A Fistful of Dollars

Shopping for my dad is always difficult.  What do you get a guy who never expresses an opinion one way or another about anything in your price range?

I mean, sure, I know he'd love a '57 Chevy, but you can't exactly get those at Target.

We only have so much money to work with, and we had even less when we were growing up.  One Christmas, Mom put in our heads that Dad liked Clint Eastwood westerns.

You know how when you have someone to shop for, and they're really difficult, you latch on to that one thing and that's all they ever get?  Well, you know how sometimes you're wrong, and you end up buying something over and over — something the person doesn't really want?

I got him a copy of High Plains Drifter, another classic Eastwood western, on glorious VHS.  To my knowledge, that VHS tape remains unopened.  We're talking at least a decade, still in the wrapper.

I never bought him another Clint Eastwood film.  This is not to say he didn't appreciate the gift; he just wasn't interested after all, and that's fair.  Maybe I need to try harder.

I've been trying ever since.

When I was growing up, westerns were always on television.  Usually, my granddad would keep John Wayne films on television when he wasn't watching football or "Hee Haw."  So when we'd visit, often we'd watch a movie on TV.

Dad enjoyed those John Wayne films as well, I think.  The Sons of Katie Elder, Rio Bravo, Big Jake, and True Grit were on from time to time.  This was a different time, when the Saturday or Sunday matinee film on television was a total crapshoot, so when a John Wayne film was on, you'd lucked out.

Of course, Dad never spent much time in the house on his days off.  He was always outside working in the yard or the garden, or on some project, or in the garage.  Or he'd be out trying to find a bargain at some auction or garage sale.

Sometimes, though, a random hot or rainy day would line up with a John Wayne film on television, and he'd stay in with us.  Those days were rare.

A Fistful of Dollars is the first of Sergio Leone's "Man With No Name Trilogy," in which Clint Eastwood plays the mysterious main character, usually a drifter, fast with a gun, highly intelligent, and darkly humored.

Whereas John Wayne is the archetypal protagonist in so many of his films, Clint Eastwood's work with Leone was as an antihero: terribly dark and much more violent.

Sure, John Wayne's films often explore dark themes, but I always feel like I'm watching a sanitized Hollywood western, and at any point a character will say, "Gee willikers!"

But that's me.

A few years ago, I lived with Dad for a summer.  I watched The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly that summer, mostly because I was unemployed and living with my dad, so I had nothing but time to watch old movies and write.  (I should've started this blog years ago.  I might be on letter G by now.)

One night, Dad and I got to talking about the "spaghetti westerns," because I'd picked up a great book on the topic.  With this conversation, I almost figured him out a little.  He said, "Those films are just too violent for my taste."

This is a man who, in 1986, took his 6-year-old daughter and two sons, ages 11 and 8, to see Rambo: First Blood Part II and Cobra at a drive-in double feature.

But I didn't press.  Maybe his tastes have changed in 25 years.

One thing is certain.  Dad's not a fan of foreign films, even if some of the characters speak English.  He always calls them "dubbers," because the dialogue doesn't match, and that's distracting.  Add to that, the voice actors are usually terrible, and that's even worse.

Subtitles?  Not an option.

I look past the bad looping of a Sergio Leone film, and I'm willing to watch a subtitled film.  Dad is different that way.  But he still watches movies.  I just have to keep trying.

Last Christmas, my sister and I pooled our money and bought Dad a Blu-Ray player.  He's had this astonishing 52" flat-panel television for two years, but he only watches over-the-air programming out in the country.  He had his DVD player connected via RCA cables.  He was satisfied.  I wasn't.

His first disc was not a Clint Eastwood film.  I got him The Searchers, and we watched some — not all — of that film on his 52" television, and what we watched was glorious.

I'm not sure if he's watched the film since, except to demo the picture quality to friends and relatives.

But at least he's demo-ing the picture quality.

This is a step in the right direction, but this hardly means I'm safe just getting him John Wayne films instead.  The solution isn't so simple.

All this leads me to a little realization.  Dad doesn't consume films in the same way I do.  For him, films are disposable entertainment that he doesn't have time to obsess over.  I blog and pick apart and navel-gaze and watch and re-watch stuff.  We're different.  As I get older, I'm more okay with that.

Dad's birthday is this week.  I have no idea what to get him.  Maybe I'll just get him Paint Your Wagon and see what happens.