More Crazy Heart Review

To me, its like Mickey O'Rourke in The Wrestler - the movie itself is just okay, but Jeff Bridges is crazy phenomenal. Every physical move he makes is perfect, at every moment.

And the number of clichés Bridges had to act through and still have an air of authenticity or freshness is pretty staggering.


But there are at least two clichés of the genre I'm glad they skipped. The first is the ol' "begrudgingly takes the stage to play the old hits" you find most has-beens acting like in flicks like this. Bad Blake seems very comfortable knowing that the old hits he has to play every night are the very reason he has what he has and is who he is; hell, he even seems to ENJOY playing them onstage (though the booze might help with that part.)

Also, when we first hear about his protegé Tommy Sweet we of course picture an asshole, unappreciative diva who could give a fuck about Bad Blake now that he's leapfrogged his mentor on to riches and success bad can't imagine being a part of. And maybe there is more to the story than we know (I'm sure the break-up wasn't pretty), but Sweet is effusive in telling anyone who will listen that Bad Blake taught him everything he knows, and he goes out of his way to make sure Blake's songs are put on his records.

Also - there's no way I'm passing over that chick in the blue dress with teef coming outta the damn screen to get up in Maggie Gyllenhaal's granny drawers. Camon.