There is nothing crazy about Scott Cooper’s newest film “Crazy Heart,” which is based on the novel by Thomas Cobb. It is void of war, violence, over-the-top action scenes, and other Hollywood trademarks. But this is exactly what makes “Crazy Heart” so powerful. This simple story does not need unnecessary “wow” factors, it speaks for itself.
Jeff Bridges, recently seen in “The Men Who Stare at Goats,” plays the role of Bad Blake, an outdated country singer who, at the heckling of his agent, is attempting to make a comeback. Aimlessly bouncing from bars to bowling allies, Blake is lost for inspiration until he meets Jean Craddock, a captivating journalist played by Maggie Gyllenhaal. Before long, an enveloping romance blossoms between this unlikely pair. Though Blake’s alcoholism quickly spells the end of this relationship, the events that follow give Blake the opportunity to escape his drunken, stagnant lifestyle.
Bridges’ portrayal of Blake appears effortless. There is no aspect of Blake that he fails to capture with realistic and genuine emotion: the exasperated ruffle of his greasy hair, the desperate pleas for second chances, and his gentle performance vocals. It’s no wonder this role has put him in the running for the 2010 Academy Awards best actor.
Gyllenhaal also caught Oscar attention. Her role as Jean landed her a nomination for best supporting actress. And her performance, like Bridges’, lacks nothing. It is raw and authentic. She embraces the difficult tension that Jean faces, one between passion and apprehension; she knows the risks she’s taking by being with Blake, and her strong emotions illustrate this. Her reverent gazes evolve into fits of pained frustration where her cracking voice often breaks through tears.
And Jack Nation completes the trio, making a phenomenal debut as Buddy, Jean’s young son. His playful remarks and charismatic personality add an aspect of innocence to the film. Between Blake’s black outs and cigarettes, Buddy gives a much needed giggle or smirk.
“Crazy Heart” is a cinematographic masterpiece. The camera captures the essence of the stunning, southwestern countryside, panning across the silhouettes of gentle, sloping mountain ranges blanketed by cerulean sky. And several close-ups highlight even the slightest details: the contours of faces, the flicker of a smile, and the flutter of Buddy’s lengthy, dark lashes. These artful angles make the story of Bade Blake an intimate experience rather than mere pictures flashing on a disconnected screen.
The lighting also becomes an emotional force. Strands of Christmas lights strung in bars create a comfortable glow that enhance the personal themes Blake sings of, songs that he says come from “life, unfortunately.” And in Blake’s darkest moments, dim lighting only just illuminates him, a shadow, often shrouded in a veil of a smoke.
The twang of guitars, steady drumbeats, and the occasional accordion accompany Blake on his cross-state travels. The music evokes the hard realities of a romanticized lifestyle. “The Weary Kind” especially, the song that comes from Blake’s experiences with Jean, contrasts hope with inevitable pain. The tender strums of a guitar create an almost lullaby-like melody that eases the lamenting lyrics: “Your heart’s on the loose / You rolled them sevens with nothing to lose / And this ain’t no place for the weary kind.”
Like “The Weary Kind,” or most any country song for that matter, “Crazy Heart” is a simple piece that has a lot to say.
No comments:
Post a Comment