The Promise of Redemption in the World of Rockstars
Walking out of the theater after viewing Crazy Heart, I knew I needed to write about it, at least to help figure out why I loved it, if nothing else. Knowing that Curt also appreciated the film and for some of the same reasons, I asked him to write a review with me. There are a couple possible spoilers in this review.
Stephen: With a film as rich as this one, there are many areas one could spend time writing about. The casting, of course, is probably what has been given the most attention, and for good reason. Jeff Bridges is entirely convincing as the aging country singer Bad Blake, down on his luck, and the movie is worth watching for him alone. The chemistry between Bridges and Maggie Gyllenhaal is great, showing us a picture of a relationship between a “rock star” and a girl who obviously grew up on his music. Colin Farrell is surprisingly good as the hot young country singer who was given his start by Bad Blake. And I loved the scenes with Robert Duvall, Bad’s best friend.
Curt: You are so right, Stephen. Granted, Bridges star shines brightly, capturing our attention to such an extent that we may sometimes miss the other performances, but the casting is excellent.
Stephen: The music in the film has been talked about a lot too, which should come as no surprise with the incomparable T Bone Burnett in charge. He writes and co-writes some great songs here, and I was glad to hear one song in movie by Sam Phillips, T Bone’s ex-wife and one of my favorite singers.
Curt: I thought the music did what it was supposed to do, provide believability. The songs were good enough and hooky enough that it was easy to believe they were once hit records. When I heard the first few notes of Jeff Bridges singing, the not-quite-in-tune gravelly voiced vocal timbre at first made me concerned that the musical element may damage the credibility of the film. But as his first song continued, I realized that Bridges sounded exactly like what I’d expect a damaged, long time alcoholic country singer to sound like. If you’ve ever heard George Jones in a live, late in his career performance, you may have an idea of what I mean.
Stephen: I’d have to say, though, there was one thing I liked above everything else about the film, and that’s what I want to spend more time talking about here: the glimpse Crazy Heart gives us into the world of music superstars, both at the height of their career and when they’re down on their luck. Working as an arranger and music copyist in the Nashville music industry, I get occasional glimpses into that world. Watching Bad Blake play for a packed house at a corner bar, seeing how he related to the crowd and how he performed, I thought of the time I was in the studio with legendary rock singer Bob Seger. Seger has a very charismatic personality, filling up every room he walks into, taking everything in, walking up and introducing himself to each new person who enters. The studio we were in, a beautiful old converted church building on Music Row, doesn’t allow smoking, but because Bob Seger is, well, Bob Seger, he was puffing away, seemingly going through a full pack of cigarettes during the string session alone, standing in front of the control board waving his arms, copying the conductor’s motions and losing himself in the music. That album, Face the Promise, was Seger’s first album in 11 years after a long sabbatical to spend time with his family that started after an accident where he was charged with driving impaired, something else I was reminded of during another point in Crazy Heart.
Curt: You dog. I love Bob Seger and I am jealous (”On a long and lonely highway, east of Omaha…”). Great story, man. As you know, Stephen, I worked in country radio for several years, which also gave me material with which I could measure the credibility of an on-screen, over-the-hill country singer. At KSO/Des Moines, we annually sponsored “The Great Country Concert,” a free appreciation concert for our listeners, which always “sold out” Vets Auditorium in Des Moines.
We always brought in five or six “country stars.” Because we were on a budget, we could only afford those “country stars” that were on the way down or on the way up. We caught Reba McEntire on the way up, but sadly, most were on the way down. For many of these “country stars,” it had been many years since they played in front of 12,000 people. Casual discussions, in-studio interviews, parties, meet and greet events, and all those concerts I emceed at less than desirable venues, provided an up-close view of the insecurities and foibles of men on the decline. Like Bad, people learn how to use “what they got.” Watch Bad in the liquor store, using the perception of himself as a star to score a bottle of booze. Exploiting stardom long after a careful observer knows it’s no longer stardom is part and parcel of this career stage. Partly, I suppose, they do it to reinforce to themselves that they really are a star. And partly, because they really can’t afford the booze.
Stephen: I’m sure those concerts were fun, but probably also a bit depressing. I had the chance recently to work on some horn charts for Reba for a performance on the Grand Ole Opry, and she still sounds every bit as good as she did back when she was starting out.
Watching Colin Farrell plays Tommy Sweet, a young country star, I immediately thought of the couple times I’ve been in the studio with Big Kenny (of Big and Rich). Farrell, contrary to what one might at first think, is a perfect fit for the role, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of Big Kenny while watching Tommy Sweet, seeing them act and respond to others in a similar fashion. At the same time, watching Bad Blake play with Buddy, the young son of Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character, I thought of the times I’ve watched Big Kenny play with his own son during the breaks in the string sessions, an interaction that has a different quality, to my eyes, when the adult is “famous.” Maybe it has something to do with the adult knowing the kid won’t judge them, that they’ll be accepted as who they are and for simply being there. Maybe that’s why this struck me as very authentic storytelling.
Curt: I think it took great vision to cast Colin Farrell in his role, and in retrospect, it was brilliant. Tigerland proved that Farrell could do a credible drawl, leaving his usually thick Dublin accent behind for a Texas drawl. Further, there’s a sort of knowing confidence in his bearing, which is ideal for the role of a rising country star. Plus, the pony tail. In the last twenty years, if a director wants to use a hairstyle that demonstrates the character is hip or is trying really hard to be hip, the pony tail is the obvious choice. None other than Al Pacino, after working with Farrell in The Recruit called him the best actor of his generation. While that may have been a slight overstatement, I can appreciate Pacino’s point. One of the ways in which this film was not predictable: I expected Tommy Sweet to be a half-arrogant opportunist. To the contrary, he was a nice guy that—like us—seemed to truly care about the man that gave him his start in country music.
Stephen: Yep. That’s why I was reminded of Big Kenny.
The first thing that becomes apparent as you watch the story unfold is Bad Blake’s alcohol addiction, and we know from the start that things can’t continue the way they are. Something has to change, a brick wall will be hit. What could be a bigger cliché than a big star hitting rock bottom because of an addiction and then climbing out of the hole, right? In lessor hands, this movie would have made that the focus of the story and subsequently been relegated to late night showings on the Hallmark channel, but Scott Cooper, in his directorial debut, realizes we don’t need another telling of that story, rescuing it from being a series of clichés and telling a genuinely moving story. I couldn’t help but think, towards the end of the story, of another great musician I’ve had the chance to work with, Trey Anastasio (of Phish fame), doing all the music preparation for several of his recent tours. Trey hit bottom several years ago with an arrest for a drug addiction that resulted in him realizing he had to make changes. Since that time, I’ve sat in a studio on Music Row in Nashville, listening to Trey practice with a string quintet a concerto he cowrote for electric guitar and orchestra with a friend of mine, Don Hart. I’ve hung around backstage at Carnegie Hall after a performance of that concerto with the New York Philharmonic. I’ve heard him play with Phish at Bonnaroo in front of 75,000 fans, with none other than Bruce Springsteen joining him for a couple songs.
So I know what redemption looks like in that context. I have seen up close what it means when a rock star realizes they can’t continue on the road they’re on, make changes, and the music they make after that. This movie is the best portrayal I’ve seen of that story on the big screen, and it’s why I’ll continue to recommend it to everyone I know.
Curt: Yes. And I think one of the touchstones of Crazy Heart is the extent to which we root for him. We ache for his redemption, knowing that it’s not guaranteed, even in the movies. When Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character’s son Buddy started wandering around in the bar, I remember physically moving to the edge of my seat, seeing what might be coming, and feeling the urge to send up a prayer that Bad won’t let it happen. When a viewer has the urge to pray for a movie character, that says something about its effectiveness. Somehow—and this is the mark of a great actor paired with a great script—we see the good in Bad Blake. And we want him to be better. As a believer, it’s one of life’s honest to goodness joys, observing the recovery of a human soul. Nobody is Bad and everybody is Bad. It’s a human story and Jeff Bridges helps us see that with his performance.
Stephen, thanks for inviting me to participate in your review!
Stephen: Thanks, Curt!
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.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thanks for the review, guys. I don’t think I’d even heard of this film before Oscar night. Sounds like one I’d love to see.
Interesting to see Robert Duvall in this role. I’m curious - - how would you compare this flick to Duvall’s own, possibly quite similar movie, “Tender Mercies” (one of his best, for my money)?
I think I might have enjoyed this review/discussion more than the actual film, though I did appreciate many aspects of the film!
I think this might be a case where personal experiences and knowledge added to your appreciation of the film. Thanks for sharing your personal anecdotes and insights.
I have really been inticed to see this movie. I saw several previews and read some optinions, some not as good of a review than here but, being someone who was raised on the country Outlaws (Waylon, Willie, Kristofferson, Cash) I find this movie very interesting.
I wonder how much Bridges took on as research of those ol’ Outlaws. Some scenes that I have seen there is a stiking resemblance of Waylon in Bridges’ character.
http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/u1922251-29.jpg
Sam, I’ve heard several people mention “Tender Mercies” alongside this film, but I haven’t seen it yet. It’s now on my to-see list.