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Star vehicles rely chiefly upon the success or failure of the material to take the persona of the star and twist it into a new shape. On these merits alone, True Grit is a resounding success. But taken as a complete work of film artistry, it doesn’t prove itself to be entirely successful. Yet for all of its problems, it’s not hard to see why The Duke finally won that elusive Oscar for his performance as the drunken rascal Rooster Cogburn.
We could sit here all day and argue over and over again whether or not his Oscar for Best Actor was a career achievement-in-disguise or won based on pure merit. It’s not hard to imagine a successful argument being made for his overlooked work in Red River or The Searchers as being more worthy of posterities value of what Wayne’s best performances are, but there’s just something about True Grit and Wayne’s performance that feels right to be the film that finally won him some overdue recognition.
Rooster Cogburn feels like the role that Wayne’s career was always leading him towards, and who else at the time could make this character work so beautifully? It’s not just his image as the Mount Rushmore of Western film-making or iconography as Americana incarnate, but the strange choices that feel so right and give this character a beating heart and inner life. The scene in which Wayne utters the immortal line “Fill your hand, you son of a bitch!” feels like a classic moment in which a great star’s persona and mystique has come to its apotheosis. This is John Wayne, the movie star and actor colliding into one and feels like the passing of a bygone era in which he was king.
It’s just such a shame that the rest of the movie couldn’t match wits with his brilliant star turn. Dennis Hopper and Robert Duvall stand out amongst the supporting players for turning in sinister and idiosyncratic turns. They add color and texture in a symbolic sense in a film that desperately needed some. But it’s a pity to announce that they’re shoved off to the sidelines for much of the film. Hopper only has about one scene and Duvall doesn’t appear until very late in the game. For a majority of the time we’re stuck with Kim Darby and Glenn Campbell.
Charles Portis’ dialog is a stylized creature that requires a deft balance to make it sing. The Coen Brothers made it work marvelously with Hailee Steinfeld and Matt Damon in the other two major roles, which is more than can be said for Henry Hathaway’s work with Darby and Campbell in the same roles. Darby, clearly too old for the role, is far too mannered and struggles with the rhythm of the language fairly often. Campbell doesn’t even appear to be trying to act, and his presence is pure dead weight. These two are large weights bringing the film down.
Of course tighter editing and a better sense of storytelling could help overcome these obstacles, but Hathaway is content to take his sweet time getting from one story point to another. True Grit frequently falls into boring and safe waters, even when the story clearly has something spikier and punchier going on underneath. As a film, it’s a mess. But as a star vehicle, John Wayne’s charisma makes this something indelible and the reason that it has endured.
