True Grit. A remake or not a remake? That is the question.
Less controversial are the undeniably superior filmmaking skills of the Coen Brothers, skills which underpin this cracking new adaptation of Charles Portis’ novel. When compared to Henry Hathaway’s 1969 John Wayne starrer, it’s arguably a much more accomplished and effective work, restoring the narrative tangent of the story and moving beyond barnstorming star-led theatrics, instead venturing into gripping character study underpinned by weighty Biblical subtext.
That description would indicate it’s heady stuff but the real irony is that this is the least Coen-esque Coen Brothers film ever made. Sure, the directors take great delight in reinstating swathes of obtuse, literal dialogue, painting a more authentic portrayal of nineteenth century frontier life and calling to mind the way they revelled in dialects and accents with Fargo.
But what’s surprising is the absence of the cruel, sadistic humour that has become their stock in trade. Instead of toying with the audience by making them laugh, wince and cry at the same time, here the Coens channel their energy into a mainstream context, deferring entirely to the source novel. In many ways it’s the opposite formula to their Oscar-winning No Country For Old Men, where Cormac McCarthy’s prose fused supernaturally with their deadpan approach.
Perversely then, the brothers have done the unexpected by stepping into the mainstream. One of the great joys of their work though is the guarantee that every project, be it difficult, quirky, shocking, hilarious or poignant, will be underpinned by filmmaking bravado of the highest calibre.
It’s also worth mentioning that the key difference between the new version and Hathaway’s one is largely tonal. It keeps most of the major set-pieces and by and large follows the same path of events; the important thing is where our focus lies. Beforehand, it was resolutely with Wayne, romping around with a six-shooter and eye-patch in his only Oscar-winning role. Now, it lies firmly, as it should, with wise young girl Mattie Ross, played with remarkable assuredness by Hailee Steinfeld in what’s sure to become a star-making role. Forget the passiveness of Kim Darby in the original; Steinfeld has her stamp on the role in a matter of seconds.
By pointing the story in the right direction, the Coens not only open up a variety of dramatic undercurrents; they also reconfigure the narrative around Portis’ Biblical themes of redemption and revenge. The original, while entertaining, had nothing to do with that. Back in 2011, we open on a breathlessly eerie tableau that sets the scene beautifully: older Mattie, in voiceover narration, explains how, in her youth, she lost her father to murderous hired hand Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin). Composer Carter Burwell’s haunting adaptation of Protestant hymn ‘Leaning on the Everlasting Arms’ meanwhile sounds a mournful elegy for innocence lost.
Her quest laid out before we’ve even set eyes on the principal actors, Roger Deakins’ magnificent cinematography (now deserving recipient of a BAFTA) fades in through delicate snow, coming to focus on the dead body that will prove the catalyst for the film’s events. Torquay-born Deakins is responsible as much as anyone for the film’s success and his ability to re-invent himself visually in geographical areas covered before by the directors is astonishing.
The emotional arc having been established, we then dip back into the past with the sort of breathless ease that only comes with the very best filmmakers. In a marvellous scene echoing Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in America, Ross as a girl arrives in a border town to collect her father’s body. Outfoxing a local lawyer on the price of horses, she then enquires about the best possible US Marshall needed to track down her father’s killer in Indian Territory. She hires the man with ‘true grit’: Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges), a man whose visual limitations belie his ability with a gun (‘Shot or killed?’ he asks a prosecutor in response to how many men he’s blasted).
Of course, who ultimately has the true grit is one of the many ways in which the Coens muddy the moral water. It’s both more confidently realised and yet more morally ambivalent than the ’69 version, a product of the post-Wild Bunch western mentality where filmmakers are as keen to interrogate their heroes as to have them ride around on horses wielding six shooters. Yet the Coens never flag any of their subtext up, instead playing the drama straight and utilising Deakins’ varied colour palette to suggest subconscious emotional moods. The intelligence is there but just as much emphasis goes on enjoying the clichés: shootouts, horses, expansive vistas and shootouts on horses against expansive vistas.
Bridges for his part shuffles and mumbles a lot but his part is no more distinctive than Wayne’s, just a lot harder to understand. In fact, both Steinfeld and Matt Damon (as prickly, uptight Texas Ranger LaBoeuf) are crucial in mediating Bridges’ incoherent turn. Damon is inevitably an improvement on Glen Campbell but really this is Steinfeld’s film. As preternaturally mature Mattie Ross, Steinfeld is a riveting moral focus throughout, wearing the immense burden of the film so effortlessly, one wonders would the film work at all had her casting not worked out.
But work it does. True Grit is really a marvel of alchemy, as many of the Coen Brothers films are, fusing casting, music, script, acting, cinematography and sound together beautifully to create a nuanced texture that is unlike anything else in modern cinema. It’s just that in this case, the brothers have remembered to bring the audience along for the ride. In a career dotted with achievements, this is arguably their most accessible film to date: funny and poignant, but not self-consciously so.
Sean's rating: 10/10
