“That’s good, Bad.”


The Date has a thing for Jeff Bridges. So it was that last night we took ourselves Haymarket way to take in the latest, acclaimed role by The Dude, The Starman, The Baker Boy.
I don’t visit the cinema too often; I get restless and prefer the comfort of home. This little nugget can be used as evidence that the place studying film at Southampton Institute of Higher Education, through clearing, all those years ago, was more a leap away from administering enemas to constipated adults liable to bite at any time, than a true love of celluloid. One thing I did learn in my truncated stay on the south coast was that cinema is an experience in itself. (I also learnt that the films of DW Griffith may have been ground breaking and all that, but they were dull and occasionally racist. That was the sum total of my year, although off-syllabus I tucked a couple of ultimately pointless skills up my sleeve.)
We draughted a couple of drinks away in the Tom Cribb over the road from the picture house, and stole in with some contraband Maltesers and sours. Big screen, big auditorium, big seats and a great big muttering nutter behind us.
Crazy Heart has seen Bridges nominated for an Oscar, and it invokes the spirit of last year’s sentimental favourite, The Wrestler. ‘Bad’ Blake is a washed up country star, sustained on one record, contstant cigarettes and a dangerous relationship with McClure’s Whiskey. “Sometimes Fallin’ Feels Like Flying” is the ancient, oft requested hit. A beautiful song which affords Colin Farrell a strong moment, in a fine short performance as Tommy Sweet. The small gigs are punctuated by one night stands with middle aged fans, until he is introduced to Jeannie, played by the more-beautiful-than-the-sum-of-parts Maggie Gyllenhaal. What follows is a love story of sorts, and its inevitable colouring by the booze.


He looks a bit like this in the film. But with a beard and a guitar.

What surprised me most about the film was the artistry of it. The soundtrack by Bridges’s friend T Bone Burnett and vistas caught by Barry Markowitz are woven well by first time writer/director Scott Cooper, and Bridges plays the lead with a weary lightness. Dropping the phone to dry heave his tattered guts into the toilet is bleak, and one of the low points of the film. The crazy behind us thought is was hilarious. This is no work of genius, but it is a good film, with fine performances and excellent music.
To end our experience, we retired to the Criterion, and sipped some bourbon. We raised a glass to the excellent ‘Bad’.

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