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TRUE GRIT - Aka...Same Grit - Different Day


By King Hippo - Posted on 19 February 2011

This movie was quite an enigma for me, both in a historical and current sense. In the current sense - because it was directed by the Coen brothers and yet it is played VERY close to the original classic. You won’t hear that from the mainstream movie reviewers.

Because the industry that supports the Coen siblings operates under the Hollywood Law of Perpetual Motion which defined says, “When a person or entity generate more than 3 better than half-ass movies over the course of twenty years – they are eternally capable of only producing true works of genius and will henceforth be nominated for any conceivable year end made for TV award show – until their lifetime achievement statuette is posthumously presented to their grieving widow(s).”

But this Grit doesn’t fall too from John Wayne’s legendary giant wood from 1969. Why is that perplexing you ask? Because a Coen brothers movie usually ranges from the quirky (Fargo) to the downright bizarre (The Big Lebowski) and everything in between, but NEVER straight. So, all I can surmise from this is that True Grit is an homage to the original, which as I'm sure to any inbred Duke fan, would be blasphemy if treated in any other way.


As a child I saw the original True Grit, and other than thinking, "boy, that Glen Campbell can sing AND act and why didn’t he sing ‘Rhinestone Cowboy’??!!” - I thought that the character Mattie Ross sure was a firecracker. Ok, with age and wisdom, my thoughts are more along the lines of, "since WHEN in the 1800's could some punk ass bitch basically cajole, blackmail, and berate an entire western town of hardened assholes into doing what SHE wants them to do?"


And then it struck me - this was the beginning of the Women's Lib movement! And it's been downhill for men ever since. Now, you don't have to take my word on this. Just ask Dan Cedar, he of the perpetual marriage-go-round. Every time I see this guy, he's got whip marks on his back and a chain around his nuts.



But I digress. Apart from the cloned story, the acting is superb. I would give newcomer Hailee Steinfeld the best supporting actress nod. I just wonder who hit her with the ugly stick. I felt obligated and shamed into shaving my pedo moustache upon arriving back home in my mom’s basement. Jeff Bridges, as usual, puts in a seemingly effortless

Oscar worthy performance as US Marshall Rooster Cogburn. Matt Damon seemed to have some problems with the stilted dialogue of that era. Can you imagine a society that

actually enunciates in the King's English? Alternately, Dan Cedar thought Damon should have won the Best Supporting Actor of 2010. I am sure it has nothing to do with the shirtless “Bourne Identity” poster Dan has taped to the ceiling above his bed. His current consort hasn’t yet spotted it yet, since she is forever on top.



But - no matter - ANY good western nowadays is a breath of fresh air in the contrived Hollywood shitscape of rehashed garbage and liberal propaganda. So, to the Coen brothers - I salute you for updating a piece of timeless Americana for the clueless masses we call the United States.

And, to Dan Cedar - I salute you for your persevering spirit in your quest to find your "soul mate" and for having the nuts to expose your "feminine" side for all to see.

After your untimely, yet inevitable heart attack – I am sure that your faux grieving widow will enthusiastically accept your posthumous strap-on shaped statuette for “Shittiest Movie Reviewer of All Time.”

Of course, I will accompany her to the after-party. One drink and a roofie later – my meticulously planned sexual rendezvous in my mom’s basement will come to fruition. Bibs will finally be able to forever discard her kneepads that your sexual ‘missionary woman’ oppression had kept her in for lo’ those many years.

After I stealthily lug Bib’s down to my private cellar - John Wayne will be back in the saddle again while she screams for a heaping helping of King Hippo’s massive one-eyed Rooster Cogburn.

Oh, and just for you, Bibs, I have already thumb tacked, over my bed, a circa 1982 poster of Rick Springfield – so you don’t have to keep your eyes closed after the Rohipnol wears off.


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