Crazy Heart

Crazy Heart’s greatest triumph and its greatest footfall both stem from the same aspect of the film: character.  Don’t expect any grand set pieces, thrilling conflicts, or passionate romances here.  The movie is founded upon the very simple concept of delving into its characters as deeply and completely as possible.  Jeff Bridges shines as Bad Blake, indeed perhaps giving the most intensely committed performance of his career.  At the same time, however, the character that he is portraying is somewhat flawed at its roots.  The film attempts to portray him as a deeply troubled aging artist, the last of his kind as more pop-friendly country musicians flood the airwaves.  He has been betrayed by pretty much everything in his life, and alcohol has become the one thing he is able to cling to (although even that becomes difficult to obtain early on).  So of course the obvious nemesis for the film becomes the drink itself, and his struggle to give it up before it becomes the only important thing in his life.  Problematic?  No, except that Blake’s addiction is only afforded a very small space of screen time, and given even less weight in the character.  This is a fault that is probably attributable to the script; so Bridges’ performance is even more commendable when he manages to make the audience believe that he’s on his last legs, even if his words or the actual scenes don’t.

Colin Farrell and Maggie Gyllenhaal give fairly straight-forward performances, although even they do a great job of suggesting that depth lies behind each façade.  The characters are all grounded in reality- they face the same problems that average Americans do.  In this way, the film seems to have slight echoes of the overwhelmingly popular working-man sympathy that was evinced by Up in the Air just recently.  It’s another story of an individual getting lost in the cogs of the machine that he once personified.  But all technology becomes obsolete one day, and having to come to terms with one’s increasing irrelevance is inevitable.  What we love about characters like Bad and George Clooney’s Ryan Bingham is their refusal to fade into the background.  It’s a passive resistance, to be sure, but one that validates the existence and place of the individual within a larger cultural (or in this case, musical) framework.  We root for Bad because we want to know that rebirth is possible without a religious epiphany.

The music is, of course, an integral part of the film.  Not being country music fans ourselves, we at the Human Review were remarkably drawn by this throwback style to the country music that was created up until the early 90’s.  It’s the kind of music that managed to be universal despite its roots, that dealt with a lot more than just Southern women, beer, and pickup trucks, and it’s a good fit for Bad Blake, who’s more than suited to sing about troubles and hard times.  In performance, the artist is responsible for giving his art relevance.  Bad’s voice gives off an authentic gravelly tone, and the audience feels the real sting of the pain that underlies the lyrics.  And overall, it’s one of the things that stuck with us long after we left the theater.  Bridges’ performance was enthralling and authentic, yes, but the way that the music seemed to support every frame of the film was a rare treat.  Go see Crazy Heart, if only to feel that curious mix of nostalgia and regret that’s both the subject and inspiration for every aspect of the film.  It’s an intoxicating mix, and one that never falters throughout its run time.

-Brian