As Johnny Cash in "Walk the Line," Joachin Phoenix has achieved a tour de force with his powerful portrayal of the singer's early years in the music business. Phoenix's singing has been widely and deservedly praised, but Reese Witherspoon (June Carter) also holds up her half of the duets just as credibly, and her buoyant performance helps save the film from wallowing in the lead role's personal troubles.
But also credit James Mangold's adept direction of his and Gill Dennis's screenplay for the ultimate advance of the narrative with a savvy use of songs that reinforce the tale. You will cry and smile, alternately, during this emotionally charged and highly enjoyable film version of an authorized biography.
Mangold shows us the boy called J.R., suffering a drought of paternal affection in the shade-deprived cotton fields, but who learns from his mother how to tap into a spiritual strength by singing. We are brought into the boy's dark night, where we sense his self-doubt which, fed by guilt, will later sap the spirit of the young singer, and lead to the addiction that threatens to destroy him even as he strives for success.
When Phoenix finally appears on stage as the veritable embodiment of the successful Man in Black, and leans into the microphone to give us that "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash" in perfect Deep South baritone, we have no doubt, so true has been the cinematic exposition and Phoenix's craft. With superb attention to detail, the film captures a lost era in the life of our nation, just as it repeatedly shows Johnny Cash attempting to regain an idealized childhood. The cinematography of Phedon Papamichael II frames forlorn scenery with the reverence a true believer has for all God's creation.
When the relentless touring takes its toll on Cash's first marriage, the couple argues in a room filled with fan mail. Cash prefers to rest alone among piles of unopened letters than be with his wife and children. Even when the singer brings his family to a concert to watch his performance, we see that they clearly belong with the audience, and not among Cash's true inner circle. Who could better share his love than June Carter, his tour mate, the disembodied voice he idealized when still a boy and the one woman who remains his true friend.
Cash spirals into the depths of drug addiction, and inevitably is arrested, but the scene of the singer alone in a jail cell is cut short so that it doesn't function as a moment of truth. Cash avoids confronting his personal demons, and heads home instead to hang his head in self-pity at poolside. Throughout the film, Cash's struggles and triumphs are consistently shown as they affect the intimate side of the man; the great financial success and the many number one songs are referred to mostly obliquely in montage.
Finally, June Carter literally saves the drowning singer. She dries him off and then dries him out.
The happy ending works in this film, since Cash's reconciliation with his father has been prepared. After a lifetime of miscommunication, misdirected anger and guilt between father and son, it is the brutal honesty of the senior Cash that forces the crisis that brings about the singer's redemption. Johnny Cash goes from being a talent mired in addiction to the man who recaptures his artistic potential, symbolized by the live concert at Folsom Prison. Whereas the song, "Folsom Prison Blues," was an early product of Cash's chafing against authority, the actual live concert is a way to show the world that the Man in Black is truly a star, who belongs on stage, not in prison. Even if those cons know every word of his lyrics, they are just another part of the world Johnny Cash celebrates in song, and in so doing, redeems himself.
The concert is Cash's final attempt to recapture an elusive dream from his past. The Man in Black succeeds and we leave him enjoying extended family bliss, united with June Carter. He even recalls his father's triumphs with equanimity.
The credits roll to the voices of the real Johnny Cash and June Carter singing one of their signature duets. Here we realize with awe that these great singers are inimitable, yet we are equally amazed at how consummately these two American icons have been acted and sung back to life by Phoenix and Witherspoon. I say, give them both Oscars, and by all means ask them to sing "Jackson" on Academy Awards night. Four stars.
But also credit James Mangold's adept direction of his and Gill Dennis's screenplay for the ultimate advance of the narrative with a savvy use of songs that reinforce the tale. You will cry and smile, alternately, during this emotionally charged and highly enjoyable film version of an authorized biography.
Mangold shows us the boy called J.R., suffering a drought of paternal affection in the shade-deprived cotton fields, but who learns from his mother how to tap into a spiritual strength by singing. We are brought into the boy's dark night, where we sense his self-doubt which, fed by guilt, will later sap the spirit of the young singer, and lead to the addiction that threatens to destroy him even as he strives for success.
When Phoenix finally appears on stage as the veritable embodiment of the successful Man in Black, and leans into the microphone to give us that "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash" in perfect Deep South baritone, we have no doubt, so true has been the cinematic exposition and Phoenix's craft. With superb attention to detail, the film captures a lost era in the life of our nation, just as it repeatedly shows Johnny Cash attempting to regain an idealized childhood. The cinematography of Phedon Papamichael II frames forlorn scenery with the reverence a true believer has for all God's creation.
When the relentless touring takes its toll on Cash's first marriage, the couple argues in a room filled with fan mail. Cash prefers to rest alone among piles of unopened letters than be with his wife and children. Even when the singer brings his family to a concert to watch his performance, we see that they clearly belong with the audience, and not among Cash's true inner circle. Who could better share his love than June Carter, his tour mate, the disembodied voice he idealized when still a boy and the one woman who remains his true friend.
Cash spirals into the depths of drug addiction, and inevitably is arrested, but the scene of the singer alone in a jail cell is cut short so that it doesn't function as a moment of truth. Cash avoids confronting his personal demons, and heads home instead to hang his head in self-pity at poolside. Throughout the film, Cash's struggles and triumphs are consistently shown as they affect the intimate side of the man; the great financial success and the many number one songs are referred to mostly obliquely in montage.
Finally, June Carter literally saves the drowning singer. She dries him off and then dries him out.
The happy ending works in this film, since Cash's reconciliation with his father has been prepared. After a lifetime of miscommunication, misdirected anger and guilt between father and son, it is the brutal honesty of the senior Cash that forces the crisis that brings about the singer's redemption. Johnny Cash goes from being a talent mired in addiction to the man who recaptures his artistic potential, symbolized by the live concert at Folsom Prison. Whereas the song, "Folsom Prison Blues," was an early product of Cash's chafing against authority, the actual live concert is a way to show the world that the Man in Black is truly a star, who belongs on stage, not in prison. Even if those cons know every word of his lyrics, they are just another part of the world Johnny Cash celebrates in song, and in so doing, redeems himself.
The concert is Cash's final attempt to recapture an elusive dream from his past. The Man in Black succeeds and we leave him enjoying extended family bliss, united with June Carter. He even recalls his father's triumphs with equanimity.
The credits roll to the voices of the real Johnny Cash and June Carter singing one of their signature duets. Here we realize with awe that these great singers are inimitable, yet we are equally amazed at how consummately these two American icons have been acted and sung back to life by Phoenix and Witherspoon. I say, give them both Oscars, and by all means ask them to sing "Jackson" on Academy Awards night. Four stars.