Bad Blake (Jeff Bridges) is a used-up country singer floundering in the death throes of his career. His best years long past, Blake is a stodgy drunk playing bowling alleys and bedding wrinkled, old, bar fly groupies. He's been better.

Inexplicably, Bad Blake hooks up with Jean (Maggie Gyllenhaal) a struggling journalist/single mother who is literally half his age. Their relationship creates the backbone of the film. The problem? Their relationship never quite makes sense. Blake isn't crashing and burning. He's crashed and his smoking ruins are already starting to go out. There is nothing for Jean to find endearing, wonderful or redemptive. Her relationship with the haggard singer is a pathetic leap of self-destruction. Only a woman on a mission of ruining herself further would get involved with a guy like Blake. There is nothing strange about this, there's plenty of self-destructive women out there (trust me, I've met them), but Jean gives no clue that she is harboring any self-loathing. Actually, since she's portrayed by Gyllenhaal, she doesn't provide much of anything beyond line readings.

Despite the awkward, and let's face it, downright icky relationship at its heart, this is still a very good film that I can easily recommend. Why? Bridges.

Jeff Bridges provides a nuanced performance as the soured drunk and gets the audience to care about his pathetic mess of a life. Bridges fits in the role perfectly and this is not a simple role to pull off. Bridges has to expose Blake's horrible drunkenness while simultaneously explaining his pain. On top of this, Bridges has to carry himself onstage, performing as Blake would - the old workhorse who can sing a song for the thousandth time and still make people feel something.

The soundtrack is also remarkable. I am not a country/western guy. However, this film made me reconsider. Blake sings the old dirty country of Cash, Nelson and Jennings. His gravely voiced tunes feel authentic. This contrasts the souped-up, polished new country tunes performed by Blake's protégé Tommy Sweet (Colin Farrell). Sweet is wildly successful but sings to please instead of the express himself. He is Burger King where Blake is a greasy spoon dive. The contrast of the two styles buttresses Blake's disjointed life. He is outdated in an age that doesn't make sense.

This is one of the rare times I get to say that the end of a film is nearly perfect. The final moments of most films are Hollywoodized cinematic warm fuzzies that often ignore the motivations and incidents leading to the final conflict. In this case, writer/director provides an intelligent and completely fulfilling resolution that makes complete sense - on top of that, it is the most moral ending that could have been written for the story. I'm willing to recommend this film based just on the final sixty seconds alone.

Ignore Gyllenhaal's weak link yammering. Ignore the fact that she's kissing up on a drunk who is literally twice her age. Ignore these things and you will find a worthwhile movie fronted by a inspiring performance from an actor who has rarely gotten enough credit.




Related Reviews:
Jeff Bridges movies
The Big Lebowski (1998)
The Fisher King (1991)


Other Critic's Reviews:
Independent Critic
Combustible Celluloid




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Labels: Colin Farrell, film, Jeff Bridges, Maggie Gyllenhaal, movie review