True Grit (2010)

True Grit is unlike any other film Joel and Ethan Coen have ever made. At the same time, it’s classic Coen brothers thanks to the 1968 source material by writer Charles Portis. That’s because the original novel–first published in serialized form in The Saturday Evening Post–contains all the hallmarks of the critical darlings from St Louis Park, Minnesota: dark humor, quirky characters, and moments of graphic and frequently unexpected violence.

While admiring their work through the years, I’ve often felt the brothers try too hard on occasion. For example, why have one slightly twisted and/or foolish character when you can have three (or, in the case of The Big Lebowski, the entire cast)? This stylistic choice has made their movies unique, but the excessive nature of the formula sometimes takes away from the underlying story (Burn After Reading, for example). That’s why I’m so delighted to see them ease off the throttle for once, allowing the novel’s Old Testament notion of revenge to come through largely unaltered.

True Grit begins with a voiceover explaining the murder of Frank Ross by his hired hand, Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin). The culprit steals two gold pieces from the still-warm corpse, flees into Indian Territory, and seems to have gotten away with his bloody misdeeds. But 14-year-old Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld), the victim’s daughter, has no intention of seeing justice go undone. After arriving to claim the body, she sets about hiring someone to pursue Chaney and bring him back for a trial and proper hanging. That someone happens to be U.S. Marshal Reuben J. “Rooster” Cogburn (Jeff Bridges), a one-eyed drunk who’s described as the meanest option available to the vengeance-minded teen. That suits her just fine. Their group is rounded out by La Boeuf (Matt Damon), a well-dressed Texas Ranger eager to catch Chaney for the crime of gunning down a state senator and his dog.

John Wayne portrayed Rooster Cogburn in the original film, and his performance gained him the only Oscar win of his career. Jeff Bridges now dons the eyepatch, and enough time has elapsed between the two roles to somewhat lessen the obligatory comparisons. While I don’t see Bridges getting back-to-back Oscars, his version of Cogburn is a no-nonsense sonofabitch who happily shoots first and then bypasses the question asking phase entirely. He’s also unintelligible half the time, due to a combination of drink and general Old West crustiness. And unlike the Wayne version who keeps his promises and generally seems to have an innate code of honor, we get the sense that this former Confederate soldier more than fit in with William Quantrill and his band of Civil War bushwhackers.

While Cogburn displays true grit, Matt Damon’s so-called Texas Ranger is a delightful enigma. Dressed in a fancy buckskin jacket and wearing spurs that are oversized and noisy, La Boeuf seems more like a dime novel version of a Texas lawman than the real deal. And that’s what makes him so fascinating, because there’s never any proof given that he works for the Rangers other than his own word and the brief glimpse of a badge. For all we know, he’s nothing more than a well-armed charlatan. After watching him get put through the ringer by the bad guys–not to mention showing his nervousness while trying to make a difficult shot–it’s quite possible. If that’s the case, then his relationship with Cogburn is similar to that of the Schofield Kid and William Munny in Unforgiven. One is the real deal, and the other hopes to be one day; in the meantime, he’s content to lie.

Josh Brolin completes the trio of marquee males as Tom Chaney, the outlaw whose murder of Mattie’s father first set the wheels of bloody justice into motion. While his screen time is surprisingly short, Brolin manages to tell us everything we need to know about his character. Chaney is a dim-witted, whining coward who blames everyone else for his sorry lot in life. He’s also not above killing a teenage girl if she gets in his way. Trust me, you’ll be rooting for his demise from the first moment he opens his mouth.

All three of the men mentioned above give admirable performances, but it’s the presence of a 14-year-old actress that really steals the show. As Mattie Ross, Hailee Steinfeld is much more than the usual vacuous, underwritten female we’re used to seeing at theatres. Her dedication to seeing Chaney punished for his crimes allows her to quote scripture, threaten lawsuits, and generally take her character places normally reserved for the male leads. She shines when negotiating with a tight-fisted stable owner (Dakin Matthews), and this heated exchange provides the film’s funniest moments. Mattie’s relationship with Cogburn ranges from employee/employer to father/daughter, while the rest of the time she seems like a disciplined teacher trying to get a handle on an unruly and thoroughly besotted student. I’m smelling an Oscar nomination here.

The Coen’s screenplay strives to lend an air of period authenticity to the language, but don’t expect to see the same in other areas. Mattie doesn’t give the slightest shiver while sitting outside by the fire on a freezing winter’s night, and a number of wounded characters treat the holes in their bodies as nothing more than a slight inconvenience. It’s not Dancing with Wolves, but I never get the sense that it’s trying to be. There are, however, instances of animal and child abuse that, while entirely appropriate to the era, are still guaranteed to get thin-skinned audience members riled up.

This is a welcome synthesis of talent, and I commend the Coen brothers for sticking to the spirit of the novel and not overpopulating the landscape with oddballs (okay, there is the guy who communicates only with animal noises) and gallows humor. They’ve made their first real Western, and True Grit shows as much respect for the time period as anything ever turned out by John Ford, Clint Eastwood, or Kevin Costner. With any luck, it will serve as the impetus for a revival of the genre, something The Duke would wholeheartedly approve of.