Within the past year or so, Ray Charles got a biopic (“Ray”). So did Cole Porter (“De-Lovely”). And so did Bobby Darin (“Beyond the Sea”).
It’s a great time to be a dead American musical icon!
The trend continues this month with “Walk the Line,” the long-time-coming biography of one of country music’s legends, Johnny Cash. And as far as I’m concerned, it may be the best of the lot.
Critics are already comparing “Walk the Line” to “Ray,” and it’s little wonder. Both movies tell the story of poor young men who struggled out of poverty in the rural South, blamed themselves for the accidental death of a brother, wrestled with drug abuse and infidelity and finally found redemption and worldwide success. One was black; the other wore black.
Joaquin Phoenix stars as Cash, who grew up picking cotton on an Arkansas farm and picking out songs on his guitar to the accompaniment of the radio. After a stint in the Air Force, he moved to Memphis, where he studied to become a radio announcer. Playing at night in a pick-up band, he worked up the courage to take his songs to the fledgling Sun Studio, the same recording studio that would, in the space of a few months, also launch the careers of Carl Perkins, Roy Orbison, Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley. Like his labelmates, Cash found quick success with his fusion of country, gospel and rock ‘n’ roll, and he dropped his broadcast ambitions for the heady life of live performance.
Although he married in 1954, Cash’s increasing dependence on pills and constant touring was pushing his marriage to the breaking point. Then on one tour he met June Carter (Reese Witherspoon), a member of the legendary Carter Family, the “first family of country music.” She was also married, but sparks flew nonetheless between the guitar-slinging “outlaw” and the angel-voiced gospel singer. It’s their rocky courtship and collaboration around which everything else in the movie revolves.
Like “Ray,” “Walk the Line” follows its subject through his roughest days – his drug addictions, his arrests, his divorce and his fight for legitimacy in the country-music industry. Rocked by tragedies all around him, Cash hits bottom. But Carter is there to help him find his way again. Awed by her love for him and determined to respond in kind, Cash finds his feet again.
When the movie reaches its end and Cash stands to perform his legendary concert for the inmates at Folsom Prison, he could just as easily have been wearing prison blues had he not turned his life around. The sobering realization isn’t lost on Cash, either. When the Folsom warden cautions him about singing any songs “that would remind [the inmates] they’re in prison,” Cash deadpans, “What, you think they forgot?”
Biographical movies are only as good as the actor playing the film’s subject. But I suppose Phoenix and Witherspoon were obligated to excel in “Walk the Line;” they were personally tapped by their real-life counterparts for the role. Both traveled to Tennessee to meet with the family, and they each sing their own songs (Witherspoon also learned to play the Autoharp) for the movie.
Although no one will ever quite match Cash’s gravelly, bottom-of-the-coal-mine delivery, Phoenix does a tremendous job. His low, dark brow is put to its best use since “Gladiator” and gives him a brooding, serious visage even when he’s pounding the boards in a blistering stage performance. Witherspoon, by the same token, could be said to all but disappear into Carter’s life. Is this really the same bubblehead who starred in “Sweet Home Alabama” and “Legally Blonde”? It could be her best performance since her turn in the quirky “Election.”
The relationship between Johnny and June Carter Cash is the heart of “Walk the Line” – the kind of relationship that was largely overlooked in “Ray.” That story, though dramatic and inspiring, never attempted to be anything more than it was: a retelling of the singer’s formative years. “Walk the Line” may appear to be just another biopic, but at heart it’s a romance. Between the bad-boy swagger and good-girl sweetness (with a great deal of sass) this could be a great date movie.
Cash’s story spans the South, so it’s appropriate to eat accordingly. Of course, St. Louis is a tad north. Up here, it’s called “soul food” but south of Cape Girardeau, it’s just called “supper.” That’s the mindset at the Del-Monico Diner, at the northern fringe of the Central West End. Although the diner’s founder, Eva Bobo, recently passed away, her dedication to deeply satisfying down-home food remains. This is Southern cooking at its comforting best: greens and cornbread, fried chicken and peach cobbler, and yes, make no mistake, macaroni and cheese is on the vegetable list. Step in and walk the (buffet) line, and get your fill of what chef Ray Jones calls food that’s “good for the soul.”
This article appears in Nov 1-30, 2005.