Clint Eastwood—who is now making dumb Trumpy films for low-information white America—loves the rich and complicated African music of black America like nothing else. And so it is not surprising that his 1988 biopic about the tragic jazz genius Charlie Parker, Bird, is, in every shot and scene and sequence, filled with this love. Yes, Parker fucked up much of his life with heavy drugs; yes, he was mentally unstable; yes, he died way too young (at the age of 34). But Eastwood's film, which stars a young and excellent Forest Whitaker (he deserved an Oscar for this performance), emphasizes the saxophonist's otherworldly brilliance.