And The Loser Is... #19- The Duke and the Dude

There are very few instances in Academy Award history of a film, and its remake, both being nominated for awards. One such instance occurred at the 2011 ceremony, when the Coen brothers' True Grit, picked up 10 nominations, to go along with the 2 nominations that Henry Hathaway's original picked up at the 1970 awards show. This also became a rare case of two different actors being Oscar-nominated for playing the same character, Jeff Bridges and John Wayne joining the likes of Robert De Niro and Marlon Brando (Vito Corleone) and Cate Blanchett and Judi Dench (Queen Elizabeth). I watched both versions of True Grit over the past couple of nights, and will be talking about both films in this blog.

First, the story. Young Mattie Ross is a precocious 14-year-old girl, who turns up in Arkansas town in the late 1800s, bent on bringing to justice the man who killed her father. To that end, she hires surly, drunken, US Marshall 'Rooster' Cogburn, a man known for his 'grit' and who has knowledge of the Indian territory to where the killer, Tom Chaney, has fled. Meanwhile, a Texas Ranger, LaBeouf, is also tracking Chaney for a murder he committed in Texas. The three of them head off together, bickering along the way, but are forced to rely on each other to survive their perilous trek.

Both films are relatively close in story content, with a few key differences. First of all, the original film begins with a scene at the Ross ranch, where we are introduced to Mattie, her father, and Chaney, who has been hired and put up by the family. Shortly after meeting these characters, the main intention of which seems to be to establish both Mattie's strong affection towards her father, as well as her role as the bookkeeper for the family business, we witness Chaney's crime, a pointless murder over a quarrel about some money lost at cards. The Coen brothers decide not to show the murder, and their film begins with Mattie pulling into the town where the murder took place, in order to settle her father's business affairs. To my mind, this works better, as it serves to mythologise the Chaney character, who we don't actually see on screen until the last 20 minutes or so of the film. It also acts as a way to separate Mattie from any emotional ties to her family (we never see any of her family in the Coens' film), which is an important aspect of the film that I will come back to.

The other main difference in plot between the two films comes in the part played by LaBoeuf, the cocksure Texas Ranger. In the Hathaway original, the group of Cogburn, Ross and LaBoeuf stick together throughout their journey, despite the bickering. In the remake, LaBoeuf leaves the group on two separate occasions to go out on his own. I'm not sure which version is more loyal to the book in this regard, but I did think the choice to break the group up added more drama (in the sense that, while the action stayed with Mattie and Cogburn, you knew that LaBoeuf was still out there and wondered what role he would play later on), allowed the relationship between Mattie and Rooster, which is the emotional centre of the film, to develop more, and also allowed Mattie to do more. For example, there is a scene in the original where the trio come across a cabin in the wilderness, in which two outlaws are holed up. Rooster tells LaBoeuf to climb onto the roof and put his coat over the chimney, thus smoking the occupants out. In the remake, LaBoeuf has already left the group by this point, so Mattie performs the task.

As well as these minor story changes, there is a notable difference in tone between the two films. This might be expected between two films made 41 years apart, and more so when you have the Coens involved. The brothers have one of the more distinct styles in modern American filmmaking, and they incorporate a lot of their trademarks here. One of the things I appreciate the most about the Coens' work (and I have been a fan of theirs for a while) is that they can make very different films, but they all feel part of a wider body of work. Basically, you can tell a Coen brothers film when you see one, even though they are not visually showy directors.

The main thing that leaps out when watching these two films, it that tonally, the remake is much darker than the original. It definitely feels like a companion piece to No Country For Old Men  (2007), and you could even call it the third part of a loose trilogy looking at acts of violence against vast American backdrops, which began with Fargo (1996). Like No Country..., True Grit incorporates an abundance of nighttime scenes (tricky, as Hailee Steinfeld, who plays Mattie, had a working curfew due to her young age) to match the darkness of the characters and their actions. The original, conversely, actually looks like a film from an earlier period, its use of brightly-coloured landscapes bringing to mind the classic-era Westerns of the 40s and 50s, rather than its more gritty contemporaries, such as Sam Peckinpah's The Wild Bunch, which was released in the same year. Both films look good, but I think the remake does a better job of creating atmosphere and mood with its cinematography. Roger Deakins always does a great job on Coen movies, and was Oscar-nominated for his work on True Grit. As well as the lighting choices, his camera always moves with such poise; his work is never flashy, but gives the films he works on an epic, classical feel, and I actually think that the Coen brothers are underrated in terms of just how good their films look.

Extending from the aesthetic differences as it relates to tone, Hathaway's film has a much more jovial outlook, I suppose in keeping with the 'throwback' feel to his film. It's important to remember that the original was made right on the cusp of the New Hollywood, at a time when films like Bonnie and Clyde, much darker in subject matter, where becoming increasingly prevalent in American cinema. There is humour in both films, but the original definitely has a more jocular tone, and seems to want to keep things from getting too dark. The original is also very much wrapped up in the more simple-minded bravura and heroism of classic Westerns, whereas the remake shows slightly more interest in the morality of its characters' actions. Rooster Cogburn is, afterall, an anti-hero, a drunkard who, as it is basically acknowledged in both films, is rather too quick to reach for his gun. While the original plays this up as the weaknesses of an old rascal, the remake is more willing (though not entirely willing, it should be said) to treat these character flaws with seriousness. This difference is also reflected in the music, the eralier film using a "The Big Country"-style rousing Western soundtrack, while the Coens incorporate a more low-key score, the kind of thing you might find in a Ken Burns documentary.

John Wayne: hammy.

John Wayne won his only Oscar for his portrayal of Cogburn, whereas Jeff Bridges was nominated, but lost out to Colin Firth for The King's Speech. At the time, Wayne's win was considered more of a lifetime achievement award, with the actor himself admitting that Richard Burton should have won for Anne of a Thousand Days. Also nominated that year were Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman for Midnight Cowboy. It was said that Wayne's performance in the film was too hammy. I'm no John Wayne fan, but I say if I'm going to watch Wayne it may as well be hammy Wayne, because he sure as shit can't pull off subtle and nuanced. He's fine here, good even, in a role that really was made for him. Bridges, too, is good, as he usually is, much more convincing in his delivery than Wayne, and with better timing, although maybe lacking in that honest-to-goodness Southern steel (or grit!) that the Duke has.

On the whole, the remake smokes the original performance-wise, in the key areas, at least. Wayne hated the performance of his co-star, Kim Darby (playing 14-year-old Mattie when she herself was 22), and Hathaway felt likewise about the performance of Glen Campbell as LaBoeuf. Campbell was cast in the hopes that he would have a hit with the film's title song, whereas Wayne wanted Karen Carpenter cast as Mattie. I actually thought the slight woodeness of Campbell's performance worked in his favour, considering that LaBoeuf is portrayed as something of a square in the film, even an object of pity. Darby definitely struggled, but a lot of my issues with her were more rooted in the character.

Hailee Steinfeld: revelatory.

To counter Darby and Campbell, the remake has Hailee Steinfeld, in her first theatrical role, and Matt Damon. Steinfeld is a revelation, and was Oscar-nominated for best supporting actress (Melissa Leo won for The Fighter). She plays Mattie with such steely determination, and such resourcefulness, that it is easy to believe that a 14-year-old could go on a quest to avenge her father's death. More impressive is that she never loses her sense of adolescence throughout the film. She somehow manages to be unerringly adult in the face of danger and hardship (not to mention witnessing several murders), while still capture the spirit of youthful eagerness. It's a performance I enjoyed a lot. Damon, too, is typically solid, capturing the bland virtue of LaBoeuf. The Coens are also really good at filling all the smaller roles in their films with interesting actors, so, while the original has great character actors like Robert Duvall, Dennis Hopper and Strother Martin, the Coen movie just feels much better-cast.

My main criticism of the original film is the way the Mattie character is presented. In the Coens' film, Mattie is cold, composed, and unmoving in her task. That isn't to say she is heartless. She is obviously driven by love for her father, and at several times throughout the film we see her acting in kindness (notably, to one of the outlaws that is suffering from a bullet wound in the cabin, and several times to LaBoeuf, in the face of Cogburn's flippant cruelty). However, there is very much the sense that she is hardened, and that the ability to detach herself from any emotional ties is the very thing that is driving her on to get justice for her father. In Hathaway's film, however, Mattie is a much more emotional character, more driven by her feelings, and more childlike (and particularly, one feels, girl-like). This really does the film no favours. One the best things about the remake is the sense that Rooster, LaBoeuf and Mattie are on equal footing- each brings something to the table, despite each having great impediments. Hathaway's Mattie often feels like she is just along for the ride, an annoyance for the adults to put up with. Because of this, the relationship between Cogburn and Mattie, which develops from one of distrust to one of genuine affection, doesn't resonate in the original the way it does in the remake.

Essentially, these two films are very much products, not so much of their era, but of the men involved. Hathaway started his career in the 30s, and worked on a great number of Westerns. Wayne, of course, is the most famous of all Western heroes. They represent a time and place where a man's heroism was judged by how many men he'd killed, and how little silliness he'd take from little girls and pretty boy out-of-towners. The Coens make films about a world without a real notion of heroism. Where everybody is as ridiculous and ill-prepared as everybody else. It's telling that the closest thing to a pure hero you might find in a Coens film is a heavily-pregnant small-town sheriff. The Coens, of course, always layer into there films these little 'Coenisms', quirky little sidetracks that don't add to the general feel of the story, but not the story itself. There are several such instances in this film, such as the appearance of a lone rider wearing a bearskin. I feel that in this film, these moments actually detract a little, and it owuld have been nice to have seen them play things a bit more straight, capturing the right balance as they did so well with No Country.... I also have my reservations about their choice to end the film with an epilogue, showing Mattie 25 years later, a stone-faced spinster who was never able to move on from the events of her childhood (not to mention the fact that she says LaBoeuf would now be close to 80, meaning that we were supposed to buy Damon as 50-plus when this took place).

On the whole, I think the remake is a better film. It's certainly more in tune to my tastes, but beyond that I think the changes the brothers made all bring something to the film that the original lacked. They gave the film a mythic quality, which makes it seem bigger than its genre and time period. As well as Steinfeld and Bridges' nominations, the film was also nominated for best picture, best direction, and a slew of other awards, but won nothing. I give the film 4 stars, and I give the original 3 stars.

Until next time, here's looking at you!

And The Loser Is... #5- The new Kane and the Southern Fargo

Citizen Kane, to my mind, is the greatest American film ever made. Now, that may sound like the cliched opinion of a film student, but there is just so much about it to admire about this film, far beyond Orson Welles' revolutionary deep-focus cinematography (via director of photography Gregg Toland) and expressionist framing.
But, I'm not going to talk about Citizen Kane today. I only bring it up to make the point that this masterpiece of American cinema lost out to How Green Was My Valley in the Best Picture category at the 1942 Academy Awards. Fast-forward 66 years, and the film I am going to talk about today- a film that I consider in many ways to be the modern day Citizen Kane, and the best American film since Raging Bull, maybe earlier- is also losing out in the Best Picture category. The film in question is Paul Thomas Anderson's breathtaking There Will Be Blood.

Like Kane, There Will Be Blood is a portrait of a man whose obsession with power overrides everything else in his life, until that obsession is all he has. From the very first shot of Daniel Day-Lewis’s Daniel Plainview single-mindedly scrabbling for oil in the American south, it is clear that this is going to be the type of film that you don’t so much watch, as experience. Day-Lewis’s performance as the oil tycoon who won't be stopped until he has it all is billed as the main event here, and it is a powerhouse display (earning Day-Lewis the best actor Oscar), showing a man who becomes beguiled by his own greed, a man who is defined by his bravura, and his success, until there is really nothing else there. Plainview isn’t only an ‘oil man’, he is a showman, and there is great enjoyment to be had in working out where the show ends, and the man begins.

Dano and Day-Lewis: Part of the show.

But, just like Kane is elevated beyond mere character-study by its theme of innocence lost, There Will Be Blood isn’t just about one man. It is also a damning indictment of what could be considered the twin evils of modern America- corporation and religion. The religious aspect is represented by Paul Dano’s conniving preacher, Eli Sunday, on whose land Plainview has acquired the rights to drill for oil. The battle of wills that plays out between these two men, consumed by greed, provides thrilling drama, and many of the film's most memorable scenes. Key amongst these is the scene where Eli forces Daniel to appear at his church and 'give himself' to the Lord in front of a full congregation. This scene tells us a lot about the personalities of both men- Eli is just as greedy to be on top as Daniel, delighting in showing his superiority over his nemesis. Plainview, meanwhile, is a man who is willing to degrade himself publicly in order to keep the trust of the townspeople whose faith he relies on. To him, this is part of the show, it's part of the con, and, while you know he realises that this is something that he has to do, you also realise that he won't ever forget Eli's part in his degradation.

Anderson’s shot-making is incredible, including that tour-de-force opening sequence, and the later scene in which a fire breaks out in the field, another important scene because of the way it impacts the relationship between Daniel and his 'son', H.W. In the early stages of the film, it appears that Daniel's feelings for the boy are genuine, indeed that that is the only thing genuine about Daniel. As the film progresses though, it becomes more and more likely that H.W is just a means to an ends, a point of view that seems to be backed up when the child is deafened in the fire-causing explosion, and Daniel packs him off to a boarding school. In many ways,  H.W is There Will Be Blood's Rosebud- that one link to innocence which stands true amongst all of the double-crosses and dirty deeds.

Long-shots of the oilmen at work help to visualise the key ideas of the film, with even Jonny Greenwood's score offering a dissonant reminder that this is a film in which industry plays a key role. Everything about this film, each shot, each nuance of performance, each component of soundtrack, is calculated to create a film of startling depth. It's a masterpiece, and well deserving of a 5 star rating.

So, it must have been a really good film to take it down, right? Well, not necessarily- we are, afterall, dealing with an institution which named Crash the best picture of the year at one point. As it turns out though, the film that beat it is pretty damn good in its own right; the Coen brothers' No Country For Old Men.

In certain respects, these two films are two peas in a pod. Both are dark, epic parables about the state of America, featuring superlative directing and acting, and both are sure to stand the test of time. The mood of the Coens' film is slightly different though. There Will Be Blood is noted for its bravura, and its showiness, whereas No Country takes a more languid approach, which is typical of the brothers' work. And, while the former film can be read as an attack on the place of religion and corporation in America, the latter is more a meditation (albeit a very violent one!) on the shift in moral values at play. This is personified by Tommy Lee Jones' sheriff, who is tracking a merciless killer (himself tracking a man who has gone on the run after recovering some money from a drug deal). The character brings to mind the Frances McDormand character, Marge, in the Coens' Fargo. She was also a small-town sheriff who trudged on in the face of inexplicable violence. In fact, the film as a whole plays at times like a darker, Southern version of Fargo; the half mocking, half endearing characterisation, the off-beat asides and inscrutability, and the bursts of shocking violence.

Anton Chigurh: Pure, relentless evil.

Javier Bardem gives a scintillating performance as one of the more truly frightening villains in recent cinema history. As the hunter of Josh Brolin, his deep expressive gaze, cold, composed manner, and, of course, his hair-style, make his Anton Chigurh a character of pure relentless evil. Bardem won the Oscar for best supporting actor, and truly deserved it. What makes the character especially scary is his unpredictability, as we see in an already famous scene where Chigurh asks a shopkeeper to call heads or tails with his life on the line.

The dark cinematography and abundance of night scenes compliment the tone perfectly, and the chase elements deliver the requisite tension, but No Country works best as a portrait of a changing landscape, and the men caught up in that change, bringing to mind some of the seminal work of the American New Wave.

The Coens also won the best director award for this film, and as a long-time fan, I'm happy for them. This is certainly a well-judged piece of filmmaking, and they did a far better job of adapting a Cormac McCarthy novel than John Hillcoat did a couple of years later with The Road. Still, the award should have gone to Anderson.

2007 was a very strong year for American film (which I'll talk more about in a later ATLI...), so it's no insult when I say that I think it's only the seventh best U.S film of the year. And, while I clearly think There Will Be Blood is a superior film, No Country is still one of the strongest Best Picture winners of the past decade. I give it 4 stars.

In ATLI... #6, I'll be going all the way back to the first awards ceremony, to talk about the earliest nominee I've seen. Until then, here's looking at you.