I’ve never seen Henry Hathaway’s 1969 adaptation of Charles Portis’ novel True Grit. Despite the fact that Rio Bravo is one of my favorite films, I’ve never been a big fan of Wayne’s. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m a child of the 90s, but the type of hero Wayne often portrayed never interested me. A squeaky clean image, someone who does what’s right, no matter the consequences; they’re noble and admirable traits, but a character that exhibits only those traits is pretty unrealistic, and usually boring. Even when he is playing somewhat flawed characters, it’s hard to separate Wayne from the image he spent a lifetime building. In fact, it’s Dean Martin’s Dude that first drew me to Rio Bravo; so much of the character lives outside of the frame. I guess that’s why I was so completely taken by Jeff Bridges’ portrayal of Rooster Cogburn.
So much of what we learn about Cogburn, much of it from his own boasting, is legend. What we see on screen is a man well past his prime, a drunk, a braggart, a fool, a coward and, yes, a hero, if only to Mattie Ross. He’s not the kind of man you look up to, but he is the kind on man that you understand, the kind of man you love inspit of his faults, or, maybe because of them.
On the other side of that you have Texas Ranger LaBoeuf, played by Matt Damon. LaBoeuf is everything Cogburn isn’t, and a few that he is. While Cogburn’s grandstanding comes off as earnest and hysterical, LaBoeuf’s is irritating and unnecessary. Something that makes for good comedy when he trades verbal jabs with Mattie, and occasionally with Rooster. But, his desire to BE that upstanding man of the law seems honest because of it. He’s that kid that grew up thinking the cowboys were always the good guys, and the very idea of Rooster Cogburn offends him.
Standing between the two men, upstaging them at every turn in fact, is Mattie Ross. Played by 14-year old Hailee Steinfeld, Mattie is an enigma wrapped in the flesh of a young girl. Stoic to a fault, fast-talking and more stubborn than Cogburn or LaBoeuf, Mattie Ross is very much a product of her environment. Consistently underestimated by everyone around, it’s her perseverance that proves to be the absolute driving force of the film.
That Josh Brolin was billed as one of the movie’s stars is a bit surprising. Tom Chaney, while a central character, only has about ten minutes of screen time. Like Cogburn, most of what we know about Cheney is word-of-mouth. A majority of which comes from LaBoeuf, who describes him as if he were whip-smart and as slippery as a snake. When Mattie protests, calling him dim-witted, LaBoeuf shrugs it off as an act and insists the man is a fox. But, in one of film’s sly-est bits of comedy, we see that Chaney probably isn’t even as smart as Mattie claims he is. You get the idea that Tom Chaney is a man that has survived solely on luck and his willingness to let others lead the way.
I’ve mentioned the comedy a few times, one of the trademarks of a Coen Bros. film, most of which is very dry and somewhat esoteric. In fact, after a friend of mine watched the movie he asked me “Is it supposed to be funny?” Having never read the book, I can’t say if that’s something the Coens brought with them or if it was intrinsic to the story to begin with. I will say that it breaks up the tension nicely, usually acting as a sort of calm before the storm.
One of the more disappointing oversights by the Oscars this year was Carter Burwell’s score here. According to the Academy, the soundtrack contained too many unoriginal pieces to qualify, and while I guess that’s understandable, it’s also baffling. A film based on a book that’s already been adapted once before can garner a ton of nominations, but a man who uses old hymn music, reconfigured as a completely effective score, is forced to bow out. Understandable, but baffling. That said, wow, this may be my favorite score of the year. There’s something completely unsettling and impressive about the way Burwell uses songs like “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms” and “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” to set the mood, and not just in the more light-hearted moments.
The other half of creating that mood is Roger Deakins cinematography. Like Burwell, Deakins is a frequent collaborater of the Coens, and as great ass all their films have looked (specifically No Country For Old Men), this might be their best in that department. Every frame is beautiful, and Deakins does an excellent job of capturing the desolation and emptiness of life in the West.
After watching True Grit I commented to another friend that movies like this were the reason I loved cinema. It’s the type of movie that draws you in. Maybe it’s not life-changing (so few movies are), but True Grit is poetry, it’s truth. And the truth, as they say, will always set you free.
