And now for another point of view: I didn't like it. I didn't finish it in fact. I know that "Unforgiven" is ranked by some as one of the greatest Westerns ever made. I know that it stars and was directed by Clint Eastwood, one of the icons of American cinema. I know that it won a bunch of Oscars. Still, I didn't like it. I don't like Westerns, and that's clearly a matter of taste, but I also don't admire Eastwood's acting. He is not and never has been a leading man. He is no Burt Lancaster, no Paul Newman, no John Wayne. In this film alone he is dwarfed by Richard Harris and Gene Hackman; they are both actors. No, Eastwood is a tall guy with a reedy voice who usually plays tough guys. Here he plays a retired tough guy. When I see him on screen, I see a man laboring at his acting. Then there's the anti-Western Western plot. It is too obviously intended to inject contemporary values -- a respect for the role of women, blacks, native Americans, and single parents; a disrespect for violence and drinking; the wholesomeness that comes with marriage, including interracial marriage, and small adorable children -- into a century in which those values weren't necessarily accepted, at least in these ways. By promoting those values, the movie comes across as mannered, if not preachy. Then there are the hoary movie stereotypes -- prostitutes with hearts of gold, the kid who can't shoot straight, the city slicker new to the wild West, the sage brush shimmering on a summer afternoon with a musical accompaniment in major chords. Finally there is the pacing of Eastwood's direction. I gave up after an hour. Eastwood was still riding north, chatting with Morgan Freeman and the kid who couldn't shoot straight, sixty minutes after the plot driven by the slashing of a prostitute was set in motion. It was way too slow. Somebody had to find these elements uncompelling. I am afraid it was me.