And here's my second overdue review of an Oscar-nominated film. (This one's only a week and a half late! Yaaaaaaay)
The King's Speech is fantastic. That's really the simplest way to say it. It's received 12 Oscar nominations, the most of any film this year (the next in line is True Grit, with 10), and could very easily win most of those. It's incredibly well-acted, the direction is beautifully restrained, and the subject matter is fascinating.
There are two stories at work here, either one of which could probably make a good movie on its own: the first is the story of a man named Bertie and his attempts to overcome a debilitating stutter; the second is the story of King George VI, who suddenly became king of a country on the brink of war. (And in case you didn't know, the protagonist of both stories is THE SAME PERSON OMG.) The former story has a much smaller scale than the latter, but the film's integration of the grand and the intimate doesn't feel schizophrenic. In fact, the two enhance each other; the depiction of family life in the British royal family lends a surprising amount of humanity to the narrative, and Bertie's speech therapy is made all the more important by the fact that he has to lead and inspire an entire country.
As for the actors, Colin Firth is amazing in the lead role. He's just a big stuttering royal teddy bear and I wanted to give him a hug the whole time. But beyond his utter adorableness, he gives a wonderful performance--I'm someone whose entire life revolves around use of the voice, and I'm completely blown away by what he was able to do with that stutter. It's incredible, and I can't even imagine how long it took him to master. In terms of the character himself, Bertie is a capable, intelligent man, but is constantly overshadowed by his father and older brother. For him, the most important part of his speech therapy is the chance it gives him to step out of his family's shadow and become a leader in his own right. Firth plays the character beautifully, bringing out George VI's complexities and insecurities and transforming him into a strong-willed leader.
Geoffrey Rush deserves equal praise for his turn as Lionel Logue, the Australian speech therapist (with an encyclopedic knowledge of Shakespeare) who helps Bertie overcome his speech impediment. As Logue, Rush is intelligent and dry-witted (like all the best British people), and demands to be treated as an equal in his lessons, even if his student happens to be the King of England. What starts out as a battle of wills between the quick-tempered Bertie and the calmer but insistent Logue eventually grows into mutual respect, and finally into an adorable friendship. Logue is always there to help his pupil along, whether the king needs to be nudged or dragged kicking and screaming, and the chemistry between the two actors makes the whole thing an utter delight to watch.
Rounding out the main cast is Helena Bonham Carter as George/Bertie's wife, and I believe I speak for the entire country when I say it's absolutely wonderful to see this woman play a normal human being. She's a very talented actress, and though she gained most of her fame by taking weird/crazy roles, it's fantastic to see her play something straight for once. Speaking as a performer, I can say that doing the zany thing is all kinds of fun, but people are much less likely to take you seriously when that's what you make your career on. This role should serve as a reminder to the moviegoing public that yes, she's actually a good actress and not just a one-trick pony. Bonham Carter's Elizabeth is a loving and devoted wife, who is willing to defy her husband's wishes in order to get him the help he needs. She is at turns tender and steely, and incredibly believable.
Firth, Rush, and Bonham Carter were all nominated for Oscars (Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, and Best Supporting Actress), and I certainly wouldn't complain (or be at all surprised) if all three of them won. The rest of the cast is equally impressive, including Michael Gambon as the ailing King George V, Guy Pearce as Bertie's brother, the short-lived King Edward VIII, and Derek Jacobi as Archbishop Lang. Also appearing is Timothy Spall (Wormtail from the Harry Potter movies) as the most adorably jowly and scowly Winston Churchill EVAR.
The direction by Tom Hooper is simple and elegant, and appropriately lets the actors dominate the screen. There isn't much in the way of visual effects or camera tricks, but everything looks beautiful. Hooper knows how to frame a shot so that it's interesting to look at even when there's just a single person sitting onscreen in silence. It's not a flashy movie by any stretch of the imagination, but everything is filmed with an amazingly artistic restraint. It's so damn pretty.
So, yeah, that's about it for now.
See this movie. It's amazing.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Cinema Snark: 127 Hours
Huzzah for laziness. I'm behind on my reviews and it's been two weeks since I saw this, so this entry is going to be necessarily brief. I'm kinda regretting making a big deal out of the whole "HELL NO I WON'T MAKE ONE ENTRY FOR TWO MOVIES" thing I did last time, because now I have three movies to review and I actually do have a lot to say about The Rite (which I saw last night and actually isn't as godawful as most reviewers would have you believe). But I gave my word (needlessly hyperbolic and snark-laden though it might have been), and so yes, I'm going to make a separate entry for each movie, dammit.
So! Onward.
127 Hours has been nominated for an impressive 6 Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Actor. That should tell you a lot of what you need to know up front: i.e., it's really damn good. It wasn't quite what I was expecting, but I mean that in the best way possible.
As you probably already know, the movie is the story of Aron Ralston, the unbelievably badass mountain climber who amputated his own arm when it was trapped between a boulder and a wall of rock, and then had his missing hand replaced with a fucking climbing axe so he could keep doing what had cost him his forearm in the first place. This man could go toe-to-toe with Mucius Scaevola in a "World's Biggest Balls" competition, and the matter would probably have to be settled with a left-handed arm wrestling match. (Too soon?)
Incredible as the actual story is, though, this could easily have been a boring and repetitive movie. I mean, let's face it: the main plot of the movie consists of a single person trapped in a single place for days on end. It's not a long movie--it clocks in at 94 minutes--but the fact that it remains visually and emotionally engaging the entire time speaks volumes about the quality of the script, the direction, and the lead performance by James Franco. The movie switches back and forth between bleak reality and colorful surrealist flashes, just as Ralston alternates between full awareness of his situation and dreaming/hallucination. There are a number of moments which blur those lines, as well, such as when Ralston interviews himself as if he were on a late night talk show (complete with laughter from an imagined audience), but is clearly aware that no one knows where he is and that help is not on its way. It's gallows humor at its blackest, and yet it still manages to elicit laughter from the audience, because by that point everyone in the theater is desperate to laugh at something.
Director Danny Boyle (who co-wrote the screenplay with Simon Beaufoy) does an excellent job, adding another solid film to an impressively varied resume (his previous films include Slumdog Millionaire and 28 Days Later, to give you an idea). He makes the most of the beautiful landscape (especially at the beginning), making you wish you could be out there with Ralston, even though you know he'll be hacking his own arm off at some point within the next 90 minutes. He knows how to make the most of extreme environments, letting the open spaces appear grand and majestic while making the fissure where Ralston is trapped a claustrophobic man's nightmare. Still, despite the obvious space limitations, Boyle manages to find add variety and visual flair to the story, even when the protagonist isn't hallucinating.
James Franco definitely deserves his Oscar nomination. He plays Ralston with the relaxed charm that infuses most of his roles, making him likable and adventurous (if occasionally irresponsible). I love the way he lets his hands trail across the walls of the fissures when he's exploring; it really makes it clear just how much he loves what he does, and how comfortable he is in that environment. As soon as the boulder pins his arm, though, we see him go through an incredible range of emotions: shock, panic, anger, fear, depression, and eventually desperation. Most of his dialogue is delivered to the camcorder he has with him; he's pretty sure that he's going to die, and just hopes that someone will find the recording and send it to his family. It's heavy stuff, and even the most lighthearted moments are full of nearly palpable despair. The material is both excellent and unforgiving, and it takes a damn fine actor to pull it off. My respect for Mr. Franco has grown immensely; maybe now I can forget his role in Spider-Man 3.
[EDIT: I have been reminded that Mr. Franco was also one of the best parts of The Green Hornet, in his uncredited appearance as Crystal Clear, a nightclub owner/meth dealer who gets blown up by Christoph Waltz. Another reason to love him!]
All in all, it's an amazing story, but it probably won't win Best Picture--from the early buzz, the favorites for that race seem to be The King's Speech and The Social Network (which I'm still kicking myself for missing in theaters). I'd highly recommend it, although it might not be the best movie choice for a first date.
(Unless you're me.)
So! Onward.
127 Hours has been nominated for an impressive 6 Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Actor. That should tell you a lot of what you need to know up front: i.e., it's really damn good. It wasn't quite what I was expecting, but I mean that in the best way possible.
As you probably already know, the movie is the story of Aron Ralston, the unbelievably badass mountain climber who amputated his own arm when it was trapped between a boulder and a wall of rock, and then had his missing hand replaced with a fucking climbing axe so he could keep doing what had cost him his forearm in the first place. This man could go toe-to-toe with Mucius Scaevola in a "World's Biggest Balls" competition, and the matter would probably have to be settled with a left-handed arm wrestling match. (Too soon?)
Incredible as the actual story is, though, this could easily have been a boring and repetitive movie. I mean, let's face it: the main plot of the movie consists of a single person trapped in a single place for days on end. It's not a long movie--it clocks in at 94 minutes--but the fact that it remains visually and emotionally engaging the entire time speaks volumes about the quality of the script, the direction, and the lead performance by James Franco. The movie switches back and forth between bleak reality and colorful surrealist flashes, just as Ralston alternates between full awareness of his situation and dreaming/hallucination. There are a number of moments which blur those lines, as well, such as when Ralston interviews himself as if he were on a late night talk show (complete with laughter from an imagined audience), but is clearly aware that no one knows where he is and that help is not on its way. It's gallows humor at its blackest, and yet it still manages to elicit laughter from the audience, because by that point everyone in the theater is desperate to laugh at something.
Director Danny Boyle (who co-wrote the screenplay with Simon Beaufoy) does an excellent job, adding another solid film to an impressively varied resume (his previous films include Slumdog Millionaire and 28 Days Later, to give you an idea). He makes the most of the beautiful landscape (especially at the beginning), making you wish you could be out there with Ralston, even though you know he'll be hacking his own arm off at some point within the next 90 minutes. He knows how to make the most of extreme environments, letting the open spaces appear grand and majestic while making the fissure where Ralston is trapped a claustrophobic man's nightmare. Still, despite the obvious space limitations, Boyle manages to find add variety and visual flair to the story, even when the protagonist isn't hallucinating.
James Franco definitely deserves his Oscar nomination. He plays Ralston with the relaxed charm that infuses most of his roles, making him likable and adventurous (if occasionally irresponsible). I love the way he lets his hands trail across the walls of the fissures when he's exploring; it really makes it clear just how much he loves what he does, and how comfortable he is in that environment. As soon as the boulder pins his arm, though, we see him go through an incredible range of emotions: shock, panic, anger, fear, depression, and eventually desperation. Most of his dialogue is delivered to the camcorder he has with him; he's pretty sure that he's going to die, and just hopes that someone will find the recording and send it to his family. It's heavy stuff, and even the most lighthearted moments are full of nearly palpable despair. The material is both excellent and unforgiving, and it takes a damn fine actor to pull it off. My respect for Mr. Franco has grown immensely; maybe now I can forget his role in Spider-Man 3.
[EDIT: I have been reminded that Mr. Franco was also one of the best parts of The Green Hornet, in his uncredited appearance as Crystal Clear, a nightclub owner/meth dealer who gets blown up by Christoph Waltz. Another reason to love him!]
All in all, it's an amazing story, but it probably won't win Best Picture--from the early buzz, the favorites for that race seem to be The King's Speech and The Social Network (which I'm still kicking myself for missing in theaters). I'd highly recommend it, although it might not be the best movie choice for a first date.
(Unless you're me.)
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Chapter XXIV: In which the writer justifies his own existence
My, my, this has been an eventful week. I have not one but two movies to snark about (127 Hours and The King's Speech), though both reviews will probably consist more of glowing praise than anything else. They were both very good movies in very different ways, and both were outside the realm of my usual theatergoings. I considered putting them both in a single Cinema Snark post, if only for the sake of learning to write shorter reviews: "Brevity is the soul of wit," I said to myself, but then I remembered that Polonius was the one who said that first and he was a hypocritical asshole and Shakespeare himself didn't exactly become famous for his curt, utilitarian verse, so in the end I decided that brevity can piss off. I don't blog in a vain attempt to achieve some sort of maximum linguistic efficiency; I write rambly shit like this because I like the sound of my inner monologue narrating my posts as I type. If you want straightforward prose, bugger off to Caesar's Gallic War.
In any case, I just didn't feel like writing reviews today. This isn't solely a movie blog, after all (even if "Cinema Snark" is the most commonly used tag on my rather colorful list), and I've resolved to try and do at least one regular post for every movie review. So, if your decision on whether or not to see 127 Hours or The King's Speech hinges entirely on my opinion, I'd say that you're a moron and you probably also need help feeding yourself, so maybe your next trip to the movies shouldn't be your biggest concern. Your IQ aside, however, they're both great movies and I highly recommend them--though there's a pretty graphic scene where Colin Firth gets his hand stuck under a boulder and Geoffrey Rush has to amputate the arm just below the elbow. And then the two of them work together to inspire the people of Britain through radio broadcasts.
Or at least that's how I remember it. I might be getting the movies confused.
Aaaaand moving on.
Also in the eventful department, The 40-Year-Old Virgin Mother is by far the most visited and commented upon of any of my posts to date. This can mean one of two things: I either need to blog about touchy subjects more often, or I need to rebut more obscure and relatively esoteric articles that no one else has actually read. (I wonder which it could be! Oh, the mysteries of life.)
So! Speaking of religious matters, anecdote ahoy:
I was sitting in church one Sunday morning, minding my own business, when the priest made a comment in his homily about the minor sins that people commit in their everyday lives: jealousy, pessimism, things like that. And what else did he see fit to include in this little list?
Snarkiness and sarcasm.
That's right, snark is apparently a sin now. My immediate reaction was along the same lines Patrick's, who leaned over and whispered to me that if snark is sinful, I'm going to be first in line at the gates of hell. The more I thought about it, though, the more it annoyed me. I'm sure that if pressed, the priest in question would say something about people using snarkiness and sarcasm (snarkasm?) to tear down or hurt others, but the actual sin in that instance would be mean-spiritedness. Snarkasm is a generally humorous method of communication which can be used or abused by anyone capable of coherent speech--and if that's sinful, you could just as easily make an argument for the sinfulness of pure, unadulterated honesty, because that's often more likely to result in hurt feelings.
But no. People get admonished for being snarky, because that's somehow a less legitimate way to live your life. Comments like the one from the homily have this insidious undertone to them, suggesting that if what you have to say isn't serious enough or real enough, then it has no value in our society/religion/world.
That is, to use a technical term, BULLSHIT.
I choose to live a humorous life. I choose to laugh at dead baby jokes. I choose to be a dick to my friends because they know that I don't actually hope they get hit by trains. Does that make me immature? Possibly, but who gives a damn. I know how to be serious when the situation calls for it, so why the hell shouldn't I get what amusement I can from the rest of life? People who decide that humor has an inherently low societal value are the sort of tight-ass, stoic old fuckers who've never experienced a moment of true happiness in their lives and want the rest of the world to stop having so much fun so they'll stop feeling left out.
Furthermore, snarking happens to keep my wits sharp and my vocabulary imaginative. It's critical thinking in its most literal sense. I find holes in logic or inconsistencies in arguments. I point out the blatantly absurd. I may use more than my fair share of profanity while doing so, but you can't make an omelet without dropping a few F-bombs. Damn near everything I say comes from a very genuine place, and saying it in creatively loquacious ways just happens to be more challenging and fun.
And finally, there are few things in life I love more than a good argument. Part of it is simply the joy of trolling the easily angered, but it's so much more satisfying to trade verbal blows with a worthy opponent. That's why it's awesome to post things like "Mary might not have been a virgin her whole life" and get a well-crafted, literate response telling me why I'm wrong. God knows neither of us is likely to admit defeat, but in the course of debating, we're sure as hell going to get some mental and philosophical exercise.
See? Snark as self-improvement.
Put that in your next homily, you smug jerk.
In any case, I just didn't feel like writing reviews today. This isn't solely a movie blog, after all (even if "Cinema Snark" is the most commonly used tag on my rather colorful list), and I've resolved to try and do at least one regular post for every movie review. So, if your decision on whether or not to see 127 Hours or The King's Speech hinges entirely on my opinion, I'd say that you're a moron and you probably also need help feeding yourself, so maybe your next trip to the movies shouldn't be your biggest concern. Your IQ aside, however, they're both great movies and I highly recommend them--though there's a pretty graphic scene where Colin Firth gets his hand stuck under a boulder and Geoffrey Rush has to amputate the arm just below the elbow. And then the two of them work together to inspire the people of Britain through radio broadcasts.
Or at least that's how I remember it. I might be getting the movies confused.
Aaaaand moving on.
Also in the eventful department, The 40-Year-Old Virgin Mother is by far the most visited and commented upon of any of my posts to date. This can mean one of two things: I either need to blog about touchy subjects more often, or I need to rebut more obscure and relatively esoteric articles that no one else has actually read. (I wonder which it could be! Oh, the mysteries of life.)
So! Speaking of religious matters, anecdote ahoy:
I was sitting in church one Sunday morning, minding my own business, when the priest made a comment in his homily about the minor sins that people commit in their everyday lives: jealousy, pessimism, things like that. And what else did he see fit to include in this little list?
Snarkiness and sarcasm.
That's right, snark is apparently a sin now. My immediate reaction was along the same lines Patrick's, who leaned over and whispered to me that if snark is sinful, I'm going to be first in line at the gates of hell. The more I thought about it, though, the more it annoyed me. I'm sure that if pressed, the priest in question would say something about people using snarkiness and sarcasm (snarkasm?) to tear down or hurt others, but the actual sin in that instance would be mean-spiritedness. Snarkasm is a generally humorous method of communication which can be used or abused by anyone capable of coherent speech--and if that's sinful, you could just as easily make an argument for the sinfulness of pure, unadulterated honesty, because that's often more likely to result in hurt feelings.
But no. People get admonished for being snarky, because that's somehow a less legitimate way to live your life. Comments like the one from the homily have this insidious undertone to them, suggesting that if what you have to say isn't serious enough or real enough, then it has no value in our society/religion/world.
That is, to use a technical term, BULLSHIT.
I choose to live a humorous life. I choose to laugh at dead baby jokes. I choose to be a dick to my friends because they know that I don't actually hope they get hit by trains. Does that make me immature? Possibly, but who gives a damn. I know how to be serious when the situation calls for it, so why the hell shouldn't I get what amusement I can from the rest of life? People who decide that humor has an inherently low societal value are the sort of tight-ass, stoic old fuckers who've never experienced a moment of true happiness in their lives and want the rest of the world to stop having so much fun so they'll stop feeling left out.
Furthermore, snarking happens to keep my wits sharp and my vocabulary imaginative. It's critical thinking in its most literal sense. I find holes in logic or inconsistencies in arguments. I point out the blatantly absurd. I may use more than my fair share of profanity while doing so, but you can't make an omelet without dropping a few F-bombs. Damn near everything I say comes from a very genuine place, and saying it in creatively loquacious ways just happens to be more challenging and fun.
And finally, there are few things in life I love more than a good argument. Part of it is simply the joy of trolling the easily angered, but it's so much more satisfying to trade verbal blows with a worthy opponent. That's why it's awesome to post things like "Mary might not have been a virgin her whole life" and get a well-crafted, literate response telling me why I'm wrong. God knows neither of us is likely to admit defeat, but in the course of debating, we're sure as hell going to get some mental and philosophical exercise.
See? Snark as self-improvement.
Put that in your next homily, you smug jerk.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Cinema Snark: The Green Hornet
Sooooo yeah. I saw The Green Hornet on Saturday. Basically, this character has been around for a long-ass time, so it's not surprising that they made a new big-screen adaptation. I mean, this is the age of superhero movies and whatnot. My one big question, though, is why they felt the need to make it like this.
As I understand the character, the Green Hornet is supposed to be both debonair and badass. Seth Rogen, who plays the role this time around, is neither of those things. Of course, this wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing in and of itself; I love it when actors are adventurous enough to take parts outside their usual type. Nothing showcases an actor's talents better, provided he does it well. I mean, sure, Seth Rogen is a bit overweight and a generally comical fellow, but it would actually have been pretty cool to let him show off a darker, grittier side. Not that the movie would need to be completely serious, of course--part of the fun of the superhero genre is that you generally don't have to take it too seriously.
The problem here, however, is that they don't take the material seriously enough. It feels like they bent the original character to fit Seth Rogen's personality instead of actually finding someone who was right for the part, or actually making him do something other than being a drunken bumbling jackass for once. Perish the thought.
Jay Chou is suitably entertaining and badass as Kato, the brains and brawn and pretty much everything else of the duo. His prominence is understandable; Kato has been overshadowing the Green Hornet ever since he was played by Bruce motherfucking Lee. But here, it's not just a badass sidekick with a slightly less badass boss--Seth Rogen doesn't even come close. To illustrate:
Hierarchy of Awesome
1. Jay Chou
2-4. The three Black Beauties
5. The gas gun
6. The coffee machine
7. Everything else
8. ????
9. Profit
9. Seth Rogen
And that's not even counting the villain. There's a term for Rogen's version of Britt Reid, wealthy newspaper owner by day and costumed vigilante by night: Too Dumb to Live. He's a spoiled, lazy, bumbling, pants-on-head retarded douchebag who also happens to be a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen. He's pretty much the bro-iest bro that ever bro'd. Basically all he has going for him is that he's kinda funny sometimes.
In other words, he's fucking useless. And then he decides that he wants to be a vigilante.
Somehow, he doesn't get his dumb ass killed. This severely stretches the limits of my willing suspension of disbelief. I mean, when the title character in Kick-Ass decides to put on a costume and fight crime, he gets the living shit beaten out of him on a regular basis--but Rogen makes it through the movie largely unscathed. Hell, the worst beating Britt Reid gets is from his best friend Kato, because the former is being a delusional asshole who thinks (for some godforsaken reason) that he could survive as a vigilante for more than fifteen minutes without the help of the latter. It's pathetic.
The whole rich, irresponsible playboy thing has some parallels to Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark, but the difference is that Wayne is just acting and Stark is a fucking genius who builds all his gadgets himself--and both of them are pretty damn good at the whole vigilante thing. That persona is much less charming when the character in question has no skills and few (if any) redeeming characteristics.
Most of the supporting characters are little more than cardboard cutouts, because this movie is really just about Britt and Kato and their inexplicable bromance. Cameron Diaz, as always, plays Cameron Diaz, with her usual amount of charisma (hint: it's not very much). Christoph Waltz plays Chudnofsky, a severely neutered version of Hans Landa from Inglourious Basterds--all the cheerfulness is still there, but it's not as unsettling because his darker extremes are much less, well, dark. His behavior is predictable and he's not very threatening, but he's still my second favorite thing in the movie after Jay Chou because he's Christoph Waltz and he has a gun that's basically two guns welded together.
The action sequences are appropriately entertaining, though they don't really do anything that hasn't been done better many other times. Visually speaking, there are some interesting surrealist directorial flourishes that pop up from time to time, but they generally feel out of place because the rest of the movie is shot in a pretty straightforward manner. The dialogue ranges from amusing to flat, without ever really reaching any great heights or abysmal depths. Honestly, if they were going to make this movie a comedy, they should have made it funnier.
All in all, it's a thoroughly average movie. It has its moments, but you're probably better off renting it. Here, I'll even sum up the movie for you:
Asians are awesome and they can do anything. The end.
As I understand the character, the Green Hornet is supposed to be both debonair and badass. Seth Rogen, who plays the role this time around, is neither of those things. Of course, this wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing in and of itself; I love it when actors are adventurous enough to take parts outside their usual type. Nothing showcases an actor's talents better, provided he does it well. I mean, sure, Seth Rogen is a bit overweight and a generally comical fellow, but it would actually have been pretty cool to let him show off a darker, grittier side. Not that the movie would need to be completely serious, of course--part of the fun of the superhero genre is that you generally don't have to take it too seriously.
The problem here, however, is that they don't take the material seriously enough. It feels like they bent the original character to fit Seth Rogen's personality instead of actually finding someone who was right for the part, or actually making him do something other than being a drunken bumbling jackass for once. Perish the thought.
Jay Chou is suitably entertaining and badass as Kato, the brains and brawn and pretty much everything else of the duo. His prominence is understandable; Kato has been overshadowing the Green Hornet ever since he was played by Bruce motherfucking Lee. But here, it's not just a badass sidekick with a slightly less badass boss--Seth Rogen doesn't even come close. To illustrate:
Hierarchy of Awesome
1. Jay Chou
2-4. The three Black Beauties
5. The gas gun
6. The coffee machine
7. Everything else
8. ????
9. Seth Rogen
And that's not even counting the villain. There's a term for Rogen's version of Britt Reid, wealthy newspaper owner by day and costumed vigilante by night: Too Dumb to Live. He's a spoiled, lazy, bumbling, pants-on-head retarded douchebag who also happens to be a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen. He's pretty much the bro-iest bro that ever bro'd. Basically all he has going for him is that he's kinda funny sometimes.
In other words, he's fucking useless. And then he decides that he wants to be a vigilante.
Somehow, he doesn't get his dumb ass killed. This severely stretches the limits of my willing suspension of disbelief. I mean, when the title character in Kick-Ass decides to put on a costume and fight crime, he gets the living shit beaten out of him on a regular basis--but Rogen makes it through the movie largely unscathed. Hell, the worst beating Britt Reid gets is from his best friend Kato, because the former is being a delusional asshole who thinks (for some godforsaken reason) that he could survive as a vigilante for more than fifteen minutes without the help of the latter. It's pathetic.
The whole rich, irresponsible playboy thing has some parallels to Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark, but the difference is that Wayne is just acting and Stark is a fucking genius who builds all his gadgets himself--and both of them are pretty damn good at the whole vigilante thing. That persona is much less charming when the character in question has no skills and few (if any) redeeming characteristics.
Most of the supporting characters are little more than cardboard cutouts, because this movie is really just about Britt and Kato and their inexplicable bromance. Cameron Diaz, as always, plays Cameron Diaz, with her usual amount of charisma (hint: it's not very much). Christoph Waltz plays Chudnofsky, a severely neutered version of Hans Landa from Inglourious Basterds--all the cheerfulness is still there, but it's not as unsettling because his darker extremes are much less, well, dark. His behavior is predictable and he's not very threatening, but he's still my second favorite thing in the movie after Jay Chou because he's Christoph Waltz and he has a gun that's basically two guns welded together.
The action sequences are appropriately entertaining, though they don't really do anything that hasn't been done better many other times. Visually speaking, there are some interesting surrealist directorial flourishes that pop up from time to time, but they generally feel out of place because the rest of the movie is shot in a pretty straightforward manner. The dialogue ranges from amusing to flat, without ever really reaching any great heights or abysmal depths. Honestly, if they were going to make this movie a comedy, they should have made it funnier.
All in all, it's a thoroughly average movie. It has its moments, but you're probably better off renting it. Here, I'll even sum up the movie for you:
Asians are awesome and they can do anything. The end.
Friday, January 14, 2011
The 40-Year-Old Virgin Mother
Alllllll right. Since yesterday's post was on a touchy sociopolitical subject, I shall now forge ahead to discuss yet another touchy subject: religion. As it stands, this is more a response to a particularly asinine article than an assault on Catholic doctrine, but a fair amount of what I have to say could probably be considered heretical by the Catholic Church.
So,to preface this particular post, I would like to say that I know that many of my readers are Catholics who take their faith very seriously. (And yes, many of you are related to me in one way or another.) Though my tone may be flippant at times (see: the title of this post), I assure you that everything I'm about to say comes from a very genuine place. I wouldn't have such strong feelings on the subject if I didn't consider it important in some way. I mean no disrespect to anyone; I merely wish to discuss my views on what is right, what is wrong, and what is complete bullshit.
So! A little bit of backstory:
Amusingly enough, I wouldn't be writing this post right now if it weren't for a fantastic Onion article about an obnoxiously weepy statue of the Virgin Mary. Reading that put me in a mood to brush up on my Mariology, mostly because I'm a nerd like that. While looking for interesting tidbits on a Wikipedia article about the perpetual virginity of Mary, I pretty much hit the snark jackpot (emphasis mine):
"Contemporary Christian feminists... [claim] that virginity can co-exist with sexual activity that lacks full consent and even that virginity can co-exist with fully consensual sexual activity."
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat.
The citation leads you to a page where you can view the PDF of this article by Julia A. Feder, a PhD candidate in Theology at the University of Notre Dame. The 33-page piece is entitled "O Virgin of Virgins, Our Mother: A Feminist Reconstruction of Mary’s Perpetual Virginity as a Model for Christian Discipleship", and it's certainly an interesting read. I went into it expecting to disagree with everything she said, but found that we really mainly differed in our conclusions. She discusses Mary and the virgin martyrs Agatha, Agnes, and Lucy in a relatively straightforward academic fashion, with interesting points on how choosing virginity was actually an escape from the patriarchal system, etc. etc.
And then you get to the discussion of virginity itself:
Feder cites Saints Augustine and Ambrose, who say that virginity has an important spiritual aspect--which is all well and good--but both of them also say that virginity is inherently tied to the physical state of not having sex. Both saints also make concessions in cases of rape, with Ambrose stating that "if [chastity] is a good of the mind, it is not lost even when the body is taken by force,” but they're not talking about virginity as such--they're talking about chastity (Ambrose) and holiness (Augustine).
Undaunted by these technicalities, Feder goes on to make the argument that if a woman remains holy and virtuous in her soul, then she can retain her virginity in cases of rape, I-don't-really-want-to-sleep-with-him-but-I-guess-I-will-anyway sex, and "enthusiastically" consensual sex (which requires the presence of a 'yes', rather than the absence of a 'no'). That's right, kids, sexual intercourse and virginity are apparently no longer mutually exclusive! I guess you really can have your cake and bone it too.
Now, I admire the spirit of what Feder is trying to do here--i.e. de-stigmatizing female sexuality in a religious context--but it seems to me that she's missing the entire goddamn point. Allow me to illustrate:
You have apples and oranges. For ages and ages, people think that oranges are inherently superior to apples, until someone comes along with the revolutionary idea that neither fruit is inherently superior because they're both just fruits and honestly, who gives a fuck. This makes sense. What does not make sense is saying that apples are just as acceptable for consumption as oranges because apples can be oranges in spirit.
That is what we like to call batshit crazy, and the same principle is at work here:
At the core of her argument, Feder is making the assertion that engaging in sexual activity does not automatically make you any less holy in the eyes of God. Yes. Bravo. That's the sort of assertion I canget behind support, especially since large portions of the Church seem to view human sexuality through the eyes of a seven-year-old. ("You put what in her where? ...That's icky.") But instead of taking it to the next logical step and saying that being a virgin isn't inherently any better than not being a virgin, we're treated to the profoundly convoluted idea of "the possible concurrence of virginity and enthusiastically consensual sex."
Now, yes, I am aware that there are varying definitions of the word "virgin" (and varying definitions of the point at which virginity is "lost"), but the most common understanding in modern times is along the lines of "someone who hasn't had sex." You can argue for various other technical meanings of the word, but the fact remains that this how the majority of the general public uses the term. This definition is prevalent enough that if you say something like "you can have consensual sex and still be a virgin," people will tell you you're a jackass.
I'm reminded of something C. S. Lewis once said about language: words like "Christian" are perfectly useful and have a concrete meaning, but "once we allow people to start spiritualising and refining, or as they might say 'deepening', the sense of the word Christian, it too will speedily become a useless word." A Christian believes in Christ; the word is not a synonym for "good." Similarly, if we let the definition of "virgin" include "an inward state of purity and holiness," it brings an unnecessary moral dimension into the word instead of just making it a simple statement of fact: "That rock is gray. That World of Warcraft addict is a virgin. That book is blue."
See? It works perfectly.
Basically, either the Church needs a new word or modern society does, because there's not enough room in here for the both of us.
Ahem.
Anyway, this just strikes me as a missed opportunity, beside the obvious missed point. The Church needs to get away from its unhealthy attitudes toward sex, and modern theologians could do a lot to help. Yes, by all means, be pure in spirit, but you can still be pure in spirit and have great sex with your husband/wife/partner. The two aren't mutually exclusive--you won't be a virgin, but there's nothing wrong with that. And lest I be accused of advocating MANDATORY SECKS, there's absolutely nothing wrong with choosing virginity, either. People need to live their faith in unique ways, and should do whatever brings them closer to God.
But come on. The Church is so obsessed with virginity that it retroactively denies Mary, the Mother of God, any sort of sex life whatsoever, even though that has absolutely no bearing on anything at all. Go ahead, tell me what parts of Jesus' ministry would be in any way undermined or made illegitimate by his mother having sex with her husband after the birth of her first child. No, really. I'm dying to know.
No one?
Yeah, that's what I thought.
So,to preface this particular post, I would like to say that I know that many of my readers are Catholics who take their faith very seriously. (And yes, many of you are related to me in one way or another.) Though my tone may be flippant at times (see: the title of this post), I assure you that everything I'm about to say comes from a very genuine place. I wouldn't have such strong feelings on the subject if I didn't consider it important in some way. I mean no disrespect to anyone; I merely wish to discuss my views on what is right, what is wrong, and what is complete bullshit.
So! A little bit of backstory:
Amusingly enough, I wouldn't be writing this post right now if it weren't for a fantastic Onion article about an obnoxiously weepy statue of the Virgin Mary. Reading that put me in a mood to brush up on my Mariology, mostly because I'm a nerd like that. While looking for interesting tidbits on a Wikipedia article about the perpetual virginity of Mary, I pretty much hit the snark jackpot (emphasis mine):
"Contemporary Christian feminists... [claim] that virginity can co-exist with sexual activity that lacks full consent and even that virginity can co-exist with fully consensual sexual activity."
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat.
The citation leads you to a page where you can view the PDF of this article by Julia A. Feder, a PhD candidate in Theology at the University of Notre Dame. The 33-page piece is entitled "O Virgin of Virgins, Our Mother: A Feminist Reconstruction of Mary’s Perpetual Virginity as a Model for Christian Discipleship", and it's certainly an interesting read. I went into it expecting to disagree with everything she said, but found that we really mainly differed in our conclusions. She discusses Mary and the virgin martyrs Agatha, Agnes, and Lucy in a relatively straightforward academic fashion, with interesting points on how choosing virginity was actually an escape from the patriarchal system, etc. etc.
And then you get to the discussion of virginity itself:
Feder cites Saints Augustine and Ambrose, who say that virginity has an important spiritual aspect--which is all well and good--but both of them also say that virginity is inherently tied to the physical state of not having sex. Both saints also make concessions in cases of rape, with Ambrose stating that "if [chastity] is a good of the mind, it is not lost even when the body is taken by force,” but they're not talking about virginity as such--they're talking about chastity (Ambrose) and holiness (Augustine).
Undaunted by these technicalities, Feder goes on to make the argument that if a woman remains holy and virtuous in her soul, then she can retain her virginity in cases of rape, I-don't-really-want-to-sleep-with-him-but-I-guess-I-will-anyway sex, and "enthusiastically" consensual sex (which requires the presence of a 'yes', rather than the absence of a 'no'). That's right, kids, sexual intercourse and virginity are apparently no longer mutually exclusive! I guess you really can have your cake and bone it too.
Now, I admire the spirit of what Feder is trying to do here--i.e. de-stigmatizing female sexuality in a religious context--but it seems to me that she's missing the entire goddamn point. Allow me to illustrate:
You have apples and oranges. For ages and ages, people think that oranges are inherently superior to apples, until someone comes along with the revolutionary idea that neither fruit is inherently superior because they're both just fruits and honestly, who gives a fuck. This makes sense. What does not make sense is saying that apples are just as acceptable for consumption as oranges because apples can be oranges in spirit.
That is what we like to call batshit crazy, and the same principle is at work here:
At the core of her argument, Feder is making the assertion that engaging in sexual activity does not automatically make you any less holy in the eyes of God. Yes. Bravo. That's the sort of assertion I can
Now, yes, I am aware that there are varying definitions of the word "virgin" (and varying definitions of the point at which virginity is "lost"), but the most common understanding in modern times is along the lines of "someone who hasn't had sex." You can argue for various other technical meanings of the word, but the fact remains that this how the majority of the general public uses the term. This definition is prevalent enough that if you say something like "you can have consensual sex and still be a virgin," people will tell you you're a jackass.
I'm reminded of something C. S. Lewis once said about language: words like "Christian" are perfectly useful and have a concrete meaning, but "once we allow people to start spiritualising and refining, or as they might say 'deepening', the sense of the word Christian, it too will speedily become a useless word." A Christian believes in Christ; the word is not a synonym for "good." Similarly, if we let the definition of "virgin" include "an inward state of purity and holiness," it brings an unnecessary moral dimension into the word instead of just making it a simple statement of fact: "That rock is gray. That World of Warcraft addict is a virgin. That book is blue."
See? It works perfectly.
Basically, either the Church needs a new word or modern society does, because there's not enough room in here for the both of us.
Ahem.
Anyway, this just strikes me as a missed opportunity, beside the obvious missed point. The Church needs to get away from its unhealthy attitudes toward sex, and modern theologians could do a lot to help. Yes, by all means, be pure in spirit, but you can still be pure in spirit and have great sex with your husband/wife/partner. The two aren't mutually exclusive--you won't be a virgin, but there's nothing wrong with that. And lest I be accused of advocating MANDATORY SECKS, there's absolutely nothing wrong with choosing virginity, either. People need to live their faith in unique ways, and should do whatever brings them closer to God.
But come on. The Church is so obsessed with virginity that it retroactively denies Mary, the Mother of God, any sort of sex life whatsoever, even though that has absolutely no bearing on anything at all. Go ahead, tell me what parts of Jesus' ministry would be in any way undermined or made illegitimate by his mother having sex with her husband after the birth of her first child. No, really. I'm dying to know.
No one?
Yeah, that's what I thought.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Of Sarah Palin and Psychopaths
I feel the need to say something about this, just because everyone else in the world has already:
1. Yes, Sarah Palin is a jackass who inexplicably holds sway over the opinions of a depressingly large number of people.
2. Yes, her SarahPAC poster with crosshairs over various Congressional districts that had earned her displeasure was in extremely bad fucking taste.
3. Yes, her general use of gun imagery in political discourse is also in extremely bad fucking taste.
4. Yes, the use of violent rhetoric is a growing problem in American politics that needs to be addressed.
These things being said, I have something else to add:
5. Sarah Palin cannot be held responsible for the actions of a crazed gunman.
Now, much as I detest this woman and her various political ideas (most of which strike me as irresponsible at best and absolutely reprehensible at worst), I feel the need to defend her on this particular point. The Arizona shooting was the work of an individual who had some serious problems, and we can't really hold anyone else responsible unless they helped plan or fund the attack, or in some way directly and demonstrably encouraged his shooting spree. We are all products of our environment to a certain degree, and there are countless factors that can influence our behavior--but in the end, we are all responsible for our own actions (with a very few exceptions). Charles Manson was inspired by the Beatles and the Columbine shooters played Doom, but it's not fair to blame Lennon and McCartney or id Software for everything that happened in those cases.
It would be incredibly hypocritical if I were to blame Ms. Palin's asinine, inflammatory rhetoric for this tragedy, because I always jump to the defense of video games when people blame them for violent behavior--and most modern video games go way the hell beyond crosshairs on a map. But here's the thing: people don't become sociopathic murderers because they play Grand Theft Auto; chances are they play Grand Theft Auto because of their sociopathic tendencies. But guess what happens if a normal person plays Grand Theft Auto: absolutely nothing. They kill some 3D hookers for a while, turn off the PS2, and go about their daily business. Look at me, for instance! I play Black and Team Fortress 2 and God of War, and I've never committed any murders that I'll admit to in a court of law.
The moral of the story is this: correlation does not imply causation. Unless there's demonstrable evidence that Sarah Palin knowingly contributed to the shooting, people need to stop blaming her--it's really only giving her more of a chance to play the victim card, making this tragedy about her instead of about the people who were injured or killed.
Nevertheless, violent rhetoric is a very real problem. We need to cut out this "Don't Retreat; Reload" bullshit and tell people to STOP BRINGING LOADED FIREARMS TO POLITICAL RALLIES, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. They bring the unspoken threat of violence into the realm of political discourse, and that's utterly unacceptable--especially in a country that prides itself on showing other countries how to do this whole "democracy" thing.
Also, gun control. Background checks. Maybe we could try not giving firearms to sociopaths. Wacky idea, right?
So, to sum up: Sarah Palin is not an accessory to murder. She is, however, a massive bitch and should kindly fuck right off, in the interests of a calmer political climate and the sanity of the general public.
That's all for now. Good night, and good luck.
1. Yes, Sarah Palin is a jackass who inexplicably holds sway over the opinions of a depressingly large number of people.
2. Yes, her SarahPAC poster with crosshairs over various Congressional districts that had earned her displeasure was in extremely bad fucking taste.
3. Yes, her general use of gun imagery in political discourse is also in extremely bad fucking taste.
4. Yes, the use of violent rhetoric is a growing problem in American politics that needs to be addressed.
These things being said, I have something else to add:
5. Sarah Palin cannot be held responsible for the actions of a crazed gunman.
Now, much as I detest this woman and her various political ideas (most of which strike me as irresponsible at best and absolutely reprehensible at worst), I feel the need to defend her on this particular point. The Arizona shooting was the work of an individual who had some serious problems, and we can't really hold anyone else responsible unless they helped plan or fund the attack, or in some way directly and demonstrably encouraged his shooting spree. We are all products of our environment to a certain degree, and there are countless factors that can influence our behavior--but in the end, we are all responsible for our own actions (with a very few exceptions). Charles Manson was inspired by the Beatles and the Columbine shooters played Doom, but it's not fair to blame Lennon and McCartney or id Software for everything that happened in those cases.
It would be incredibly hypocritical if I were to blame Ms. Palin's asinine, inflammatory rhetoric for this tragedy, because I always jump to the defense of video games when people blame them for violent behavior--and most modern video games go way the hell beyond crosshairs on a map. But here's the thing: people don't become sociopathic murderers because they play Grand Theft Auto; chances are they play Grand Theft Auto because of their sociopathic tendencies. But guess what happens if a normal person plays Grand Theft Auto: absolutely nothing. They kill some 3D hookers for a while, turn off the PS2, and go about their daily business. Look at me, for instance! I play Black and Team Fortress 2 and God of War, and I've never committed any murders that I'll admit to in a court of law.
The moral of the story is this: correlation does not imply causation. Unless there's demonstrable evidence that Sarah Palin knowingly contributed to the shooting, people need to stop blaming her--it's really only giving her more of a chance to play the victim card, making this tragedy about her instead of about the people who were injured or killed.
Nevertheless, violent rhetoric is a very real problem. We need to cut out this "Don't Retreat; Reload" bullshit and tell people to STOP BRINGING LOADED FIREARMS TO POLITICAL RALLIES, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. They bring the unspoken threat of violence into the realm of political discourse, and that's utterly unacceptable--especially in a country that prides itself on showing other countries how to do this whole "democracy" thing.
Also, gun control. Background checks. Maybe we could try not giving firearms to sociopaths. Wacky idea, right?
So, to sum up: Sarah Palin is not an accessory to murder. She is, however, a massive bitch and should kindly fuck right off, in the interests of a calmer political climate and the sanity of the general public.
That's all for now. Good night, and good luck.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Cinema Snark: True Grit
I don't have as much to say about True Grit as I would have expected. This isn't a bad thing because I really liked the movie, but there's less to snark about (or gush over) than there often is. It's very well-written, -acted, -filmed, and -directed, but in a relatively quiet, determined way.
The spare approach to the story makes perfect sense, though. The story is narrated by Mattie Ross, a grown woman reminiscing about her youth--specifically, that one time she hired a drunk, one-eyed badass named "Rooster" to track down her father's killer. Fourteen-year-old Mattie is a no-nonsense girl with a sharp mind, an even sharper tongue, and a heaping helping of good old Protestant morality--and if the little bit we see of her adult life is any indication, she hasn't changed a bit. When you consider who's telling the story, the matter-of-fact tone and slow-but-steady pacing make perfect sense.
True Grit feels very Protestant, and (though it may seem surprising to some) I don't actually mean that in a bad way. It's actually quite immersive--Mattie's comments about whiskey leading to a life of debauchery and crime would be laughable if uttered today, but the ideas and worldviews of the characters help set the scene as much as the clothing and locations. The score helps immensely in this area, too (much as it did in O Brother, Where Art Thou), in large part because a large portion of it is based on old American hymn tunes. The whole movie has this fantastically stern, Old Testament feel to it: Mattie isn't pursuing her father's killer for anything as pedestrian as revenge; she wants Retribution, with a capital R. While Jeff Bridges and Matt Damon's characters may be motivated by money or pride, Mattie really only wants the killer to suffer righteous punishment at the end of a noose. True Grit is a serious film, flavored with the Coen Brothers' signature dry, dark humor and occasional bursts of visceral violence. In other words: it's really good.
Hailee Steinfeld as Mattie Ross is awesome. Honestly, there's no other way I can say it. She's not an "action girl" who runs around kicking ass and maiming people for the hell of it, but what she actually does is so much cooler than that. If you piss this girl off, she will verbally bend you over her knee and beat you with her knowledge of the English language until you cry for your mother--without resorting to profanity, no less. And what's more? You will be hearing from her lawyer. This girl is my hero.
Jeff Bridges also plays the hell out of his role as Rooster Cogburn. He's an interesting foil to Mattie in that the two of them are polar opposites in everything except their massive balls (though in Mattie's case, the balls are metaphorical). Sure, he's a Federal Marshal (with a badass eye patch, no less), but the film makes it pretty clear that he's only on the "right" side of the law by some coincidence. He has something of a checkered past, has no qualms about killing people if he thinks they deserve it, and has a hell of a drinking problem. To Bridges' credit, his portrayal of Cogburn's alcoholism doesn't descend into parody; his gruff manner and bizarre behavior often produce laughs, but his drunkenness comes off more as pathetic than anything else. Hell, the other characters even comment on how dangerous it is: even at his best, Cogburn is aging, a little crazy, and prone to bursts of temper; the last thing they need is to get into a firefight that he's too drunk to win.
Matt Damon (a douche-y Texas Ranger named La Boeuf) and Josh Brolin (Tom Chaney, the murderer of Mattie's father) are both fun to watch in their supporting roles. Damon comes off as a narcissistic asshole for much of the first half of the movie, but eventually shows that there is more to his character than bravado, and that he's actually pretty handy with a gun. Brolin's part is surprisingly small, considering that the movie revolves around bringing him to justice, but the treatment of his character is actually one of the most interesting parts of the story:
Mattie calls him a coward and a half-wit early on, and she's really not kidding. Chaney is a spineless piece of low-life trash, and not very menacing at all for someone who is apparently the movie's main antagonist. Considering the tone and message of the rest of the movie, though, I'd say this is deliberate: such a spare, unadorned story needs an equally un-romanticized villain. Even if he were pure evil (which would just be stupid, seeing how the movie deliberately avoids moral absolutes and nestles itself deep in "shades of gray" territory), you'd have to admire his effectiveness (e.g. Ben Foster's character in 3:10 to Yuma)--but here, you don't even get that. Tom Chaney has no redeeming characteristics whatsoever, least of all being a badass. He's just pathetic.
The Coen Brothers do an excellent job, as always. To be honest, I find them to be two of the most interesting people in the field of modern storytelling. Beyond the fact that they're two minds working together more or less as a single creative unit, they've also displayed incredible versatility and dramatic range in their movies, dabbling in many different genres while still maintaining a very noticeable artistic and narrative identity. And let's face it: anyone who can be responsible for O Brother, Where Art Thou and No Country for Old Men is pretty damn awesome in my book. You can always tell when you're watching a Coen Brothers movie, whether it's a zany screwball comedy, a slice-of-life dramedy, or an action-drama, because all of their movies share a common soul. Hell, they're practically a genre in and of themselves.
True Grit is no exception. If you like the Coen Brothers, there's a damn good chance you'll like this. If your taste in Westerns runs more along the lines of Tombstone than Open Range, though, you might find True Grit a bit boring. This movie isn't about the violence, and it's not even really about the act of Retribution itself; it's about a little girl having the courage and stubbornness to enter the ugly, scary adult world.
And damned if it's not awesome to watch.
The spare approach to the story makes perfect sense, though. The story is narrated by Mattie Ross, a grown woman reminiscing about her youth--specifically, that one time she hired a drunk, one-eyed badass named "Rooster" to track down her father's killer. Fourteen-year-old Mattie is a no-nonsense girl with a sharp mind, an even sharper tongue, and a heaping helping of good old Protestant morality--and if the little bit we see of her adult life is any indication, she hasn't changed a bit. When you consider who's telling the story, the matter-of-fact tone and slow-but-steady pacing make perfect sense.
True Grit feels very Protestant, and (though it may seem surprising to some) I don't actually mean that in a bad way. It's actually quite immersive--Mattie's comments about whiskey leading to a life of debauchery and crime would be laughable if uttered today, but the ideas and worldviews of the characters help set the scene as much as the clothing and locations. The score helps immensely in this area, too (much as it did in O Brother, Where Art Thou), in large part because a large portion of it is based on old American hymn tunes. The whole movie has this fantastically stern, Old Testament feel to it: Mattie isn't pursuing her father's killer for anything as pedestrian as revenge; she wants Retribution, with a capital R. While Jeff Bridges and Matt Damon's characters may be motivated by money or pride, Mattie really only wants the killer to suffer righteous punishment at the end of a noose. True Grit is a serious film, flavored with the Coen Brothers' signature dry, dark humor and occasional bursts of visceral violence. In other words: it's really good.
Hailee Steinfeld as Mattie Ross is awesome. Honestly, there's no other way I can say it. She's not an "action girl" who runs around kicking ass and maiming people for the hell of it, but what she actually does is so much cooler than that. If you piss this girl off, she will verbally bend you over her knee and beat you with her knowledge of the English language until you cry for your mother--without resorting to profanity, no less. And what's more? You will be hearing from her lawyer. This girl is my hero.
Jeff Bridges also plays the hell out of his role as Rooster Cogburn. He's an interesting foil to Mattie in that the two of them are polar opposites in everything except their massive balls (though in Mattie's case, the balls are metaphorical). Sure, he's a Federal Marshal (with a badass eye patch, no less), but the film makes it pretty clear that he's only on the "right" side of the law by some coincidence. He has something of a checkered past, has no qualms about killing people if he thinks they deserve it, and has a hell of a drinking problem. To Bridges' credit, his portrayal of Cogburn's alcoholism doesn't descend into parody; his gruff manner and bizarre behavior often produce laughs, but his drunkenness comes off more as pathetic than anything else. Hell, the other characters even comment on how dangerous it is: even at his best, Cogburn is aging, a little crazy, and prone to bursts of temper; the last thing they need is to get into a firefight that he's too drunk to win.
Matt Damon (a douche-y Texas Ranger named La Boeuf) and Josh Brolin (Tom Chaney, the murderer of Mattie's father) are both fun to watch in their supporting roles. Damon comes off as a narcissistic asshole for much of the first half of the movie, but eventually shows that there is more to his character than bravado, and that he's actually pretty handy with a gun. Brolin's part is surprisingly small, considering that the movie revolves around bringing him to justice, but the treatment of his character is actually one of the most interesting parts of the story:
Mattie calls him a coward and a half-wit early on, and she's really not kidding. Chaney is a spineless piece of low-life trash, and not very menacing at all for someone who is apparently the movie's main antagonist. Considering the tone and message of the rest of the movie, though, I'd say this is deliberate: such a spare, unadorned story needs an equally un-romanticized villain. Even if he were pure evil (which would just be stupid, seeing how the movie deliberately avoids moral absolutes and nestles itself deep in "shades of gray" territory), you'd have to admire his effectiveness (e.g. Ben Foster's character in 3:10 to Yuma)--but here, you don't even get that. Tom Chaney has no redeeming characteristics whatsoever, least of all being a badass. He's just pathetic.
The Coen Brothers do an excellent job, as always. To be honest, I find them to be two of the most interesting people in the field of modern storytelling. Beyond the fact that they're two minds working together more or less as a single creative unit, they've also displayed incredible versatility and dramatic range in their movies, dabbling in many different genres while still maintaining a very noticeable artistic and narrative identity. And let's face it: anyone who can be responsible for O Brother, Where Art Thou and No Country for Old Men is pretty damn awesome in my book. You can always tell when you're watching a Coen Brothers movie, whether it's a zany screwball comedy, a slice-of-life dramedy, or an action-drama, because all of their movies share a common soul. Hell, they're practically a genre in and of themselves.
True Grit is no exception. If you like the Coen Brothers, there's a damn good chance you'll like this. If your taste in Westerns runs more along the lines of Tombstone than Open Range, though, you might find True Grit a bit boring. This movie isn't about the violence, and it's not even really about the act of Retribution itself; it's about a little girl having the courage and stubbornness to enter the ugly, scary adult world.
And damned if it's not awesome to watch.
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