Saturday, 5 March 2011
Thursday, 3 March 2011
I looked forward to seeing the remake of True Grit because a) I like westerns, and b) I like the Coen brothers (at least Fargo, O Brother, and No Country). I'm afraid their True Grit, however, just didn't live up to my expectations. The performance of Hailee Steinfeld as fourteen-year-old Mattie was quite exceptional - her earnestness was unflinching, and of all the characters it is she who has true grit. Jeff Bridges was less convincing, though he worked hard to capture the tough-as-nails on the outside, soft-as-sh*t on the inside Rooster as portrayed by Wayne. But ... (you knew it was coming), there was one point in the film, after which I was dragged right out of the West and back into Vue cinema at Gunwarf Quays: when the La Boeuf is accidentally shot by Cogburn, the bullet passes through his shoulder, entering the front of his fringed leather coat and exiting through the back. Though there was a considerable amount of blood on La Boeuf's shirt, quite remarkably, there was no stain on his coat. The exit hole was clean as a whistle. That lost it for me. Why show me a mouldy man hung up in a tree and fingers chopped off, and then show me a completely - and more importantly - unbelievably unbloodied coat? I'm not looking for a bloodbath, just consistency.