Most never wish to wallow in sadness, but for some, sadness is not only necessary but a part of their art. This applies to country musician Blaze Foley (1949-1989). Who? you are wondering. Of course you are, because I had never heard of him either before watching Ethan Hawke’s 2018 film Blaze, about Michael David Fuller, who went by the stage name Blaze Foley (portrayed in the film by Ben Dickey, a musician in his own right.) This isn’t to say that Johnny Cash doesn’t have his share of sad songs, mind you, but no one questions who Johnny Cash is. However, not the same can be said for Blaze Foley. According to IMDB:
Ethan Hawke decided to make a biopic of Blaze Foley, a musician little-known in his lifetime because he found it important to make a point that it is not only the lives of celebrities that are worth showing on the screen.
So who was this eccentric man other than an unknown outlaw country singer who frequented the dead-end, half-empty Texas bars? A minor legend—though few knew of him even among his music circles. And while it can feel encouraging to witness someone aiming for success, to continually be overlooked by his audience remained his disappointment. Granted, much of this was due to Blaze’s self-destruction, alcoholism, and his inability to control his temper in response to the heckling crowds, not to mention his stress due to his lack of finances. (Quite a different character than from someone like Rodriguez, who also went overlooked yet managed to live a long life and was a supportive father to his daughters.) This is not to say that Blaze was a bad person per se, merely someone with unending emotional needs, at least as portrayed in the film (which is based on his widow’s memoir, Living in the Woods in a Tree: Remembering Blaze Foley).
Take, for example, a verse from his song, ‘Clay Pigeons’:
I’m tired of runnin’ ’round lookin’ for answers to questions that I already know
I could build me a castle of memories just to have somewhere to go
Count the days and the nights that it takes to get back in the saddle again
Feed the pigeons some clay
Turn the night into day
Start talkin’ again, when I know what to say
I’m goin’ down to the Greyhound station
Gonna get a ticket to ride
Gonna find that lady with two or three kids
And sit down by her side
Ride ’til the sun comes up and down around me
‘Bout two or three times
Smokin’ cigarettes in the last seat
Try to hide my sorrow from the people I meet
And get along with it all
Blaze suffered from polio as a child, which resulted in him walking with a limp throughout his adult life. In one of the first scenes, he meets his future wife, Sybil Rosen (Alia Shawkat), a young, aspiring actress who shares his love of the arts, but most importantly, she remains supportive of Blaze’s talent throughout, as she is willing to stay behind while he goes on tour. (Keep in mind, however, that his shows consist of mostly empty bars, like what you might find in a small, do-nothing town on a Wednesday night.) In fact, the crowds appear less interested in him and more interested in their own affairs, and so as the years and performances go on, the audience almost becomes a mirror for Blaze’s own feelings of failure.
Ethan Hawke has created an ambitious film with lovely cinematography (such as the wedding scene) and unique narrative approaches, and while I do recommend it, I do so mostly as a means of introducing audiences to Blaze Foley’s music, as well as this time and place—the Austin country music scene in the 1970s and ’80s. (Hawke makes a brief appearance as a radio DJ but only the back of his head is seen.) Yet somewhat like Hawke’s 2023 film Wildcat, Blaze suffers from narrative disjointedness. For one, the film is too long, finishing at just over two hours. And needless to say, I had to watch the film twice to catch everything because there are moments that don’t make sense elsewhere, like why so many characters mumble, and what year it is. As example, there are close-ups of certain people that go unnamed and seem significant, yet still, I could not figure out who they were—even upon re-watch.
Moreover, the film gets repetitive with what feels like endless bar scenes, and many of these moments could have been compressed. But what the film does have going for it is the real-world dialogue, the small chitchat among locals, and the naturalness of the acting, e.g., ‘My car was stolen. Where was it the last time you saw it? At the end of my key.’ (Clearly, working on Richard Linklater’s Before Trilogy seemed to have a positive influence on Hawke’s use of dialogue.)
And while the film contains a good song selection, Blaze does not flow as well as it could because it feels like Hawke expects his audience to know this man’s backstory, when most will never even have heard of Blaze Foley’s most famous song, ‘Clay Pigeons.’ Furthermore, there are moments that feel superfluous, such as the opening scene, where we witness Blaze screaming and being told to get out: ‘You’re finished! You’re done!’ (A bit cliché.) Then the scene switches to the house that Blaze is living in with his group of friends. (Again, what year is this?) Wonderfully done with its dialogue, the strength of this second scene only stresses how needless the opening is. Not to mention the often back and forth jumping through time can be a headache, as it makes following the story confusing. Admittedly, this isn’t to say that everything needs to be explained, but like with Wildcat, most unfamiliar with Flannery O’Connor would be completely lost by the vacillating narrative between her real-life story and that of her fiction.
Yet despite these shortcomings, the pathos in Blaze feels real via Ben Dickey’s performance—exposing the man’s pain and disappointment. And while not a great film, Blaze reflects the work of a director who is at least trying. Vulnerable and self-destructive, Blaze blames himself. Thus, to no surprise, his wife Sybil divorces him. I mean, can anyone blame her? Humiliated, there is a scene reminiscent of The Jimmy Show, (in which Hawke stars in a supportive role) where instead of a bad comedian heckling his audience, we have a drunk singer engaging in the same as he is booed off stage. Afterwards, Sybil quietly exits midway through his disruptive performance.
Blaze Foley certainly had some talent and eccentricity, but his songs likely suffer from a lack of diversity, as I didn’t find him as complex as other overlooked artists like Judee Sill, but keep in mind I’ve only heard a small selection of his output, which I enjoyed. His music is worth a listen, and I’ll leave you with a touch of his humor. In one of his live performances, he relays a story that goes something like, ‘I asked a guy where my hat is at, and the guy responded with, you don’t end a sentence with a preposition. So then I went ahead and said, where’s my hat at, asshole?’ This is the sort of dude Blaze Foley was.
* * *
If you enjoyed this review of Ethan Hawke’s BLAZE, consider supporting our film on a great American poet and get patron-only content on Patreon. This will help the growth of this site, the automachination YouTube channel, and the ArtiFact Podcast. Recent episodes include an analysis of Kamala Harris’s 2024 predicament, a dissection of the post-Gaza Middle East, and a comprehensive look at art theory with critic Erik Hill.
More from Jessica Schneider: Finding Judee: Reviewing “Lost Angel – The Genius of Judee Sill” (2024), A Good Biopic Is Hard to Find: Ethan Hawke’s “Wildcat” (2023), Romance Before Texting: Steve Martin’s “Roxanne” (1987)