Dir. James Mangold, US, 2005, 137 mins
Cast: Joaquin Phoenix, Reese Witherspoon, Ginnifer Goodwin, Robert Patrick, Shelby Lynne, Tyler Hilton, Waylon Malloy Payne, Shooter Jennings, Jonathan Rice, Dallas Roberts
Are rock ‘n’ roll biopics making a comeback? After last year’s award-grabbing Ray, Hollywood was reminded of the cash and cache in telling the stories of yesteryear’s musical icons. So while we await the transformations of Mike Myers as Keith Moon, Elijah Wood as Iggy Pop and everyone from Cate Blanchett to Colin Farrell as the ubiquitous Bob Dylan in Todd Haynes’ leftfield tribute, we’ve got front row seats to director James Mangold’s affectionate biopic of the late Johnny Cash, Walk The Line.
Like Ray, Walk The Line economically sketches Cash’s tragic Arkansas childhood and his estrangement from a father (Patrick) who blamed him for the death of his elder sibling in a sawmill accident. After first picking up a guitar during a brief stint in the forces, the young Cash (Phoenix) returns home to marry his sweetheart Vivian (Goodwin), but soon finds that door-to-door sales is not exactly his forte. With rent and ever-mounting bills to pay, Cash eventually finds himself at the doorstep of Sam Phillips’ (Roberts) Sun Studios in Memphis.
Driven by his distinctive freight-train chords, Cash’s tales of hard luck and losers are soon blazing a trail up the charts. At the epicentre of rock ‘n’ roll’s adolescence, he is caught up in a new world of temptation, touring alongside the young Elvis (Hilton), Jerry Lee Lewis (Payne) and Roy Orbison (Rice), and soon develops a dependency on amphetamines years before they would become rock cliché. Cash’s other problem is his attraction to fellow performer June Carter (Witherspoon), and from the moment she gets her dress caught in his guitar strap, there’s an immediate connection.
Carter’s apple pie affability proves to be the perfect foil to Cash’s introspective darkness, but despite one night of passion, their guiding Christian background forbids their illicit union, with Cash penning the eponymous “Walk The Line” as an assertion of marital fidelity. Soundtracked by his gut-wrenching songs, their relationship and his struggles with addiction were played out onstage in front of thousands. A testament to the redemptive forces of love and music, Walk The Line is a modern day fable of star-crossed lovers.
While it would be easy to write the film off as another exercise in Hollywood myth making, Walk The Line began as a collaborative effort with the original Man In Black himself until he passed away in 2003. Based on autobiographies and extensive interviews, Mangold’s love for his subject is evident throughout and, like Ray, sensibly paints the background of the artist rather than present an extended clip show of career highlights. In one poignant scene depicting the moment that Cash first dons his trademark black shirt, Vivian remarks “you look like you’re going to a funeral”, to which he deadpans, “maybe I am”.
From the telling title in, the film plays it straight, and every significant moment in Cash’s biography cues another famous composition. For all of Cash’s ragged edges, the chronological narrative arc is too neat and could have benefited from a more oblique treatment of rock star mythology, like Gus Van Sant’s angular approach to Kurt Cobain’s untimely demise in Last Days. Mangold also underplays Cash’s strong religious convictions in deference to his struggles with drug addiction, perhaps befitting his rebel persona, but these are minor detractions from the film’s two key strengths: the music and the performances.
The true heart of the film is Cash’s relationship with June, and both Phoenix and Witherspoon are Oscar contenders for these career-defining performances. The success of musical biopics rests largely on the performances themselves, and unlike Jamie Foxx’s Ray or Val Kilmer’s Jim Morrison, who were rife with affectations, Phoenix’s portrayal of Cash’s restrained primal energy transcends a “Stars in their Eyes” impersonation with a performance that appears naturally spontaneous rather than studied. Hunching his shoulders and aiming his guitar like a machine gun across the audience, Phoenix’s pitch-perfect live vocals, specifically in the Folsom Prison sequences, are testament to the work of music producer T Bone Burnett (Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?), whose score compliments Cash’s musical oeuvre. The inspired casting of established recording artists in supporting roles lends a refreshing authenticity to the rich musical tapestry.
After puncturing popular consciousness in Gladiator, Phoenix was always capable of this performance, but it is Witherspoon who provides the real surprise here. Known for her comedic talents in films like Legally Blonde, Witherspoon’s dramatic abilities are a revelation. When a small-town mother admonishes June for divorcing her first husband, Witherspoon’s face slowly cracks into a portrait of hurt, offering an apology to the woman for “letting her down”. The electricity between Witherspoon and Phoenix rivals any of the great screen couples, and in rescuing Cash from the precipice of self-destruction, it is easy to see why he continued to pursue June’s affections for 13 years and stayed with her until her death in 2003.
The film starts, and ends, in 1968 with Cash’s infamous Folsom Prison concert that has become part of rock ‘n’ roll folklore. As a man who had cultivated the image of the incarcerated rebel, Cash may have lived on the right side of the prison walls, but after years of emotional imprisonment to drugs and past demons, this storming finale also marks the end of his own personal redemption. More than just a cinematic eulogy, Cash’s musical legacy is cherished by all involved in this film, and although it never fully jumps the hurdles of rock ‘n' roll biopic cliché, the Man In Black’s enduring everyman appeal on record positively crackles on screen.
Stephen Collings
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