Clint Eastwood directs himself, Sondra Locke and Pat Hingle in this Dirty Harry sequel where Callahan is so tired at random attempts on his life in San Francisco that he goes to investigate a serial killer vigilante offing rapists in a seaside resort.
Comedy ugly dog. Sondra Locke’s best “acting”. Night time cinematography that is almost impenetrably shadowy. So, so lazily written. Crime just springs up in Harry’s locus every other scene. He cannot talk to a business owner or park his car without a violent felony occurring in his vicinity. Traditionally cops are called to the crimes after the fact, Harry is a tweed jacketed dowsing stick for random carnage. A man who can’t order coffee without the patrons transmogrifying into a five man heist team isn’t protecting and serving, he’s a menace.
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