Brazen Saddles

Review: True Grit

Courage, tenacity, reckless determination: just a few implications of the Coens' newest film's title. The brothers' quarter-century body of work speaks to these qualities; their films throttle between comical eccentricity and bleakness verging on horror. Some are sure-headed while others quaver (often the lighter films like Burn after Reading and The Ladykillers). But they persevere into the curiouser and curiouser Wonderlands of small towns and the Wild West.

Their movies are masculine, focused on man's conviction. The film stock is often grainy, a deliberate "indie" touch. Their casts can verge on caricature, laced with colorful tics and regional vernacular. So where does True Grit land in this (simplified, of course) look at their career? It's the second adaptation of Charles Portis' novel, and a surprise major hit at the box office. Despite the prominence of notorious marshal Rooster Cogburn, True Grit is a woman's story.

Mattie looks back from middle age on her one experience riding with the men: her quest to avenge her father's murder. A girl of firmly braided hair and near-ministerial tongue, she hires Cogburn to hunt down the culprit Tom Chaney, and resolves to accompany him. Out in the wilderness, Mattie sees her Old Testament thinking realized with the eye-for-an-eye violence of their journey. Hailee Steinfeld plays Mattie Ross as an adult unaware she's only fourteen, or that she's entering a man's world. As her travel companions, Jeff Bridges and Matt Damon make ideal foils. Bridges is eager to get his hands dirty; he sputters and mumbles with comic panache, then drops the swagger instantly when the going gets rough. Damon plays the level-headed fool LaBoeuf with dignity, with a sweet paternal protectiveness toward Mattie. The story falters a little when they reach Chaney at last, the encounter too chance and the villain bland. But it's back on track with the requisite good guy-bad guy showdown.

I watched John Ford's 1939 film Stagecoach, possibly the first great Western, just after True Grit. Many reviewers find the Coens' work here more traditional than usual. They honor the genre, but with the toll that seventy years of Westerns have taken. Casualties are few in Stagecoach, and the horses are not sacrificed. But though True Grit's body count is lower than most Coen efforts, their contemporary lens records how random violence can be. Even the innocents who are spared will be wounded. Having grit wins shootouts, just like the good old days, but no one escapes the consequences.

The Razzie Hunter (Where's The Tourist?)

Yawn. Ten nominees for Best Picture, and at least nine of the ten films are already locks. Mark my words, this week's noms will hold few surprises. What to look forward to instead?

THE 31ST ANNUAL RAZZIE AWARDS (with MY predictions)

WORST PICTURE
The Bounty Hunter
The Last Airbender
Sex and the City 2
Twilight Saga: Eclipse
Vampires Suck

Of all these films, Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler should be the most ashamed. We knew what to expect from the rest. And why is The Bounty Hunter always on my Netflix home page? Shockingly, it's the highest rated of these five on IMDB (with a lustrous 5.2).

WORST ACTOR
Jack Black, Gulliver's Travels
Gerard Butler, The Bounty Hunter
Ashton Kutcher, Killers and Valentine's Day
Taylor Lautner, Eclipse and Valentine's Day
Robert Pattinson, Eclipse and Remember Me

Hard to blame Valentine's Day or Eclipse on one single actor. But don't you get the feeling Ashton has Punk'd us once too often? This could be an award for career lowbrow acting (a.k.a. Where did your That 70's Show potential go?).

WORST ACTRESS
Jennifer Aniston, The Bounty Hunter and The Switch
Miley Cyrus, The Last Song
The Four "Gal Pals", Sex and the City 2
Megan Fox, Jonah Hex
Kristen Stewart, Eclipse

Megan Fox could win for her Mickey Rourke tattoo. But I'm giving it to the veterans. Ladies, do you need a new swimming pool? A third house in Maui?

Danny Boy, You Must Go and I Must Bide

Review: Rabbit Hole

Fifteen minutes in, I heard rustling behind me. Soon enough, a mother had scooped up her bags and headed out of the theater with her ten-year-old son. I suppose that there are still people in this world who go blindly to the movies, who buy tickets to Rabbit Hole assuming it's for kids, then are surprised when the film starts. Those who knew the premise of John Cameron Mitchell's film, I think, might also have registered some surprise at its often sunny execution.

Mitchell gained cult status for being outrageous, or at least boyishly defiant: the drag-rock spectacle Hedwig and the Angry Inch and overtly sexual Shortbus were his first films. He handles David Lindsay-Abaire's scenes with the restraint that Ben Brantley noted in the original stage script: "This anatomy of grief doesn't so much jerk tears as tap them."

Eight months after her four-year-old son, Danny, is struck by a car, Becca Corbett (played by Nicole Kidman) struggles to find direction. Lindsay-Abaire avoids the obvious melodramatic tics that could have marred or sentimentalized Becca's recovery. Though she and her husband Howie (played by Aaron Eckhart) fall into shouting matches, we feel an underlying stability in their marriage. But they keep their secrets: Becca follows the high-school-aged driver who caused the accident, due more to chance than his negligence; Howie smokes pot with a friend from group counseling. The film focuses closely on the Corbett family, who has been sidelined with tragedy before.

Nicole Kidman, an actress of natural restraint herself, deserves praise for producing this adaptation, one that required four distributors. She suits smaller projects better than lavish studio remakes. The cast has adopted her instinct to internalize. Kidman's dry pinches of humor flesh out a woman unconvinced by the "God talk" in group, and rankled by her mother's (Dianne Wiest) comparisons to her own grief. Eckhart and Wiest are sympathetic and understated, and Miles Teller is especially refreshing as the bright but scared driver. If much of the drama feels small and familiar, Kidman and company never overplay their hand. "Somewhere out there, I'm having a good time," Becca confesses, as if allowing the audience to feel Rabbit Hole's unexpected positive energy.