"Crazy Heart" is the Same Old Song (But Not a Bad One)

The immediate impulse when trying to explain the appeal of "Crazy Heart" is to draw up comparisons to Darren Aronosky's "The Wrestler." Both are stories of aging entertainers who are struggling to escape obsolescence and too many regrets. Both feature heart-rending performances by mature leading men that went over very well the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in their respective years of release. But while Randy the Ram was Mickey Rourke's comeback role, Jeff Bridges has never really gone away or lost any of his star power, and that's the major difference between the films and the performances.

We first meet Bad Blake, a singer-songwriter of country-western songs, rolling into a small southwestern town for his latest gig. He was once a major star, such that he's still recognized at liquor stores and audience members regularly come up to him with song requests, but he's been reduced to one-night stands in bars and small venues. The opening engagement is played in a bowling alley, where the proprietor has been warned not to allow Blake to run up a tab for any drinks. It's quickly apparent that alcoholism and a stubborn, lone-wolf nature are at the root of Bad Blake's woes. The film follows him though an eventful few weeks, as he reunites with an old friend (Robert Duvall), gets a leg up from a successful protégé (Colin Farrell), and starts romancing a newspaper reporter (Maggie Gyllenhaal) after she comes calling for a rare interview.

"Crazy Heart" leans heavily on the performance of Jeff Bridges, who creates such a likable, personable protagonist in Bad Blake, the audience can't help but forgive him for his many transgressions. And we can understand why so many of the supporting characters do too. Bridges gives Blake such charisma when he's onstage, and hints at so much simmering talent held at bay by his addictions, his return to fame and acclaim is all but a foregone conclusion. But it takes a lot of pushing and a lot of heartache to get Blake back on the straight and narrow path, and the real key to the character is the persistence of his faults. Once he turns on the charm, it can be easy to forget this was the same guy who was retching into a wastebasket two scenes ago.

Of the supporting cast, only Maggie Gyllenhaal really has the space to create a full, interesting performance to complement Bridges. She's likable enough as Jean Craddock, the earnest young reporter and single mother who manages to tease a little honesty out of Bad Blake, but it's her subtler, more ambiguous moments that sell the character. This is an intelligent young woman who must see all the signs of Blake's self-destruction, but like the audience is perhaps too willing to overlook them. I found the chemistry between the two a bit lacking, probably because the age difference is so glaring, but watching their relationship grow and develop is a pretty enjoyable trip.

But is "Crazy Heart" as good as "The Wrestler"? No, it's not. Director Scott Cooper does a decent job, but he's not at the level of Darren Aronofsky and doesn't try to be. Bad Blake's redemption amounts to a fairly conventional, feel-good story that celebrates the country music that Bad Blake delivers up to his adoring fans. There's no feeling of any real risks being taken here, and the emotions evoked are far more subdued. I found "Crazy Heart" pleasant and enjoyable, but not especially moving. But the size of the film is right for this story, the tone is right, and Jeff Bridges' performance is worth seeking out.

Bad Blake's journey is inextricably tied to his music. The songs in the film, including the Oscar-nominated title track, "The Weary Kind," are all pleasant earworms, probably tunes you'll find yourself humming out of the blue a few days later. I'm no fan of the genre myself, but there is none of the harsh twang I associate with the worst of country music. Jeff Bridges and Colin Farrell put forth some decent vocal performances, though the songs weren't really as central to the story as I was expecting. We don't hear a full version of "The Weary Kind" until the end credits, providing a nice incentive to linger on the way out of the theater.