In the 1970's, there was an old car commercial explaining that there was nothing more American than "baseball, hot dogs, apple pie, and Chevrolet". An interesting conceit, rather memorable since the first three have always been synonymous with the good ol' U.S. of A. Of course, if you wanna split hairs, those three also actually originated in Europe before making it stateside. In fact, considering the melting pot nature of America, it's difficult to pin down what cultural and technological innovations are TRULY American in origin and isn't Made in China.
The same goes for motion pictures. Though much of the technology was perfected here in the States, it can be argued that cinema was officially "born" in late 19th-century France (or even centuries earlier in Greece if you count the non-recording camera obscura, but we'll leave that discussion to nerds with too much time on their hands). But if there's anything about cinema that we could truly lay claim as being as American as apple pie, er, Chevrolet, it would undoubtedly be the Western genre.
Hugely popular in the first half of the 20th century, westerns were iconic for their almost mythical storytelling (usually of a mysterious wanderer becoming the savior of a small town), morality tales, and the instantly recognizable images of gun battles, grand cinematography set against the harsh Southwestern American landscape, and the depiction of survival before the Industrial Revolution. But like any genre, Westerns gradually evolved, going from the clean-cut and sanitized John Ford movies to more gritty, revisionist, and brutal depictions of the the Old West that were clearly more accurate of that era.
Soon enough, it seemed as though Westerns had died out, with Clint Eastwood's great Unforgiven apparently being the last of the herd. But thankfully, the cult favorite and Oscar-winning Coen Brothers (Raising Arizona, Fargo, No Country for Old Men) decided to breathe new life into the sagging genre with True Grit, a remake of the 1969 John Wayne classic that proves that when done with the right people behind and in front of the camera, a remake can not only be forgivable, but also a terrific piece of moviemaking on its own.
It's the late 1870s, and 14-year-old Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) has just identified the corpse of her slain father, who was recently robbed and murdered by infamous hired gun Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin). Though young, Mattie is mature for her years, and is highly determined to find her father's killer and have him brought to justice. As such, she tries to hire grizzled yet tough federal marshall Ruben "Rooster" Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) to track Chaney down, especially now that the criminal's escaped to unchartered Indian territory.
Mattie eventually convinces Cogburn to take the job, on her condition that she rides along with him. Waking up the next morning, she discovers that he's already headed off without her, but rather with Texas ranger La Boeuf (Matt Damon), who's been tracking down Chaney for months for the murder of a Texas senator. Mattie nonetheless catches up with them, dead set on finding her target. The three then trek through the hostile land, in hopes of finding both the elusive Chaney as well as "Lucky" Ned Pepper (Barry Pepper), an outlaw whom he's in cahoots with.
Best known for making quirky, weird, and definitely less-than-mainstream works, the Brothers Coen seemed to have decided to step out of their eccentric comfort zone to make their most mainstream film yet. Having previously toyed with the Western (albeit in a contemporary fashion) with their Oscar-winning No Country for Old Men, Joel and Ethan have clearly perfected their association with the Old West here. Even though Hollywood's been pumping remakes out the wazoo as of late, it would be considered especially egregious to lay hands on a John Wayne classic (especially one that garnered The Duke his only Academy Award win).
But even though it's been awhile since I've seen the 1969 film, there can be plenty of distinction between the two (and from what I've heard, the 2010 model is apparently more true to the 1968 Charles Portis novel than the original). The Wayne version was clearly tailored to fit Wayne's persona and somewhat limited acting style, therefore placing that film's main focus on the Cogburn character rather than on Mattie (as was in the novel).
Luckily, the Coens put Mattie back to the forefront, and they clearly couldn't find a better actor to fill her shoes than newcomer Hailee Steinfeld. Though being in her early teens and making her debut film performance, Steinfeld does a fantastic job portraying a plucky and determined teen wise beyond her years, yet way in over her head in regards to tracking down the man who murdered her dear ol' daddy. Steinfeld infuses in Mattie a maturity and strength that defies her youth, making for a terrific young heroine role we see too little of in movies nowadays (but clearly making a comeback this year, what with Chloe Moretz and Jennifer Lawrence making waves in Kick-Ass and Winter's Bone, respectively).
But of course, you need a merciless-yet-soft-on-the-inside tough guy to watch her back, and taking over The Duke's reins as Rooster Cogburn is the now-legendary Jeff Bridges. While Wayne's portrayal of Cogburn was essentially Wayne playing himself, Bridges took it even further, making Rooster the tough, liquor-pickled son-of-a-bitch of ALL tough, liquor-pickled sons of bitches. Bridges disappears into Rooster's skin, mannerisms, and especially voice, becoming what we would expect a 19th-century marshall to truly be and act like. It's a flawless performance of a truly flawed man that's all but guaranteed award nominations and even wins, and deservedly so.
Rounding out the cast is a funny Matt Damon (who's clearly and gamely content with handing the spotlight over to his aforementioned costars) as the Texas Ranger also after Chaney, played by Brolin, who isn't in the film as much as the ads and trailers imply.
Technical efforts are brilliant across the board. The cinematography by longtime Coen collaborator Roger Deakins is jaw-droppingly beautiful, capturing the harsh and haggard environs of the West, especially when our heroes enter the deadly no-man's-land of Choctaw territory. Carter Burwell's hymnal-heavy score is evocative of the Westerns of yesteryear, what with the usage of harmonicas and the "clickety-clack" percussion. Of course, the biggest achievement behind the camera is the Coens' razor-sharp screenplay, delivering intelligent but true-to-the-era dialogue and exposition. But most importantly, this True Grit shouldn't be considered a flat-out remake, but more of a genuine love letter to the beauty and grandeur of classic Western cinema.
Those who read my reviews know that even when I commentate on films I highly enjoy, I can still find things about them that I didn't like or think could have been improved upon. Not so here. Every cog, nook, and cranny of True Grit is absolutely perfect. It's also a reminder to Hollywood that when done right, with the right actors, directors, screenwriters, etc., Westerns can be considered not derivative and cliche relics of movies' past, but a true staple of both cinema and Americana. Action-packed, funny, poignant, and staggeringly superb in every which way, True Grit may very well resurrect the genre and everything great about it.
Now fill your hands, you son of a bitch.
Letter Grade: "A+"
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