Okay. I know Conor Oberst is some kind of emo wunkerkind, constantly amazing us with the breadth of his talent. His agile mind weaves together the words that give voice to our mid-20s ennui. He wrangles country music into sweet melodies for hipsters crying into their PBRs, agonizing that their jeans aren’t skinny enough as they gather at the tops of their Converse. And now he can be seen in your local movie parlor portraying an American icon, a New York hero in a summer blockbuster. Oh Conor, one man can handle only so much glory.
Above: In Costume
Below: Out of Costume