Last night we watched the movie “Walk the Line.” It was about Johnny Cash and it was pretty bad -- one big show biz biopic cliché after another. Most of it was “Behind the Music” on VH1 without the redemptive self-parody. Bland, bland, bland. Mr. Cash’s estate must have had creative control with an eye toward marketing products like Folsom Prison Blue Jeans and Orange Blossom Special Air Freshener.
Joaquin Phoenix does a good enough job. But a lot of that seems to be the result of his spending weeks in the bathroom, drunk out of his mind, making slack-jawed scowls at himself in the mirror, repeating out loud, over and over again, “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash.”
Don’t get me started on Reese Witherspoon. Who knew June Carter was a reticent ditz in need of a chaperone? In all fairness to Ms. Witherspoon, I can’t blame her for fouling up the sex scene. Johnny Cash must have been hung like a bear.
Anyway, I hate to be a poop head, so let me say something nice. Some of the movie was okay. For example, I liked the “Man in Black” sequence. That was where they were driving in a car and it turns into a high tech rocket car and they play Elvis Presley while driving all over the ceiling of the Holland tunnel. “Elvis is not dead. He just went home.” Ha! That was great.