Wow, a film about country music, and I live in Nashville. It stars some of my favorite actors. The Academy gave it TWO acting Oscar nominations. Did I love it? Find out below.
OMR: Crazy Heart from Thomas McKenzie on Vimeo.
Andrew Peterson
Pete Peterson
Jason Gray
Eric Peters
Evie Coates
Randall Goodgame
Matt Conner
Curt McLey
Russ Ramsey
Jonathan Rogers
Ron Block
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
One listen to Ben Shive’s debut The Ill-Tempered Klavier will provide obvious evidence of why this young man has secured the respect of peers and colleagues on the inside of the Nashville music community. With The Ill-Tempered Klavier, Shive’s skills are now planted in the public garden.
Heretofore, there have been unsubtle hints: Andrew Osenga pronouncing Shive as his favorite songwriter, Andrew Peterson naming him as producer of The Far Country, his ubiquitous presence as a studio piano ace on a wide range of mainstream CCM records, Sara Groves choosing him to produce her next record, and the majestic arranging of the strings for Andrew Peterson’s Behold the Lamb of God, The True Tall Tale of the Coming of Christ. Like a fast growing wildflower, Shive seems to pop up everywhere, though always in the background. Now, the secret is out. Raise the curtain on Ben Shive.
I just stumbled on a copy of O’Connor’s complete short stories at a used bookstore here in Nashville and listed it in the Rabbit Room store. Years ago a friend bought me this same edition and I read it with a sense of creepy amazement; it was like nothing I’d ever read. I knew Chris Slaten was a big fan of her work so I asked him to write a recommendation for the book. We only have one copy, so if you click here and can’t find it, someone beat you to the punch.
———————-
This collection is essential to both long time fans and first time readers interested in the work of Flannery O’Connor. My first time to read a handful of her short stories I was helpless to interpret them. One would expect that reading the 1950’s work of a female “Christ-centered” southern fiction writer would be a simple, modest or at least predictable experience.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Several people in the last few weeks have commented to me about how glad they are that they discovered Wangerin’s The Book of the Dun Cow here in the Rabbit Room. It really is a remarkable book, and I still can’t recommend it highly enough. It won the prestigious National Book Award when it was first published in 1978, and was only the beginning of Wangerin’s career.
I just stumbled on his most recent novel, Saint Julian, and was so captured by it that it bumped aside the other four books I’m reading. Last Sunday afternoon–a perfect Spring day–I sat on my front porch swing and read the last half of the book, savoring the careful prose, the pastoral tone, and even the look and feel of the book itself. The cover illustration fits the epic, vivid quality of the story perfectly, and the fonts (I’m a sucker for a great font) added just the right atmosphere.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
But once a year the Sea Dragons sing just off the coast of Glipwood. With their song, life reasserts itself in the hearts of Skreeans who have long since learned to numb themselves:
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Walt Wangerin is a name I’ve seen in print many times. My dad had Ragman and Other Cries of Faith lying about at home for years and I remember thumbing through it at Christmas or Thanksgiving, reading bits here and there, and being intrigued by the style of writing; the words on the page had a canter to them, and a sparseness that gave them strength.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Do you have any CD’s in your collection that will be forever associated with some event or season of life—like the soundtrack to your last high school summer or what you listened to over and over again on that one road trip to wherever it was?
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
There were some great moments to this film, but the pieces do not add up. I found myself bouncing between truly feeling for the characters, (or at least because of the characters) to almost laughing out loud at how bad the film was.
*spoiler (not that you wouldn’t see it coming for about an hour if you were watching the movie)*
Will someone please tell me how a full-on alcoholic goes from sober to stumbling through the mall drunk in two sips of whiskey? The character arc in this movie was thrown together piecemeal. They could have made a movie out of the tension of recovering from alcoholism, but instead they fumble through creating a NOT believable history between Bridges and Gillenhall for an hour, while opening and closing just about every scene with Bridges lying around shirtless and drunk, and resolve the alcoholism with a two minute scene at the rehab park.
Bridges was great. But all in all, not a great movie.
“SPOILER” continues . . .
David V, Could not agree more. The entire five-minute “arc” of going to rehab was just about the silliest thing I’ve ever seen. Perfunctory, lame, annoying–I don’t even have words for how bad it was. Just let him drink himself to death for goodness sake, or show us some redemption. Don’t just say “he was awful, but then he took the magic pill called ‘rehab’ and everything was fine. Terrible.
Man, what happened, Thomas? Did you hit your head on something? First you give a good review to a movie that is painful to watch for all the bad clichés and heavy handed symbolism (Up in the Air), so much so that I kept thinking I was watching a christian movie, and then you completely miss the mark on this one.
Here’s Roger Ebert’s review that is a little closer to the movie that I saw.
The idea that Roger Ebert and I totally disagree on a film fills me with a deep sense of satisfaction. I find Roger Ebert, especially over the past few years, to essentially love everything that he sees. I no longer bother to read his reviews.
I read the review that Stephen points out, and it made me laugh at how wrong Ebert is. Once again, Bridges does a solid job. But “It’s like a country-western cliche happening for the first time.” No, it was just a country-western cliche.
I don’t think I’ll see it. Tender Mercies was enough for me as it relates to this type of story. Doing a quick Google on the reviews finds most if not all as favorable. But, that is what makes this fun. I love these posts T-Mac.
Oh man, on Day 6 of snow days here in Nashville I needed a good laugh. This review was hilarious. Thanks, T-Mac.
Perhaps the punchline of every review in which you totally destroy some piece of cinematic schlock is the heroic music bounding happily out of the speakers like a puppy with no sense of irony.
And I had such high hopes for that movie. Ah, well…
T-Mac (as apparently the cool kids call you
I normally agree with your reviews… but to this one, I say boo. Disappointed. Although I do like your crack on Ebert.
I loved it. That’s not to say that I didn’t share some of the same questions and concerns that my fellow Rabbit Roomies had. The difference may have been that I found plausible explanations for the potential holes.
David V. - One word: “Flask.” The one drink thing occured to me too, but then I realized–though it wasn’t shown on this particular movie day–that one of Bad’s routines was swigging from the flask. That’s why he was already drunk, something he did before, even when he was with the boy.
Too, if there’s even more of a film cliche’ than a washed up star seeking redemption, it’s an alcoholic’s rehab. Had that been the narrative, to do it properly would have consumed the whole film. I think they made the right choice in making it a footnote.
David V. and TMac (how cool is that AKA) - I often try to make a distinction between an idea, and the execution of an idea. I see tons of movies so I notice a lot of prospective idea cliche’s. But if the implementation or execution of the idea is excellent, though on paper it may still be a cliche’, it doesn’t feel like a cliche’ or maybe it doesn’t matter. Apparently you disagree, but I liked the implementation and–in a former career–having been close to the world of aging country stars, found it quite plausible. Virtually all aging country stars have trophy wives, often much younger than they are.
Admittedly, the relationship implausibility is also something I had to ponder. Indeed, Maggie Gyllenhaal is not going to automatically bond with just any fifty-something guy. But Bridges character isn’t just any fifty-something guy.
Despite his fading fast, washed-up status, he has some things going for him. Stardom and the often inaccurate, yet pervasive monied perceptions that go with that. Remember, many of us don’t have shades of gray for stars. Once a star, always a star. That is particularly true in the country music world.
Further, we can’t deny the charm the Bridges character exudes, despite his problems. There’s no accounting for love. We see examples of that in the supermarket all the time (the hot model with the beer-bellied, unshaven grandpa). Finally, as a newly minted fifty year-old, part of my delusion is that fifty somethings still have it. Let me live in my delusion, please. Where’s the smily icon when one needs it?
Jesse D. and Tony H. - Don’t give up on Crazy Heart, it won’t give up on you. (An AP reference, to make sure you are paying attention.)
POSSIBLE SPOILER - For a moment, it bothered me that Bridges character ran so far away from the bar. I mean, how far could the little boy have gone? After all, he’s a little boy. And here we have Bridges looking for him out in the parking garage, for goodness sake. Then I remembered … Bad is drunk.
This is fun. Much of the fun of filmdom is discussing the nuances. As always, Thomas, AKA as TMac, thanks for the review. As Jill noted similarly, your reviews are always entertaining and almost always bring me to laugher. The camera catching you in midstream, doing something else, like writing a country song, is hilarious as heck.
Thomas, I agree with you that Bridges carried this film. Man, what a performance. Subtle, nuanced, smart. Amazing. He’s deserves to be called a great actor. But I thought the rest of the movie held up, though admittedly, not to the level of Jeff Bridges.