When Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny Cash in Walk the Line fingers the teeth of that table saw at the start of the movie, the convicts' feet thumping like the T. rex in Jurassic Park — both making the water's surface jump — I was immediately relieved: I knew I wasn't going to have to slog dutifully through every inspiring step in a calcified Great One's life and career, milestones bright and obvious, ticked off in obligation to its subject.
That is the grave danger of the biopic, and I won't dwell on comparisons - I will only mention in passing that Ray is mostly compelling for Jamie Foxx's performance, rather than the movie's structure and rhythms; while Great Balls of Fire, Jim McBride's 1989 take on Jerry Lee Lewis, wisely chooses to spin out like the Killer himself, glorious and goofy; its rhythm is "the beat, the beat, the beat." Walk the Line follows McBride's lead, except it respects its subject more, while not sanctifying it. Phoenix's Cash is introspective and haunted, which can be a trap as well, the Deep Pop Star approach that's more than a little embarrassing.
Mangold and company, however, manage to avoid the extremes of both Saint John and the devilish Man in Black. Instead, we are given a fundamental problem — how does one recover from a deep and early loss? — and, in Joaquin Phoenix's performance, asked to watch that recovery stumble up the hill.
The saw-blade that killed Cash's brother resonates like those stomping feet, and Phoenix carries the sound in his eyes; we can also see it in the trademark scar — the Internet tells me he was born with it, another metaphor — that forces even his sunniest or saddest moods into a bit of a sneer, and best of all we hear it in his voice. Phoenix (and co-star Witherspoon) give the movie a great gift by doing their own singing; and not merely to display their abilities as mimics, but to capture the emotional depth of the need for restoration.
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