THE STORY – The rise of country music legend Johnny Cash begins with his days as a boy growing up on the family farm, where he struggles under the scorn of his father. As the years pass, Cash ends up in Memphis, Tenn., with his wife, Vivian, and breaks into the music scene after finding his trademark sound. While on tour, Cash meets the love of his life, singer June Carter, but Cash’s volatile lifestyle threatens to keep them apart.
THE CAST – Joaquin Phoenix, Reese Witherspoon, Ginnifer Goodwin & Robert Patrick
THE TEAM – James Mangold (Director/Writer) & Gill Dennis (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 136 Minutes
ames Mangold has a crossover gift in store for audiences when his latest film, “A Complete Unknown,” arrives in theaters on Christmas Day. Mangold’s music biopic follows the meteoric rise of enigmatic folk singer Bob Dylan (Timothée Chalamet), whose switch from acoustic to electric shook the ground on which his fans comfortably stood. As depicted in the film, one of the few people who supported Dylan’s creative decision in its messy aftermath was singer-songwriter Johnny Cash (Boyd Holbrook). Before meeting at the 1964 Newport Folk Festival in Rhode Island, the two had been writing to each other in admiration.
Of course, Cash’s presence in “A Complete Unknown” will recall Mangold’s first music biopic, 2005’s “Walk the Line,” in which Joaquin Phoenix played the country legend and received a Best Actor Oscar nomination. The subject of Cash is not the only common ground between the two films. While one narrative finds shape around childhood trauma and the other around an enigma, both follow a standard formula. Mangold plays the safe notes, despite hypnotic performances, and is willing to break the rules. The director’s vision shines with immersive musical sequences that pull you up close and make you forget you’re watching a film, but his signature voice doesn’t carry far off-stage. “Walk the Line” is a prime example. It’s a middling precedent, an acknowledgment of deeds and dues that feels incomplete as it treads lightly around the man behind the music. More than anything, it invites an urge to revisit Cash’s records for a deeper signature voice or 2007’s “Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story” for a chuckle.
Based on two autobiographies by Johnny Cash, 1975’s “Man in Black: His Own Story in His Own Words” and 1997’s “Cash: The Autobiography,” “Walk the Line” covers quite a few chapters in the singer’s life. The screenplay, co-written by Mangold and Gill Dennis, walks a straightforward line from humble beginnings to fame, romance, addiction, and redemption. The film begins in Represa, California, in 1968, just before Johnny Cash (Phoenix) performs for the inmates at Folsom Prison. The opening scene drums anticipation for a history-making performance. It’s also a neat bookend; Mangold returns to this scene for the film’s final act, echoing a resonant thematic core: “The kind of song that saves people is the kind you believe in.” When the music feels real to the performer, its reach knows no bounds. Cash’s conviction and newfound purpose bring him to that first moment we see in the film. It hints at his impact on those who listened to his music and felt heard, but as a whole, “Walk the Line” falls short of capturing the singer’s unique influence.
The opening scene sets the stage for a formulaic show. Calling Mr. Cash brings us to Dyess, Arkansas, in 1944, revealing a painful and haunting childhood. As a young boy called J.R. (Ridge Canipe) then, he mourns the death of his older brother Jack (Lucas Till) and faces cruel rejection from his father Ray (Robert Patrick). Hymns sung by his mother, Carrie (Shelby Lynne), relieve strained family dynamics and help shape the musical path on which J.R. embarks as he grows up to become the Johnny Cash we know. This chapter of the film lays the foundation that songs were always easy for him to grasp. Johnny’s belief in music saved him, and there was never an explanation. The music spoke for itself.
The film swiftly transitions to the mid-1950s when Johnny, newly married to Vivian (Ginnifer Goodwin), struggles to make a living as a salesman. His musical notes are still kicking around inside, eventually bringing him to Sun Records in Memphis, where he gives the audition that would change his life forever. You’ve seen the moment play out in plenty of music biopics: a singer’s under-the-radar talent gets discovered in real-time as a stunned record store owner or producer bears witness. “Walk the Line” visualizes this moment with an incredibly confident insightfulness, leaving you thinking about the depths Cash pulled from to perform something so visceral. As the formula goes, this talent discovery scene puts the wheels in motion for fame and fortune.
The central focus of “Walk the Line” follows Cash’s rise to royalty through his enduring relationship with June Carter (Reese Witherspoon), a beloved country singer he listened to while growing up. The two characters have an unspoken connection when they see each other for the first time, like two magnets drawn to each other. The film depicts the build-up of June and Johnny’s relationship often in fleeting moments: a shared look on stage, a brief conversation at a diner, and a near-kiss in the doorframe of a motel room, to name a few. At best, the pacing is incredibly deliberate in showing how Johnny and June go from touring and performing to loving, which adds layers to their stage duets (“Time’s a Wastin'” especially).
At worst, June’s character feels underwritten in their journey. The film hints at certain internal conflicts, mainly that she wrestles with her inner voice and faces a world of judgment following her divorce. She also puts on a comedic show to make up for being perceived as the “less talented” sister in a family full of country stars; humor is “something to offer.” However, her character development gets glossed over as the film prioritizes Cash’s peaks and downfalls happening around her. When he stumbles, she picks up the pieces, and so forth, without much insight revealed behind her thoughtfulness in the matter. The incomplete characterization makes for an underwhelming, manipulative final act when Johnny proposes to her on stage; one can pick up on the defiance that drives him, but June is more of a mystery. Additionally, while rightfully not painting Cash as a saint nor shying from his moral faults, the film oversimplifies him to the point where his path and iconography become less unique.
However, where the screenplay is lacking, the performances make up for it. Witherspoon, who won the Best Actress Oscar for her work, embodies the energy of June. She brings an unstoppable charisma to the role, balancing quick-fire wit and spunk with powerful moments of pensive reflection. The vibrations in her voice stand out far beyond the end credits. From the emotional history of “Time’s a Wastin” and the sensual duet of “Jackson” to the solo expression of “Wildwood Flower,” Witherspoon conveys astounding range in her vocals and stage presence. Her chemistry with Joaquin Phoenix is so transporting that the world around them melts away. Every scene between them sings to a much higher tune than the surrounding subplots. Phoenix also embodies his character’s essence rather than aiming for mimicry, which puts his performance in tremendous harmony with Witherspoon’s. Phoenix commits to Cash with brooding intensity and a deep voice to match. Between his impressive vocals, commanding style, and emotional depth, he gives weight to how Cash was known for being “steady like a train” and “sharp like a razor.”
Mangold goes sharp and steady for the musical sequences, too. From the soul-baring Memphis audition and passionate “Jackson” duet to the rock n’ roll prison headliner “Cocaine Blues,” each of these recreations speaks to the film’s stellar technical achievements, such as the editing and sound mixing. Plus, the sequences are plentiful. This focus lets Phoenix and Witherspoon immerse themselves, not just when it comes to narrative journeys but also the artistry of their crafts, from playing the guitar to the autoharp. Their combined commitment elevates the musical sequences and helps to create an immersive atmosphere, letting the vocals shine.
“Walk the Line” falls into the trappings of a standard music biopic. It has, on some level, contributed to the wary expectations many people have about the sub-genre. Even with his latest film, Mangold hasn’t reinvented the formula. But he excels at crafting a reimagining that captures the essence of singers; we get intimate, consistently well-defined musical sequences that explore how they communicated through stage presence and held their audiences’ attention. “Walk the Line” may not be reinventing the wheel, but the film holds up incredibly well in the unique talents of remarkable performers who maintain Mangold’s vision.
