The first ten minutes of Crazy Heart is pretty near perfect. A down-but-not-quite-out musician – country singer Bad Blake, just north of 60 – finds himself booked for a gig in a bowling alley. He has to pay for his own booze and his groupies all look just north of 40. And yet most of his dignity remains. It’s just a bit covered in dust.
We’ve seen it all before. And yet, this fine movie and Jeff Bridges makes it feel like we’re seeing it all for the first time.
Nothing says “40 years on the road” quite like showing up moments before show time, taking the stage staggering drunk, getting the crowd going, dashing into the alley to vomit, and traipsing back, shirt soaked with sweat, to finish the set.
And nothing could be more casually well-observed than Bad Blake’s first arrival at the bowling alley. He takes one look at where he’ll be spending the evening, most likely earning little more than the tank of gas that’ll get him to the next bowling alley, and then pulls a jug of urine out of his Suburban and pours it in the parking lot.
Entering the bowling alley, he is greeted with, “This is a no-smoking establishment, but you can finish that one.” He orders a beer and is refused a bar tab. “It’s not in your contract, Bad.” He nonchalantly offers the manager his glass saying, “Hold this.” He then snubs out his cigarette in the half-empty glass and walks out the door.
The whole movie is filled with great little moments like these and Bridges plays them all with the coy confidence of a grizzled old master. His work feels comfortable and worn like an old pair of slippers while wooing an attractive young reporter, Jean (Maggie Gyllenhaal), and while pushing her young son on a swing.
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