I remember first seeing the word Malpaso on the big screen when I summoned the courage to ask out a college classmate, and we went to see “Play Misty for Me” together. For years, just viewing the word on a field of black would trigger an ample dose of anticipatory delight. After watching “Unforgiven,” “The Bridges of Madison County,” and “Mystic River,” the word now assumed tragic tones for me at the opening of “Million Dollar Baby. Was I prepared for two hours of Eastwood’s lean but effective craftsmanship, wearing at my emotions the way a rough sock slowly rubs a blister on a long run?
Clint’s melancholy original music lingers as I give up on capturing with keyboard the ache I took from the theater tonight. I’m already thinking about what could happen at the Academy Awards, and his upcoming picture—on the subject of Iwo Jima—and how I might feel inside the next time that word Malpaso fades up before me in a darkened space.