True Grit: movie review
The Coen Brothers are notorious for the nasty nihilism of their worldview 鈥� if that鈥檚 not too grand a term 鈥� and so it鈥檚 somewhat surprising that 鈥�True Grit,鈥� their latest film, is relatively straightforward. It鈥檚 a good, solid western and, coming from anybody else, that might be enough. Coming from the Coens, it leaves a slight pall of disappointment in the air.
What鈥檚 missing is the distinctiveness that makes the Coens' movies, both the great ones (鈥�No Country for Old Men鈥�) and the not-so-great (鈥�The Hudsucker Proxy鈥�), identifiably theirs alone. They鈥檝e tamped down their scabrous black humor, and they鈥檝e also toned down the comic possibilities in the marvelous 1968 Charles Portis novel upon which the film is based.
The original movie adaptation of 鈥淭rue Grit,鈥� which came out in 1969, starred John Wayne in his Oscar-winning role as the besotted, one-eyed Deputy Marshal Rooster Cogburn. In the Coens' version, Jeff Bridges, who is thrice the actor Wayne was, plays Rooster. Unlike Wayne, he鈥檚 actually giving a performance and not a scenery-chewing star turn, although, given the film鈥檚 overall subdued tone, more munching might have been fun.
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Still, it seems a bit churlish of me to complain that the Coens aren鈥檛 doing many of the same things, distinctive as they are, that I鈥檝e often criticized them for in the past. Their craft and intelligence remain solid; only their imprimatur has changed.
Rooster is hired by the imperiously precocious 14-year-old Mattie Ross (the wonderful newcomer Hailee Steinfeld) to track down her father鈥檚 killer in Indian country in the 1870s. Accompanying them is a Texas ranger named LaBoeuf (Matt Damon) who is as straight-arrow as Rooster is screw-loose.
Like so many directors before them, the Coens are drawn to the classical western tradition of moviemaking. With the immense help of their cinematographer, Roger Deakins, they render the landscape in ways that set apart its inhabitants as actors in a vast folkloric enterprise. The people, who also include Josh Brolin as the killer and Barry Pepper as the scurvy gangleader Lucky Ned, all seem to have stepped out of a tall tale, although the Coens鈥� dampening effect keeps them all within bounds.
Bridges previously worked with the Coens on 鈥�The Big Lebowski,鈥� which has achieved iconic status as the slacker movie par excellence. In 鈥淭rue Grit,鈥� Bridges is a lot closer to his dissolute country singer Bad Blake in 鈥�Crazy Heart鈥� than to Lebowski. He鈥檚 a mercenary and a boozer and it wouldn鈥檛 even be out of character for his signature black eyepatch to be a sham.
But Bridges lets us know that, deep down, Rooster wants the same thing Hallie does 鈥� justice. And in his own slobbola way, he鈥檚 just as tenacious as she is. That鈥檚 what she notices about him the first time she meets up with him (while he is, fittingly, in the outhouse). Without trying to jerk tears from us, the Coens make it clear that these two are soul mates.
Matt Damon is a tad bland, but at least, unlike Glen Campbell in the 1969 version, he isn鈥檛 required to sing for us. Steinfeld, however, is in many ways a perfect fit for the Coens. Her dead-on, no-nonsense line deliveries, with their contractionless, biblical cadences, are resolutely unsentimental. Mattie is a highly driven character but 鈥� and this is the key to Steinfeld鈥檚 gifts as an actress 鈥� she鈥檚 never boring. Her intensity has modulations.
Great westerns, almost by definition, have a largeness of spirit, a fullness in which the quotidian morphs inexorably into the mythic. 鈥淭rue Grit鈥� falls short of all that, perhaps because largeness of spirit requires more emotional generosity than the Coens are likely capable of. But on its own conventional terms, the film succeeds 鈥� maybe not as a 鈥淐oen Brothers鈥� movie, but as a tall tale well told. Grade: A- (Rated PG-13 for some intense sequences of western violence including disturbing images.)
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