The laziness of the writers for this film is obvious with the opening credits which are the exact same ones that were there for "Every Which Way But Loose", only with names deleted or added. Gone is one of the best things from "Every Which Way", the delicious Beverly D'Angelo with her Echo not even mentioned, having seemingly ridden off into the sunset with Orville (Geoffrey Lewis) at the end of the film. Sure, she had gone onto great success with the movie version of "Hair" and "Coal Miner's Daughter", but without even a mention of Echo, this film already starts off with a sour clunk. The laziness continues with the quick forgiveness of Sondra Locke by Clint Eastwood.

Are we supposed to think that this sociopath character, Lynn Halsey Taylor, would just sit next to the man she viciously used and say "Are you still mad at me?" Then, that even after he politely asks her to leave, it is obvious that in order to re-instate her into the plot yet to come that Clint will forgive her. We're supposed to feel sorry for her because she seems to be destitute, in some sort of women's shelter, and has learned from her continuous mistakes of using and dumping men. I did not easily forget that as the film went on and she becomes sort of fragile flower who needs Clint's protecting when he makes the mistake of becoming involved with mafia ringers who want to get Clint into a professional fight. So while we lost Echo, we ended up with Clint's ego which is bigger than the fattest of the Black Widows who are back and wigged out literally here.

It is obvious that while Clint is jogging that fellow jogger William Smith wants something out of him when he eyes him suspiciously then simply joins him on the run which takes him near a steep ravine which suddenly gives way, possibly sending Smith to his death over the edge. Clint saves his life, then Smith jumps in to help Clint during a fight, and before you know it, Clint is involved in criminal activities that culminate with Locke being kidnapped. The action goes from the San Fernando Valley to Bakersfield where everybody from Ma (Ruth Gordon) to the Black Widows to the mob gets in on the action, and an elderly couple (real life married Logan and Anne Ramsey) become sexually intrigued by the noises that Clyde and the stolen orangutan are making whoopie along with Clint and Sondra. The visual of an old pervert peaking into their window as Gordon comes along then seeing Bo Derek in "10" (with Gordon's face superimposed) is the nadir of tactlessness.

As for the continued Coyote and Road Runner adventures of Philo's rivalry with the Black Widow, it was funny in the first film because even with it being over the top and unrealistic, there was an innocence to it that was character based. They strive far too hard for laughs here, with the only incident even semi-funny concerning their run through a tarring machine that results in Philo taking their hardened bodies by crane to the hospital where all of their body hair (including eyebrows) must be removed to get rid of the tar stuck to their shapeless bodies. The one good thing about the last scene which ties things up between Philo and the gang is that we know (or hoped back then) that there would not be a third entry, "Each and Every Way You Shouldn't", or whatever magical title some Warner Brothers hack had in mind for what fortunately did not come to fruition.

As for the climactic fight between Eastwood and Smith, it starts off innocently enough with the two in an abandoned warehouse and soon attracts the attention of a group of children followed by a nervous police officer who calls a trucker then leading to the entire Northern California population (including a literal group of jetsetters making their way in a small plane down the abandoned street) to witness what has been rumored to be in the making. It is absurdly set up and goes to show what happens when scripts are rushed out without thought. It probably got a ton of applause in the theater when the film was first shown but 40 years later, just comes off as absolutely narcissistic and ludicrous. I couldn't take another two hours of Philo, Orville, Ma and Clyde, even if in the first film they were all endearing, because to quote a Donna Summer and Barbra Streisand song from around the same time, "Enough is Enough is Enough!"

The sequel to Every Which Way But Loose is a slight improvement to its predecessor in terms of story telling, but it doesn't make it any better. Basically Philo Beddoe (Clint Eastwood) takes part in a bare knuckle fight for big money, and decides to retire from fighting and earn money with a car repair business, with the help of his friends Orville Boggs (Geoffrey Lewis, Juliette's father),and of course orangutan Clyde. But the Mafia come along to arrange a fight for Philo to take part in which many people are taking bets on, as he is meant to face Jack Wilson (William Smith). Of course Philo and Jack both originally refuse to fight, but they manage to have an argument and start fighting, not for competition, and everyone betting on them show up to watch. Also starring Sondra Locke as Lynn Halsey-Taylor, Harry Guardino as James Beekman, Rosemary's Baby star Ruth Gordon as Senovia 'Ma' Boggs, Michael Cavanaugh as Patrick Scarfe, Barry Corbin as Fat Zack, Roy Jenson as Moody, Bill McKinney as Dallas, William O'Connell as Elmo, John Quade as Cholla, Al Ruscio as Tony Rapoli Sr. aka Big Tony, Dan Vadis as Frank and Camila Ashland as Hattie. Eastwood does alright, but once again the show is stolen by his hairy co-star, possibly a little more than the previous film. Worth watching!

"Right turn, Clyde!" – and the orangutan's fist shoots out the passenger window, impacting anyone dumb enough to have their face there. It's just one of many running gags in this inexplicable, fuzzy film.

Any Which Way You Can (sequel to Every Which Way But Loose) opens with an illegal street fight, pitting bareknuckle street machine Philo Beddoe (Clint Eastwood) – now a local legend – against a Marine-beating bent cop, cheered on by a rowdy mix of truckers, crooked cops and busty chickie babes.

While Philo ogles some jiggling boob, the cop catches him unawares. Before he rises from the sand, Philo gives his opponent a menacing look – that tilted head with one eye slightly squinting… All I know in this world is: you don't wanna be on the receiving end of the Clint Glare. Ever. In short measure, the cop goes down. Meanwhile, Philo's orangutan, Clyde, has crapped in one of the squad cars… Any Which Way You Can, written by Stanford Sherman and directed by stuntman extraordinaire, Buddy Van Horn, is one of those rare movies that takes everything good about its predecessor and mashes it up in a big bowl of wrong that tastes just right.

One of the reasons this movie works is the palpable camaraderie on set – even between Clint and his "enemies." They've all worked with him before, in a cavalcade of past Clint classics: John Quade (in High Plains Drifter) along with his Black Widow gang of Clint regulars, Dan Vadis (Bronco Billy),William O'Connell (Josey Wales),Bill McKinney (The Gauntlet); underworld bookie Beekman is Harry Guardino (last seen chewing out Dirty Harry); there's the team from Every Which Way, Ruth Gordon once again steaming the screen as trash-talking Ma, Geoffrey Lewis as ever-faithful Orville, Sondra Locke still skeletal and untalented as Philo's girl, Lynn Halsey-Taylor; (the luminous Beverly D'Angelo was sorely missed in this sequel),and then there was Clyde the orang utan, always in the background, yet somehow in the furry foreground whenever a punch or a fart was needed to punctuate the action.

Philo is still trying to make ends meet in Anytown San Fernando Valley by rebuilding engines and bareknuckle boxing. A $10,000 underworld match comes his way, against a man-mountain renowned for maiming and killing his opponents, Jack Wilson (William Smith). Philo and Wilson meet unofficially in a – what else? – barroom brawl, eventually befriending each other enough to cancel their bout and anger all the underworld figures who organized the betting stakes. They end up fighting unofficially, the fight growing in intensity and public attention until the whole betting populace of the small town is cheering them on, all bets on.

With both competitors pushing 50, we wonder how this plot could even be plausible, yet through a blend of laconic humor and outlandishness, Any Which Way makes it believable, with a wham-bam-thank-you-ham third act that makes you want to do 50 pushups and sit-ups a day, just to look half as good as these veteran, iron-thewed warriors when you're their age.

There's nothing deep here; crack a beer, strip down to your wife-beater and just enjoy it. Every which way you look at it, Any Which Way is a Right Turn, Clyde.