Jeff Bridges, left, stars as U.S. marshal Rooster Cogburn and Hailee Steinfeld plays Mattie Ross in the Coen brothers' remake of True Grit. (Lorey Sebastian/Paramount Pictures)

Jeff Bridges, his voice rumbling up from beneath layers of beard and bourbon, plays rascally U.S. marshal Rooster Cogburn in the new remake of True Grit. How does Bridges fare in the iconic role that won John "Duke" Wayne his first Oscar in 1969?

Much of the humour comes from the contrast between the way the characters speak and act. Grubby outlaws use phrases suited to an Oxford don.

You could say that the two men are different but equal. Wayne, who wasn't so much an actor as a personality, indulged his most lovable side in Henry Hathaway's original film. Bridges, who is an actor, gives a well-crafted character performance, but one that plays on the audience's natural goodwill towards him.

Goodwill would also be a way to describe the overall mood of this enjoyable if atypical Coen brothers movie. When word got out that the writer-directors of No Country for Old Men, Fargo and Miller's Crossing were going to re-film Charles Portis's 1968 novel, the natural expectation was that it would be darker, bloodier and more ironic than the Wayne picture. Instead, they've come up with an affectionate version that, while it may not thrill Coen connoisseurs, will certainly please fans of both the first movie and the book.

Those who love Portis's novel will appreciate the way the Coens' screenplay retains the author's charmingly formal 19th-century dialogue. The brothers are among the few filmmakers working inside the Hollywood system who display a keen love of language. As with Fargo, much of the humour here comes from the stark contrast between the way the characters speak and act. Grubby, rotten-toothed outlaws use phrases suited to an Oxford don. A seedy itinerant doctor with a shovel-sized beard and a bearskin cloak waxes as florid as Dickens's Mr. Micawber. Even old one-eyed, whisky-swilling Rooster loves to expatiate eloquently about his colourful past while he's riding the trail.

The one who speaks most elegantly, though, and displays precocious book learning is the film's spunky frontier heroine, Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld). Mattie is a whip-smart and tenacious 14-year-old who refuses to be put off in her single-minded quest to take down her father's killer. He's a shifty, no-account varmint named Tom Chaney (an amusingly doltish Josh Brolin), who shot and robbed her Papa in Fort Smith, Ark., and then rode off into Indian Territory.

To assist her, Mattie hires Cogburn, a deadly deputy marshal with a reputation for "true grit," even if his dissolute ways offend her prim Presbyterian sensibilities. At first, Cogburn refuses to let Mattie accompany him on the manhunt and instead teams up with LaBoeuf (Matt Damon), a smug young Texas Ranger trying to bring Chaney to justice for the murder of a state senator.

Mattie, however, proves her own grit by fording a river on her little black pony to join the two lawmen. The quarrelsome trio then sets out for the Territory, where Chaney has thrown in his lot with one of Cogburn's old adversaries, Lucky Ned Pepper (Barry Pepper), and his outlaw gang.

The original movie was a showcase for Wayne, who as the cussing, crowing Rooster had fun sullying his clean-cut image. The Coens restore some balance, making Mattie, the book's narrator, the central focus. As played by a teenage actress with pigtails and an unwavering brown-eyed stare, she's less tomboyish than her screen predecessor, Kim Darby, but even more hardheaded. Steinfeld's character is a marvel of adolescent assurance as she bargains down a prissy horse trader (Dakin Matthews), but the Coens also emphasize her lack of sentimentality when she refuses, not once but twice, to kiss her dead father. One can see in her the seeds of the stubborn old spinster telling the story.

Damon, meantime, emphasizes the arrogant qualities of LeBoeuf (who pronounces his name "LeBeef"). The part was played in the first movie by country singer Glen Campbell, who brought his aw-shucks TV persona to the role. Damon portrays the Ranger as a pompous twit, puffing on a meerschaum pipe and extolling the virtues of his Sharps carbine like a hired shill. It's another of the actor's rare, underappreciated comic performances, which makes you wish he did more comedies.

As Cogburn, Bridges eases into the role like new boots. Early on, he's laconic and so growly that at times he's barely articulate. But once he gets liquored up, the braggadocio – to use one of Mattie's words – emerges. Before long, he's fairly garrulous, as he passes the time by regaling her with tales of his misadventures in the domestic sphere.

This is Bridges's first film with the Coens since he played The Dude in The Big Lebowski (1998) – his own iconic role. It strikes me that John Goodman, his co-star in that comedy, might've made an even better Cogburn, but he'd also have invited greater comparisons to Wayne. As it is, Bridges's unflappable Rooster is more Dude than Duke.

There are other aspects of the movie that have a distinctive Coen flavour. An early scene involving the hanging of three men in Fort Smith employs some literal gallows humour of the kind we'd expect from the duo. Then there's that quirky interlude with the bearskin doctor (Ed Corbin), which is a morsel of pure Coenesque eccentricity. Their reverence for movie genres is also on display, particularly in the John Ford-style open-range cinematography of their regular lensman, the superb Roger Deakins. We get plenty of vast, snow-glazed landscapes and country night skies peppered with stars.

The Coens can be wonderfully original, but they're also fine interpreters of other people's work. True Grit might not rank near the top of their long list of films, but it does do Portis's novel proud. And that, I'm sure, was their main intention.

True Grit opens Dec. 22.

Martin Morrow writes about the arts for CBC News.