Earlier today I forced Laura to accompany me into the glacial Chicago climate for a 1:00pm showing of "Crazy Heart," the tale of a browbeaten, once-famous country singer on the precipice of ruin.
Although I have never heard Beethoven tickle the ivory keys or witnessed Babe Ruth letting loose on a sitter down the middle, I imagine Jeff Bridges' performance in this film to lie on a similar stratum of special. Bridges portrays Bad Blake, a long forgotten singer trying to reassemble his shattered life after falling for a newspaper reporter, played brilliantly by the underappreciated Maggie Gyllenhaal. Because my wheelhouse does not contain the vocabulary necessary to rightly elucidate Bridges' flawlessness in this role, I am forced to compare his performance in "Crazy Heart" to Mickey Rourke's in "The Wrestler." Bridges is that good in this film. Maybe better.
Instead of reading me further trip over my feelings about this wonderful movie, go see "Crazy Heart" at a theater near you for yourself. Or, at the very least, make room for it in your Netflix queue.