Google
 

WALK THE LINE / James Mangold (2005)

November 13th, 2005 by Scott Marks

Joaquin Phoenix & Reese Witherspoon in WALK THE LINE (2005)

Walk the Line (2005)

Directed by: James Mangold

Written by: Gill Dennis & James Mangold

Cast: Joaquin Phoenix, Reese Witherspoon, Ginnifer Goodwin, Robert Patrick, Dallas Roberts, Dan John Miller, Larry Bagby, Shelby Lynne, Tyler Hilton, Waylon Payne, Shooter Jennings, Sandra Ellis Lafferty, Dan Beene, Clay Steakley, Johnathan Rice

Aspect Ratio: 2.35 : 1

Running Time: 133 min.

Genres: Biography, Drama, Music, Romance

Country and Western singers rank close behind mimes and bagpipe players in my Pantheon of least loved entertainers.

Only two C&W players have a permanent home in my CD collection: Patsy Kline and Johnny Cash (although after seeing Mindy McCreedy’s Creedmoor-worthy performance on Larry King Live, I may have to check out her kitty-in-a-Cuisinart vocal stylings.)

A DVD copy of Walk the Line will never sully my shelf.

Consider ten-bucks and 133 minutes of you life spared. Here is everything you need to know about Walk the Line in two sentences: 1) It stinks. 2) Johnny Cash was a singer/songwriter, hooked on speed, who loved a disapproving June Carter. Wow! How’s that for a flash? What next? Air travel? Color TV? A better title would have been Johnny Cash: The Public Service Announcement, for all this film does is reduce the life of a great singer to yet another plea to “just say no.”

The Johnny Cash depicted on screen is so dull and superficial you’ll question whether or not he knows which end of the guitar to blow into. Not for one second did I believe Joaquin Phoenix in the lead role. He doesn’t look the part and at times he sounds more like a mumbling Mr. Ed than The Man in Black.

Bypassing the Jamie Foxx imitation-is-the-sincerest-form-of-failure route, Phoenix pitched his performance somewhere between his persona and that of the legend’s. If Beyond the Sea managed to transform Kevin Spacey into Bobby Darin, this should have been a cake-walk. Instead, Joaquin sings, Joaquin broods, and Joaquin self-medicates. The film managed to bring one smile. As an inducement for Johnny to try speed for the first time, one of the roadies confides, “Elvis takes ‘em.”

Mangold and Dennis’ ham-fisted direction and screenplay ensure that nothing, and I mean nothing, mentioned in Act 1 won’t come clumsily back into play during the final two-thirds. A lingering shot of a shoe shine boy plants the seed for a future song. The table saw Johnny contemplates while awaiting his performance at Folsom Prison anticipates his older brother’s death. June gets laryngitis in reel two, Johnny in reel five. Even a Foghorn Leghorn impression attempts to evoke cheap resonance. Layering is one thing, but after the fourth or fifth coat of epoxy, the fumes felled me.

The supporting cast fares slightly better. Robert Patrick is the disapproving father Cash spent a lifetime silently doing battle with. As hard as he tries, once the father’s single-minded “they took the wrong son” stance is established, there is little for Patrick to do but play by the numbers. Reese Witherspoon’s hillbilly cheer can only go so far in a film that does its best to ignore anything even remotely upbeat.

Instead of wading through this mess may I suggest No Direction Home, Martin Scorsese’s recent American Masters documentary about Bob Dylan’s early years? Twice the length, none of the bulls*it.

Rating: ☆☆☆☆☆

Tags: , , , , ,

Filed Under Reviews, Theatrical