Men Who Eat Biscuits

I watched Jeff Bridges in Crazy Heart (2009) Saturday night, and was awed by his performance as a 57-year-old alcoholic “has-been” country singer trying to find a reason to live.  Bridges won the best actor award for this role last year, and I was remiss in not seeing this sooner. 

Jeff Bridges as Bad Black

Bridges is one of my favorite actors, and is a man who (much like my beloved husband) cannot disguise a core of masculine beauty, despite his best efforts.  His character, Bad Blake, somehow manages to shine glimmers of someone uniquely special and attractive, even grizzled, overweight, and covered in his own vomit.  To some degree it feels like he is trying to become as unappealing as possible to repel human interest so he can drink and die in peace, yet he is failing miserably.  Everywhere he goes, the people he encounters still want his attention and his story.  Part of the trouble is that he is encountering fewer and fewer people. 

The movie bills itself as about Bad’s ongoing struggle to deal with the success of a young man he once mentored who now is a mega-star out of Nashville playing to crowds of thousands, while Blake is playing bowling alleys.  I didn’t see this angle as key.  It was mildly interesting but seemed to be only a vehicle to drive dialogue about Bad’s real issues.  He abandoned a young son 24 years prior, and hasn’t written a song in decades.  He has almost no money, and what he does have he drinks.

Crazy Heart is the second movie I’ve seen in which the male lead is drinking himself to death.  The first was Leaving Las Vegas (1995), with Nicolas Cage.  Cage’s character Ben utters one of the most poignant statements on alcoholism I’ve ever heard when he says, “I can’t remember if I can’t stop drinking because my  wife left me, or if my wife left me because I can’t stop drinking.”  In contrast, the line Bad delivers that stuck with me after the movie was his statement to a four-year old boy, “Whole worlds have been tamed by men who ate biscuits.”  This was delivered with humor, but was like a laser cutting through all of his dysfunctional garbage.  Inside, this character clearly was still a gem who would get out if he could, he had just lost his way and had no idea where the door was anymore.

Both films are Oscar winners, and both use alcoholic disintegration as a lens into human pain and struggle.  LLV is a powerful movie, one that successfully explores some very difficult elements of the human condition; but it also presents a man who has no interest in disconnecting his life from alcohol.  It is very dark, and very depressing, and Ben’s problems seem so self-absorbed and self-centered it was difficult for me to have true empathy for him.  The human condition can surely be dark and depressing, but it can also be much more inspiring, and Crazy Heart shows a man on the edge of losing his options who grabs control of his life back in a very intentional and resurrectional way.  Directed by Robert Duvall, Crazy Heart shares some thematic relationships with The Apostle.

If you haven’t seen the movie, I won’t ruin it for you with much more detail.  I will say that it does one of the best jobs I’ve ever seen of honoring characters who make unexpected choices, and of following them through the fallout from those choices to a thoughtful conclusion.  If you love character as the real story in film, you will like this movie.

McHotties, Bad Guys, and You

McDonald’s fast food restaurants are known for a lot of things.  What they are recognized and rewarded for above all others is the perfection of churning out predictable products that do not vary in any manner from one location to another.  Their fries in Chicago taste exactly like their fries in Bangkok.  They also contribute to obesity and high blood pressure at the same rate in either place.  

You know who in the slammer.

 People are, sadly, becoming more and more like products to be replicated and reliably sold to a public that just wants a fix and has zero concern for the effect of consuming too much of one thing.  Celebs have always been a certain way, and Hollywood culture – of course – relies on our love of beautiful train wrecks to keep the money-maker shakin’.  It does seem, however, that the chalk outlines of these wrecks are starting to look more and more like each other.  Our national diet of celebrity obsession is unlikely to change radically, but we are slouching towards an entirely undiversified diet of cookie-cutter yuck that seems especially unhealthy.  

If you’re female, it’s most helpful if you would please be under 25 years old, strung out on alcohol and drugs, and have a revolving bedroom door.  Plastic surgery or its rumor is also required, and public fights are helpful.  The male version of our pablum diet has only one necessary component.  Masquerade for a period of time as a nice person, and then rip off the disguise and laugh in our faces as you reveal the extensive list of women you have managed to juggle behind your family’s back for an uncomfortably long time.  If juggling isn’t a skill, just assault a woman you meet in a bar or hotel and call it a date. 

This is a fairly homogeneous diet of garbage.  It is also, like the french fries, apparently all but irresistible and the more we consume the more we want.  You want it, you got it say the handlers.  I need a Riviera vacation anyway.  

Let’s be clear, shall we?  None of this is an accident any more.  None of it.  As a culture we are a driving force on the demand side for an undiversified personality pathology crisis.  We really need to start eating something else, or we may all be the next — significantly less beautiful — train wrecks. 

I’m suddenly craving a raw vegetable.