Full disclosure: I’d never heard of country singer Blaze Foley before watching Ethan Hawke’s biopic about his life. Second disclosure: I am now completely enthralled by the man, his life, and his death – and I need to know more. The story of Blaze and his “never was” rise to the mediocre heights of a dive bar circuit troubadour might hit some familiar beats (love, addiction, death, etc.), but Hawke adds a style to the mix that keeps it interesting and poetic. There’s a controlled chaos to Blaze that captures not just the freedom of songwriting and performing but also the depression of lost loves and lost opportunities – and Blaze’s intentional self-sabotage of everything at once.
First and foremost, the songs of Blaze Foley are underappreciated gems of county music. They are great examples of what I love about the genre: non-pretentious, non-commercial, heartfelt and honest stories about things that regular folks can relate to on a level far beyond trucks or tractors. His songs are often sad, sometimes hopeful and hilarious, and always meticulously crafted. In an era when “outlaw” country singers (those who bucked the formulaic “Nashville Sound” and corporate system) were huge draws, Blaze would never reach the levels of popularity that Willie or Waylon did, but that didn’t seem to bother him or contemporaries like Townes Van Zandt very much. The songwriting was there, and both men’s songs would be covered many times over by the best in the business.
Hawke presents the story of Blaze Foley (co-written by Sybil Rosen – Blaze’s one-time love interest and portrayed in the film by Alia Shawkat) in three different timelines: A radio interview given by Blaze’s friends Townes Van Zandt (real-life guitarist and singer Charlie Sexton) and Zee (Josh Hamilton), a concert at a dive called the Austin Outhouse, and the overarching story from his first meeting with Sybil to his death in 1989. They’re interconnected by Blaze’s songs as he performs them at the Outhouse, with each one introducing a chapter of his life. It’s a novel approach that could have easily backfired, but the songs are so prophetic and based so fully on Blaze’s life and experiences, that the approach works nearly seamlessly.
Blaze is played by Ben Dickey (an accomplished musician in his own right), who brings the character to life with his large, soft-spoken presence. The chemistry between Dickey’s Blaze and Shawkat’s Sybil is an organic experience. It’s very easy to believe in their relationship and root for it. It’s a romance that feels real and grounded, even though they live a less than grounded lifestyle. Dickey has a firm grip on Blaze – or at least a nuanced and well thought out version of him – from his personality, mannerisms, attitude, and straight down to the musical performances. He makes it a painless effort to understand how some people were drawn to his songs and demeanor while others were turned off by those same songs and demeanor. His fire was inspiring to some, and out of control to others – and Dickey masters them both.
I really can’t say how accurate Blaze is in comparison to actual events, but if this film serves as nothing more than a starting point for discovering the music of Blaze Foley, then I’d say it’s a resounding success. It certainly worked for me. That it’s a nice-looking film with plenty of style (especially for the often customary and formulaic biopic genre) is a big cherry on top, too. What draws me most to Blaze and its titular character is more than the music or the presentation, though. It’s that I know so many people just like Blaze – in spirit, talent, behavior, and, sadly, even in the way he died. Blaze may end in death, but it’s full of life.
James is a writer, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.