I hate to break out the snark so early in the morning, but Gran Torino's huge opening weekend only justifies my interpretation of the film. Towards the end, when it stopped being a flat-out horrifically acted, stereotypical comedy and began veering into Straw Dogs territory with politics so twisted my jaw was sagging, I thought we might be getting somewhere. From caging the brown boy in the basement through Walt's last stand, in which he ends up looking like a horizontal Christ, I wondered if I was watching one of the more subversive works of art to reach a multiplex in many, many years. But then, as the final credits began to scroll, and Clint began to sing the closing song in character, I remembered that this was all in the name of comedy. Or was it? Apparently, Clint can have his cake and eat it too, because critics are drooling over this thing as much as your everyday thoughtless moviegoer appears to be. As for me, I am shocked that anyone has taken this movie even somewhat seriously. Remove Clint's physical presence and the 35mm photography from the equation, and this thing wouldn't even make the most regional of festivals. I guarantee that. But I guess this is just more proof that the older I get, the stranger this world seems.