Cry Macho seems to me to be Clint Eastwood’s final, final,final, farewell to Hollywood and the cult of the macho hero that he did so much to perpetuate.

In this movie, he does nothing you might expect him to do and many things you never expected him to do. Maybe it’s true, and the bad genes die-off in old age.

The movie is far from great or even especially memorable.

But I loved watching it, and I loved Eastwood for making it.  I recommend it for the whole family. It even has positive messages for boys and men.

Eastwood abandons the button-pushing and liberal baiting in Mule and Richard Jewell. This avenger of innocence dwells in legal and moral gray zones; he is past retirement, speaking softly and strolling stiffly.

Clint Eastwood doesn’t want any more trouble.

The director – Eastwood himself – didn’t try to sugarcoat his age to his credit (although the film may have set a new record for dark scenes that obscure wrinkles). His body is skinny and stiff, but his eyes flare up and make bad guys shiver.

At the movie’s beginning, Howard, a big-shot Texas rancher and Mike’s former boss, sends Mike into Mexico to bring his allegedly troubled 13-year-old son Raf0 (abandoned by his father and abused by his Mexican mother and her boyfriends) back home to Texas.

Although Howard’s motives are never entirely clear, Mike believes him to be a “good man” and feels honor-bound to repay an old debt by getting his son safely home.

I have to be honest. The movie has a loopy streak running all through it, but my advice is to relax. Eastwood has.

Mike finds the boy, who was said to be missing, in seconds, and although he was expected to fight Mike tooth and nail, it isn’t hard to convince him to come along. As Mike is about to give up the search, he finds Rafo and his rooster in the back seat of his car.

Mike has to now escape his mother’s goons (a psycho and a sadist), and safely get the boy and his rooster back to Texas. One car gets stolen, another breaks down. They face one crisis after another.

Rafo embraces the ideal of Macho Man, which is also his rooster’s name). Macho is the stand-in for Eastwood’s ghost.  Rafo wants to be the precise hero Eastwood has always played. The rooster, for his part,  takes no bs from anybody, is very loyal to the boy,  and freezes water with his morning crow.

It is a sweet, touching, and at certain moments, even thoughtful film. Eastwood has been tiptoeing in that direction for some time now.

It is also a poignant film; here, Eastwood doesn’t try to hide his age and disaffection with the challenging guy roles he has played his whole, very long career.

In Cry Macho, Eastwood turns the challenging guy hero role he is so famous for being over to a rooster, who is much more complex than he is. Macho is a noble bird.

This is a slo-mo  Eastwood movie, deliberate and unrelentingly calm. This cowboy has gone Buddhist. This serene and accepting Eastwood drives slowly, naps often, drinks little, and channels James Harriott, helping sick dogs, goats, horses, and pigs.

The movie was willfully and consciously anti-Eastwood, perhaps a farewell joke.

Some twists and turns surprised me, including the ending,  but Mike meets a girl in the middle of all this (a beautiful middle-aged woman), the warm Natalia Traven playing Narta. Marta is a cafe owner who saves the pair from their pursuers and immediately starts batting her big brown eyes at Mike, who batts his blue eyes back.

Things get complicated when Rafo starts to fall for Marta’s daughter, and the two travelers have to decide whether to stop and stay or continue the increasingly dangerous journey.

Marta is dressed as a flamenco dancer, all smiles and charm, and wearing Mexican dance and festival clothes for those uncomfortable with stereotypes. The two are seen dancing lovingly, but age does  have its limits; they don’t go any farther.

I confess to relating to Eastwood’s stiff and steady gait and scarecrow physique.

Eastwood only saves the day once in Cry Macho, with a single punch to the bad guy’s nose. It was strange to see an Eastwood character who wants to say out of trouble, and he gets into plenty. Once in a while, he even curses.

Eastwood turns the macho man role over to the chicken Macho who is not a Buddhist, and saves the day two or three times. The rooster is the incarnation of the old Eastwood, which I have to assume was not an accident. I saw him as Eastwood’s ghost.

No one gets shot in this movie or even killed. The Mexican police are (mostly) portrayed as honest and professional. The film is sometimes loopy and warm as toast.

There is a message in the movie, a surprisingly thoughtful one. “This macho thing is overrated,” Mike tells his idealistic young charge. “You think you have all the answers,  but then you get older and realize you don’t have any. By the time you figure it out, it’s too late.”

But Mike still gets to say “listen to me, Kid” about a hundred times.

To Eastwood’s credit, the movie has a fatalistic undercurrent to it; if Eastwood has ever made a humbler one, I’ve not seen it.

This is a timely message for any American audience. The great avenger isn’t interested in avenging anymore. There is a lot of bad news out there, but he’s not looking to take it on. He is a gentle hero who knows where he is in life and accepts reality.

This is still Hollywood and Mike does want all animals to be healthy and Rafo and the other children to live happily.

But the movie was a remarkable turn for Eastwood.

Every time he has an excellent chance to kill a bad guy, he doesn’t; it just never seems worth the bother to him. He is a philosopher, not a killer.

At 91, Eastwood is still credible as a true loner cowboy.

His character still disdains hotels and mattresses for the cold ground of the range and sleeping under the stars, hat tilted down over his brow.

He is still a grouch, a former rodeo driver and horse whisperer, but a professional grouch, with honor and a huge soft spot for a heart – animals and children.

He may be the most admirable and wisest grumpy old cowboy to ever ride out of Texas. Over dinner, he delights a deaf Mexican child by suddenly signing to her, to the ooohs and aaaaahs of the family, who are charmed.

Just something picked up along the trail, he says. Bless you, Clint, and thank you for bringing so much amusement and entertainment into my entire life.

The smart money says this is your last movie; I wouldn’t bet on it.