*Spoiler alert* Just watched "Crazy Heart". Somehow, I'm not as moved as I thought I would be. Sort of a Disney version of The Wrestler. Golden grit. A story with shallow valleys and modest peaks. And it's hard not to be cynical- another story of an alcoholic but this one with every shining opportunity in life blown. No, I don't feel sorry that he's out on the road playing bowling alleys night after night- that's just the road. A million others would kill for the shot he had. And I don't even get much of a chance to feel bad for him anyway because before long a connected friend has a record company offering him a $95, 000 advance. This is not the luck of the average addict. On any given day I could walk a few blocks and find someone else who needs several drinks just to function normally, just to converse or work or walk around. But put a guitar in the loser's hands and you have a bit of romance, you have a bit of good old-fashioned country hard luck. But most hard luck stories don't end with a jaunt in rehab, a fat royalty cheque backstage and a sunset. This is just Hollywood alcoholism. Golden grit. Another crack at scratching the surface of the tough life courtesy of the shining American stars with just enough toilet bowl hugging to make it all seem real. It doesn't really cut it when you think about it. It may be a wonderful performance and a subtle and believable portrayal of an alcoholic. But it doesn't really cut it. It's all still just an escape. A cliche. I'd rather be moved. There's enough cliches in the goddamn country songs anyway.