Last night, in anticipation of the Coen Bros.’ remake of True Grit we are going to see tomorrow (after a breakfast of cheese grits, mind you), I watched the original version with my parents. It was like a walk down memory lane; not because I had seen the movie before (although I certainly felt as though I had – probably caught bits and pieces of it over the years but not enough to make it register that THIS IS TOTALLY A GIRL POWER FLICK) but because I recognized so many names, faces, and voices. My parents identified Glen Campbell whose name I only knew because back in the day, when I took piano lessons, the only non-classical-music-sheet-music we had in the house was “The Entertainer” (aside: how does ZP know this song and say that Scott Joplin is the king of ragtime? what are they teaching him at that school?) and “Rhinestone Cowboy” (the latter being Glen’s). The book the movie is based upon was written by Charles Portis … ah yes, the same author who penned “Dog of the South” which Sars made me read. The lawyer’s voice struck a chord and in the span of a few hours, yet another M*A*S*H* alum was identified as Radar (earlier we had watched “Beauty and the Beast” and I informed my disinterested co-viewers that the clock was Charles Winchester). I look forward to annoying my fellow movie-goers with trivia tomorrow: “psst! that guy was in the other Coen Brother’s movie! So was THAT GUY!)”. I love the Coen brothers’ work and have high hopes that the remake will have as much “significant extra grit” as is being delivered to my countrymen in Wales. Very high hopes, especially since this will be my one-a-year movie.