Cast: Hailee Steinfeld, Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, Josh Brolin
“A stranger rides into town…” The initial spark for many of the greatest stories ever told is most recognisable as a trope of that most distinguished and iconic of genres… the Western. There has always been something of the Western in the Coen brothers’ work. However quirky and original they might appear, there are the occasional backdrops of craggy, sun-scarred canyons, or the narrator with a lilting Southern drawl, or just a general sense of lawlessness and isolation. But never before have they stripped away their signature blend of dour humour and heroic pathos to create as bare, straightforward, and open-hearted a Western as True Grit (a remake of the 1969 John Wayne classic). Even ‘No Country For Old Men’ was veiled with slow pacing, bizarre antagonists, and that nostrum ending.
The “stranger” whose arrival sparks our adventure is perhaps the only surprising element of the film. It is not a cool, quick-drawing Sheriff or a lolling, drunken outlaw; but a 14-year-old girl, Mattie (Steinfeld), who has arrived to see that her father’s body is returned safely to her family home, and to ensure that the man who shot him is brought to justice. Chaney (Brolin) has fled across the river into the lawless chaos of Chocktaw country, and few in the town would consider joining the feisty child on her mission. One man that doesn’t fit that, or any other, mould is Rooster Cogburn (Bridges) – a one-eyed drunkard who just happens to be the most ruthless US Marshall south of the Mason-Dixon line.
Another willing but troublesome ally arrives in the form of Texas Ranger LeBoeuf (Damon) – as bumbling as he is resolute – who is intent on taking Chaney back to Texas to be tried for another crime. Mattie is adamant that Chaney be hung for her father’s murder; so when Cogburn and LeBoeuf discard her with the intention of splitting the ransom money themselves, she is forced to chase them down on her startled but iron-willed pony.
While the Arkansas drunk and the spur-heeled Texan rut and thump their egos together, it falls to the beguilingly mature Mattie to act as mediator and ensure that her chaperones stick to the task. Alas, when she single-handedly discovers and attempts to contain the greasy outlaw Chaney, neither man is around to help, and Chaney’s gang quickly abducts her. Cogburn and LeBoeuf give chase, and so ensues an exciting, gun-slinging finale played out on the dusty plains of John Ford country.
If the epilogue is not an attempt at a justification, on behalf of the filmmakers, for this unusual project, it is at least an attempt to better understand their personal affection not just for the genre, but for the very real and magical period of American history that it so passionately depicts. Rooster and Mattie never hear from one another again until, many years later, Mattie receives a letter inviting her to visit Cogburn on tour with Wild Bill Hickok’s travelling show. Much as zoos have become less a celebration of nature than a monument to its rapid decline; so Hickok’s legendary show feels here like a melancholy, plastic replica of a time when people fought for what they cared about, and had the freedom to do so. When Cogburn passes away, Mattie has her old friend buried on the family plot. The final shot – depicting a lonely, wistful Mattie standing over the grave, below a jagged, creaking tree on a wind-swept, greying hill – is a resounding death knell to the fiery romance of the West.
Jeff Bridges effortlessly channels the whisky-weary stagger of last year’s Oscar-winning turn as Crazy Heart’s ‘Bad Blake’ with a less definable masochistic boredom. Cogburn is not a loveable drunk, or a hard man hiding a soft heart, he is a twisted and spiteful bastard who reluctantly carries the burden of caring about justice and innocence. But the final mention must go to the exiting and precocious talent of Hailee Steinfeld. At just thirteen years of age, she has delivered one of the most memorable performances of the year. The ‘wily and headstrong’ act does feel monotonous at times, but Steinfeld subtly exposes the chinks in Mattie’s armour. Barely moving a muscle, she momentarily reveals all the loneliness and insecurity of a lost little girl; but it is only a glimpse, and she repaints her mask, ready to do battle again.
“A stranger rides into town…” The initial spark for many of the greatest stories ever told is most recognisable as a trope of that most distinguished and iconic of genres… the Western. There has always been something of the Western in the Coen brothers’ work. However quirky and original they might appear, there are the occasional backdrops of craggy, sun-scarred canyons, or the narrator with a lilting Southern drawl, or just a general sense of lawlessness and isolation. But never before have they stripped away their signature blend of dour humour and heroic pathos to create as bare, straightforward, and open-hearted a Western as True Grit (a remake of the 1969 John Wayne classic). Even ‘No Country For Old Men’ was veiled with slow pacing, bizarre antagonists, and that nostrum ending.
The “stranger” whose arrival sparks our adventure is perhaps the only surprising element of the film. It is not a cool, quick-drawing Sheriff or a lolling, drunken outlaw; but a 14-year-old girl, Mattie (Steinfeld), who has arrived to see that her father’s body is returned safely to her family home, and to ensure that the man who shot him is brought to justice. Chaney (Brolin) has fled across the river into the lawless chaos of Chocktaw country, and few in the town would consider joining the feisty child on her mission. One man that doesn’t fit that, or any other, mould is Rooster Cogburn (Bridges) – a one-eyed drunkard who just happens to be the most ruthless US Marshall south of the Mason-Dixon line.
Another willing but troublesome ally arrives in the form of Texas Ranger LeBoeuf (Damon) – as bumbling as he is resolute – who is intent on taking Chaney back to Texas to be tried for another crime. Mattie is adamant that Chaney be hung for her father’s murder; so when Cogburn and LeBoeuf discard her with the intention of splitting the ransom money themselves, she is forced to chase them down on her startled but iron-willed pony.
While the Arkansas drunk and the spur-heeled Texan rut and thump their egos together, it falls to the beguilingly mature Mattie to act as mediator and ensure that her chaperones stick to the task. Alas, when she single-handedly discovers and attempts to contain the greasy outlaw Chaney, neither man is around to help, and Chaney’s gang quickly abducts her. Cogburn and LeBoeuf give chase, and so ensues an exciting, gun-slinging finale played out on the dusty plains of John Ford country.
If the epilogue is not an attempt at a justification, on behalf of the filmmakers, for this unusual project, it is at least an attempt to better understand their personal affection not just for the genre, but for the very real and magical period of American history that it so passionately depicts. Rooster and Mattie never hear from one another again until, many years later, Mattie receives a letter inviting her to visit Cogburn on tour with Wild Bill Hickok’s travelling show. Much as zoos have become less a celebration of nature than a monument to its rapid decline; so Hickok’s legendary show feels here like a melancholy, plastic replica of a time when people fought for what they cared about, and had the freedom to do so. When Cogburn passes away, Mattie has her old friend buried on the family plot. The final shot – depicting a lonely, wistful Mattie standing over the grave, below a jagged, creaking tree on a wind-swept, greying hill – is a resounding death knell to the fiery romance of the West.
Jeff Bridges effortlessly channels the whisky-weary stagger of last year’s Oscar-winning turn as Crazy Heart’s ‘Bad Blake’ with a less definable masochistic boredom. Cogburn is not a loveable drunk, or a hard man hiding a soft heart, he is a twisted and spiteful bastard who reluctantly carries the burden of caring about justice and innocence. But the final mention must go to the exiting and precocious talent of Hailee Steinfeld. At just thirteen years of age, she has delivered one of the most memorable performances of the year. The ‘wily and headstrong’ act does feel monotonous at times, but Steinfeld subtly exposes the chinks in Mattie’s armour. Barely moving a muscle, she momentarily reveals all the loneliness and insecurity of a lost little girl; but it is only a glimpse, and she repaints her mask, ready to do battle again.
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