coming-of-age tale, as it is for shy young Taoh (Bee Vang) next door, whom Kowalski (calling him "Toad") takes under his wing. But should you be expecting a tender, mending-of-cultural-differences story, this is a Clint Eastwood flick after all—and sooner or later this aging Dirty Harry steps out of retirement to do what he does best.

"Gran Torino" is surprisingly also the funniest of Eastwood's films, either as director or actor, and for a good part of the film, Kowalski's indoctrination into the Hmong culture is cleverly, laughaloud hilarious.

I will caution that, to those of us offended by terms like "zipperhead" and "Mick" and "Polack," the film offers no apologies. Yet it does attempt an explanation, one scene with Kowalski's barber (John Carroll Lynch) providing an instantly classic cinematic moment, humane and honest, brilliantly comical.

One senses that bad language is perhaps the only weapon left in Kowalski's arsenal. Walt insults friends and enemies alike, and assumes only his enemies will take offense.

How utterly American.