Since the Western’s heyday, the genre has been used for many ends – whether to investigate race, gender, age, the bloody roots of a nation or even celebrity culture. So it turns out the most revolutionary thing that the Coen brothers could have done with their first proper attempt at the genre is to just make something very entertaining. Despite being shot by the ever-exceptional Roger Deakins who shot The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, there’s no room for that film’s elegiac beauty here, instead the film settles for a handsome but unshowy matter-of-factness.

If there’s something revolutionary about True Grit, its that the siblings have taken some of the softening of the 1960s version away, and what’s left feels very authentic (even if it is removed by several degrees from the era it’s set in – the original book wasn’t published until 1968). Most notably in having the 14 year old central character actually being played by a teenager, as opposed to a grown woman. It makes the characters’ behaviour towards her – particularly from Matt Damon’s strangely likeable La Boeuf – seem bizarre, unpleasant even, but more amusing than disturbing. In part this has to be down to Hailee Steinfeld’s brilliant performance, somehow she manages to be a child star that’s precocious but not irritating or unnatural with it and manages to be tough and headstrong, but also believably vulnerable when necessary. Generally the characters have their flaws, but are entertaining with it, in particular Jeff Bridges taking on the part originally played by John Wayne (his turn is not as different to that portrayal as initial reports suggested, but just enough to make it seem worthwhile) is a bloated curmudgeon, a role fuelled by the same alcohol-induced grunginess he brought to last year’s Crazy Heart, although at least True Grit is worthy of his efforts, unlike that dreary excuse for a film. It doesn’t even matter that much of Bridge’s dialogue is (deliberately) incomprehensible, not only is his Rooster Cogburn a man of simple pleasures and drives, but it also allows Bridges to wheel out some fine physical comedy. It’s a shame that last year the academy fell over themselves to finally give him an Oscar for Crazy Heart at the expense of Colin Firth’s turn in A Single Man as, with Firth’s victory for The King’s Speech at this sunday’s ceremony now a foregone conclusion, the results would have seemed much more fair if the two could have swapped years (as good as The King’s Speech is, Firth was much better there, and is a fine enough actor to not need the inevitable awards bump that playing royalty/a disability brings, and Bridges deserved to win his long overdue award for a better film).

There is the issue of just how much of a Coen film it is, as Ethan is on record claiming that about 90% of the dialogue has been lifted straight from the book (but then adaptations that are faithful to a fault are something that the Brothers have been known for – the ending of No Country For Old Men for example). Maybe it’s the way they direct the actors (other than Bridges’ aforementioned drawl, the diction of every character seems to fascinate, particularly Steinfeld’s schoolmarmish tones) or dress them (most words are uttered from underneath ludicrous facial hair) or maybe the most memorable dialogue is the 10% they contributed, but it does definitely feel like it’s a Coen Brothers script. And the most enjoyable one that they’ve filmed in a long time.