I just saw the newly released version of “True Grit” and when I got home, playing on Turner Classic Movie channel, was the original 1969 version of the same movie. I remember seeing the John Wayne Oscar winning performance 40 years ago and wondered how closely the new release followed the old.
The obvious difference? The Coen brothers production is darker. People are dirty with oily hair and rumpled clothes. No pretty vistas - most scenes are set in semi- or total darkness. Men are regularly shot, hanged or otherwise physically violated and with true-to-life special effects, it’s all effectively gruesome. (In the original, John was never completely convincing as an old, has-been drunkard. The second banana Texas Ranger played by Glen Campbell (yes, the singer!) never got his hair mussed and the young girl was clever but also sweet as pie and cute as a button. Is that Robert Duval as the bad guy who gets shot, wallows around in the dust but gets up with totally clean shirt and pants?)
With all this grit in the NV, the rhythms of speech underscore the nearly foreign nature of its time and place. Language is nearly “old English” – no contractions – a jarring formality to the violence. I don’t know what to make of all this but I’m pretty sure it signals something significant about our times and tastes – in entertainment as in art.
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Chip and I came back to Rochester ten days ago to celebrate the holidays with family and friends and check on progress of the new kitchen finished just hours before we arrived. The kitchen is fabulous! But we have done less celebrating than imagined unless you count painting said kitchen and cleaning construction dust from every possible nook in the townhouse.
But nice surprises happen in spite of our mislaid plans; that’s one of the gifts of city living. We stopped for breakfast one morning last week and met Francie and Robert Marx – total serendipity! They are interesting, charming people and it is always a pleasure to spend time with them.
I’ve been thinking about women and politics lately. With more information comes deepening depression. Then Francie sent me this picture. Robert paints “portraits” but rarely of real subjects. He made an exception for Dorothy. How could Dorothy not be thrilled with the resulting painting? Robert has crowned her Queen Dorothy and I can’t help believing that in his world, he would give most every woman at least a small tiara.
Merry Christmas.
