Crazy Heart, written and directed by Scott Cooper, shines on the big screen. The film offers idyllic views of otherwise hidden bits of the American West. The main feature is Bad Blake, a 57-year-old country singer who’s lost his way, played by Jeff Bridges. While Bridges’s former characters have had big personalities (think The Big Lebowski), something new shines forth in his latest role.
 
Truthfully, Bad has a certain charisma about him. It’s evident both on-stage and off. His character has an intelligence that is sort of charming. He isn’t emotionally devoid of life, but rather bemused by the outside world. He drives from one lowly gig to another in an old truck, playing bowling alleys and dive bars with local pickup bands and sleeping in motels.
 
The only person he bothers to complain to is his manager. Bad is constantly refusing to write songs, or to move forward, insisting that the old stuff is the only stuff. His way is the only way. It’s through that stubborn admission that the audience can see that Bad’s spirit is not broken. His musical integrity is impressive, leaving him vulnerable to a future he can’t control.
 
Enter Maggie Gyllenhaal as Jean, a New Mexico journalist with a big heart, a sob story, and an adorable little boy of her own. When Bad falls hard and fast for her, you can be sure that the two opposites are in for some heavy times. Ah, but not before Bad can bed a groupie, vomit during a set, and lose Jean’s son in a bar.
 
Even with a soft gut and an unkempt beard, there is a Southern gallantry buried beneath the wreckage. As the movie progresses, we see what Jean sees: a man half-hidden by his own demise, battling to maintain his dignity. After all is said and done, their union is important for many reasons. Their love is tangible, impossible, and lingers long after the couple has been broken.
 
Bad’s lasting connection to the current country scene is Tommy Sweet (played by Colin Farrell), a former protégé who has made it big and whose support Bad could desperately use and is typically too proud to accept. Tommy pays continuous respect to his mentor, but his slickness tends to ruffle Bad’s feathers in a big way. Farrell is surprisingly talented as a kid of the country, but his swagger and suspicious twang never stop feeling eerie. So whether it’s my fault or his, Farrell never makes a real connection with his character.
 
When Robert Duvall (a fellow producer of Crazy Heart) turns up as one of Bad’s old friends, their association is seamless. He owns a bar, ironically enough, but doesn’t readily aid in Bad’s reckless pursuits, instead taking him fishing and retrieving him from rehab.
 
Much like Mickey Rourke’s character in The Wrestler, Bad allows his personal life to burn time and time again under the guise of favoring his career. You can feel the weight of his addictions, just as you feel the pull once they’re gone. And then it’s easier to see Bad as Otis (as Bad calls it his “given name”) for the first time. When it comes down to it, Bad’s eventual turn-around is what separates his character from Rourke’s.
 
Most importantly, Jeff Bridges fits flawlessly into the script. He knows exactly what makes Bad unique – his fears, his intellect, his unseen depths. So while the story is not the first of its kind, Crazy Heart is full of earnest feeling and great musical skill. It’s everything a good country saga should be – full of drinking, love gone wrong, and the road to redemption.