Crazy Heart (2009)

"Petition me no petitions, sir, to-day; Let other hours be set apart for business. To-day it is our pleasure to be drunk . . ." Henry Fielding, Tom Thumb, The Great

When a memorable performance transcends a mediocre plot, the result is a memorable role flanked by a forgettable film. Such is the case of Jeff Bridges as Bad Blake, a sodden wreck of a country singer still making a living playing at bars and bowling alleys in Crazy Heart, an apt title.

Not Garth Brooks or Willie Nelson, but well-known enough to be offered free booze and free ladies, 57 year old Bad is like his 30 year old pickup truck, still serviceable but ready to bust at any moment. Bridges is a believable singer/drunk, not overdoing either but pathetic enough for you to want to strangle some sense into him while he still can perform. And write songs—if he can get to them, especially at the encouragement of Tommy Sweet (a convincing, real life bad boy Colin Farrell), young country singer now flourishing partly because of Bad's good mentoring. The descent into cliché is quick as Santa Fe reporter Jane (Maggie Gyllenhaal) falls for him during an interview for her paper. She has a four-year old child—well, you can guess the rest of the film through romance and rehab but maybe not denouement.

The addition of one of the producers of the film, Robert Duvall, as Bad's friend and club owner Wayne, is a welcome allusion to Duvall's Oscar performance as country singer Mac Sledge in Tender Mercies. Add T Bone Burnett as a song writer and producer of the film and you have a promising pedigree. Unfortunately director/writer Scott Cooper may not have caught the fire of the original novel by Thomas Cobb.

I will nominate Bridges as one of the best actors of the year. That's the best I can offer you besides the New Mexico landscape and cloud dotted blue sky. As for watching another story about an alcoholic singer, I'll stick with Colin Firth drinking a little in A Single Man or Michael Sheen in the Damned United. The drunken hero is one of my damned.

Fmovies: "Bad" Blake (Jeff Bridges) was once a famous country singer-songwriter (although how big and how famous are never clearly spelt out), but he has now slid to the very bottom of the greasy music pole: now a reluctant opening act or playing small shows in bowling alleys or suchlike dingy places.

Age, booze and multiple divorces have taken further toll on his mind and body. Today, he rarely thinks much beyond his next drink or resting his weary bones in the nearest - and preferably cheapest - motel.

In to this paint-peeling world comes a hint of genuine love and affection, courtesy of a much younger single-mother (and professional music journalist) Jean Craddock played by Maggie Gyllenhaal.

There is not a lot of originality about this production. Indeed it might be viewed as an attempt to re-film The Wrestler in Stetson hats, where it not for Bridges. Talk about carrying a show on your shoulders. Although it does beg the question of how simplistic/basic country music is when an actor (with only very occasional musical forays to his name) can be so convincing.

(Clever pastiche songs being a great aid to the believability.)

Despite the negative opening headlines, things are not totally hopeless. Musical friends and agent are loyal. Dues are owed and paid. Indeed there seems to be ladies (of a certain age, granted) who, still, want to entertain the former legend back in their rooms. Yes, even the bottom of the showbiz barrel seems to have its freebies and its perks. When sober enough to actually enjoy them, that is.

In many ways the act or review - and therefore after-the-fact analysis - takes some shine off this drift-down-the-river production. Indeed only re-enforces how little there is to chew on.

Craddock has to be either mad or desperate to to take an interest in this long broken down musical artist who is not only old enough to be her father, but only one false step away from being a vagrant. What does she see in him? Is she so seduced by the romance of low-rent showbiz to see he is totally selfish (he has, for example, long taken no interest in his own child) and lives in the past?

Maybe Bridges should milk this a bit - go on stage as his alter-ego Bad Blake. I am sure people would be happy to see it. Clearly he is good enough and the professional and functional songs on display here would pass twenty minutes of general inspection.

People have already started the comparison, and not without some reason, of Crazy Heart with last year's film about a down-on-his-luck old timer in his chosen profession, The Wrestler. And sure the comparisons can be made quite a lot, not simply due to the same studio, Fox Searchlight, distributing the films, or that the main characters are practically washed-up in what they do but keep chugging along, or that they have medical problems, or that they're estranged from their kids, or that the woman in their lives is a stop-go-stop affair. The good news is the movies can stand on their own terms, but somehow, at the end of the day, I would probably prefer Aronofsky's gritty naturalism over the first time director Scott Cooper's more slick indie-treatment, with country and wide-open spaces substituting for grisly New Jersey.

And yet you should go see Crazy Heart, and it's not just for Jeff Bridges as Bad Blake, a country musician, 57, who has been on hard times for a while and whose main problem, alcoholism, prevents him from being an unstoppable musical force (think Johnny Cash with a little extra blues) and kind boyfriend to Jean (Gyllenhaal, also quite good). Well, it could almost be all for him - it's marvelous to see him transform into this character, somewhat reminiscent of 'the Dude', but with a more cynical view of life and his former partner (Tommy, surprisingly done by Colin Farrell), and how we really do want him to get better. It's a sympathetic portrait done by a master of American film acting, and even if you don't particularly love Country music it's a worthwhile venture to see him in it.

That's the other thing: the music is actually (and this is coming from a not-big-fan of Country music save for some exceptions like Cash and Williams) quite superb. All of the songs are charged either by a real drive to bring the house down with the joy of playing live, or by the tender moments such as the "Weary Kind" title track, which may, along with Bridges, get T-Bone Burnett his first Oscar nod. The music is one of the things that makes Blake's journey wonderful to watch, even if, sadly, the story is lacking in ways that other movies (not just The Wrestler) do much better. Only a third act twist seems to be compelling, as the rest of the story kind of coasts the characters along, the only roadblock Blake's drinking.

As sometimes happens, it's a towering performance in the midst of an otherwise competent, enjoyable but slight debut feature. But it is something, and often interesting.

Crazy Heart fmovies. Jeff Bridges' incredible performance is not the only aspect of this movie that deserves praise. Bridges—who will most likely win an Oscar for his performance (sorry, Colin Firth, it was just your bad luck to deliver your best performance in the same year)—inhabits the character of Bad Blake so thoroughly and convincingly that you forget you're watching Jeff Bridges; he truly gives life to this alcoholic but talented country singer who is searching for some joy and redemption at the end of his career. Maggie Gyllenhaal is wonderful in a supporting role as Blake's girlfriend, and Colin Farrell is a genuine surprise as Blake's protégé, Tommy Sweet. (By the way, who the heck knew that Farrell—and Bridges, for that matter—could sing so well?) Bonus: the soundtrack is awesome. Interesting cinema synergy—Robert Duvall (still a working actor at the age of 79), who produced this film and has a small supporting role, won a Best Actor Oscar in 1984 for playing a character similar to Bad Blake in "Tender Mercies."

This is a sweet and believable film about real people. The story is anything but original, and yet it is done very nicely, with kind, genuine performances and a majestic Jeff Bridges. One very good move is that the director and screenwriter put most of the exaggeration and cliches at the beginning of the movie in order for us to "get' the characters. In doing so, the movie got more interesting and realistic as it went on.

There's a shot in a scene near the beginning of Scott Cooper's Crazy Heart that's so jarring that it has to have been a choice, but I can't for the life of me unpack what it means. Jeff Bridges plays forgotten country legend Bad Blake, drunk and down on his luck, a one-time great forced to play tiny New Mexico bars for tiny over-the-hill crowds. As he cruises into town in his rusty Suburban and empties out his pee bottle, he realizes that his manager has booked him to play in a bowling alley, where he begins to drink prior to the show. There's a shot of him at the bar that is an exact visual echo of Bridge's most famous character of recent years, the similarly booze-addled Dude from The Big Lebowski, famously bellying up to a bowling alley bar, talking to a cowboy. It's odd and unmistakable, as Bridges' the Dude in the Cohen Bros. first-cult-then-full-blown classic dopey caper movie has become iconic, his sozzled, affronted complaints as firmly lodged in the minds of movie folk as Travis Bickle's spookyisms or the monologue by the guy in Network who got mad and told everybody to go yell out the window.

Where the Dude's drunk and drugged wanderings seemed blessed, though, by a cinematic ray of Private Eye light that kept him safe through to the end of his caper, Bridges' Bad Blake is broken down, on the way out. A member of his backing band that he had mentored, Tommy Sweet (Colin Farrell), has moved on to find incredible success on his own and exists, but is unwilling to do an album of duets that Blake and his lizard-skin booted agent need to pull his career out of the toilet. He meets a young journalist (Maggie Gyllenhaal) who herself has had a rough patch and their bruised romance sees Blake back on some kind of road to life.

Bridges inhabits the role as thoroughly as is seemingly possible - he quite simply is Bad Blake. Much of the music (composed by T-Bone Burnett, who among other things did the music for the Coens' O Brother, Where Art Thou?) Bridges sings himself and he's got a not-half-bad country voice, but it's in the busted-boot gait and whisky-sipping slouch that Bridges carves the character out. The rest of the film is almost as good as he is. Cooper's script has a habit of freely dipping into the well of cliché - the whisky soaked forgotten crooner lost in the shadow of inauthentic "new country", salvation and sobriety at the feet of a sad single mother who doesn't want to be hurt again - but then at the last minute, swerving away into if not original then certainly less clichéd territory. Tommy Sweet, when he makes his entrance into the story, is not half the villain the first half of the film would have you believe, and Gyllenhaal's single mom is something a hair's breadth more interesting than a sucker for punishment, loyal to a fault. The film could have been a disaster, and at times it's half-way there, but there are enough smart choices in the script and good performances from interesting actors that the film ends up (for the most part) overcoming its own flaws.

It does country well, and it's as authentic as a film can be to a genre of music (like punk, or metal, or rap) that is itself so utterly cliché ridden that arguments over whether so-and-so is "real country" are a common fervent pastime for fans and the artists themselves. Bad Blake seems as much of a real, breathing human being as Merle Haggard or Waylon Jennings, which is obviously somewhat of a back-handed compliment. Crazy Hear