"Well, I'm sorry if the Coen Brothers don't direct the porn that I watch." - Superbad
When all is said and done and a feature film has it in the bag -- trophy after trophy -- time and again a Christmas release swoops in and nabs the gold. Shakespeare in Love and Million Dollar Baby being the most notable to pull off this specific feat in the past 15 years. There have been other upsets for sure, but usually they fall into the "everything was released Christmas week" category -- A Beautiful Mind... perhaps not so much an "upset" as "upsetting" -- or early releases that swoop back in and nab the gold, fittingly or not -- Silence of the Lambs, Braveheart, Crash.
Admittedly, Million Dollar Baby had the awards in the bag and coffin nailed on The Aviator by the Golden Globes. Shakespeare in Love's upsetting upset came at the peak of the Miramax campaign machine. This year's situation presents a particular conundrum because it involves a pair of American masters who have become such a brand-name of excellence, they can be referenced in Superbad with the guarantee that every teenager will know who it is. And yet, they didn't have a single Golden Globe nomination.
This makes the possibility of a True Grit win an unprecedented upset. A remarkably late arrival. A western -- only three have won before. The Coens just won an a mess of Oscars. Jeff Bridges just won an Oscar last year. Hailee Steinfeld is new on the scene. Damon isn't nominated. It's a remake. Oscar speaking, what most people remember about the original True Grit was that it was the film where John Wayne finally received recognition -- besting Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman for Midnight Cowboy, as well as Richard Burton -- who would never win -- and Peter O'Toole who never won either, he waited for a much deserved honorary award. Many wrote off the original True Grit seeing this as an award injustice worthy of active ignoring.
And yet -- this little locomotive is gaining remarkable momentum and may topple the Facebook Flick if The King's Speech or Toy Story 3 doesn't beat Grit to it. Perhaps this is the ramblings of a madman who so wants the 10 nominees to explode in the Academy's face bringing back the "True 5." Perhaps this is the equivalent of all those who heard the Hurt Locker whistle on the wind but held out hope for Avatar or even let their mind wander to a realm where a Tarantino victory via vote split was possible. Duh.
Obviously no one wants True Grit to undeservedly win against Fincher's all around great movie. That is not the case. Few things upset me more than Oscar injustice -- but perhaps the tectonic plates haven't settled just yet.
So what makes Grit so great?
Simply put: the quirky perfection of The Coen Brothers. Here, in the old west, under clearly stated circumstances every bit of bizzar-ity seemed nothing more than iron-clad sure-as-heck realism. Whether it was a body dangling from a noose or a fur-clad medicine man wandering through the a flurry it was all a continued part of the seamless world The Coens built that seemed nothing more than the actual old West. All that can be said for this auteurist duo's stamp is that it had style -- but never got in the way of the material.
To see Jeff Bridges in the hands of the Coens once more in a part that could be no less Dude than Gabriel Byrne in Miller's Crossing is a true statement of the talent of all parties involved. Matt Damon's under-rated role as Texas Ranger LaBoeuf proves his continued sound judgement in role selection. After Clooney has become a Coen regular and Pitt seems poised to do the same, it seems only right that Ocean's Eleven number three should jump on-board. His lacking a supporting actor nomination is a true surprise -- if I haven't mentioned that ten times already.
But the story here is Hailee Steinfeld. Besides Colin Firth's absolute excellence as King George VI, Hailee Steinfeld's feature film debut is the acting story of the year. It only takes a little bit of listening to realize that the direct, clipped, honest gusto of Steinfeld's Mattie Ross -- on the road to avenge her father's death -- is a role penned for a teenage Frances McDormand. Short of a DeLorean and a chest of Libyan plutonium, the Coens will never have the chance to place Joel's wife and their "go to muse" in a such a role -- but it sure doesn't mean they can't write one.
Selling of ponies and then using the profits to buy one back -- stuffing her hat with newspaper so it will fit -- plunging into the river to call you on your bluff -- or smiling happily at the posse campfire, hoping to tell a bedtime story -- this was a Coen woman with Franny McD sauce: strong-willed, forthright, never wavering, always just, and never permitting the laziness of men to blow her off with a half-baked lazy half truth. Hailee's uninterrupted forward momentum and her tongue's tip-top tapdance across mouthful's of Coen dialogue gave her the immediate shine of a seasoned veteran -- not a young smiling newbie who is, simply put, thrilled.
Whether Hailee will be able to Paquinize the situation is a question of the Rudin/Weinstein boxing match held in the shadows of The Fighter's supporting trophy lock-up. Melissa Leo seems to have it in the bag -- we'll see tonight how that shakes out at the Screen Actors Guild Awards. But should Steinfeld or Bonham Carter win tonight -- anything's possible for this little lady who, at the end of the day, far more than the man with the eyepatch, seemed the one with True Grit.
- Matthew J. McCue
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