Standing inside the ring of fire

Walk the Line (2005)
Fox 2000 Pictures presents a James Mangold film, starring Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon. Written by Mangold and Gill Dennis, from an autobiography by Johnny Cash. 136m. PG-13 for some language, thematic material and depiction of drug dependency.

3 stars

As a door-to-door salesman, John R. Cash couldn’t sell worth a lick.

So it’s no surprise that partway through a warbled rendition of the limp spiritual “I Was There When It Happened,” Cash and the Tennessee Two are cut off by legendary record producer Sam Phillips (Dallas Roberts).

The Sun Records magnate tells Cash (Joaquin Phoenix) he sings without conviction, prompting Cash to growl each dark lyric of “Folsom Prison Blues” back at Phillips. This was the day the Man in Black was born.

“Walk the Line” is this year’s “Ray,” a cinematic tribute to a much beloved – but decidedly troubled – music icon who has recently passed. As final send-offs go, this rehash of Cash gets points for its moxy and loses them for occasionally charting a meandering course.

The singer - who transcended folk, county and rock styles to make his own mark in music – is both hero and villain of “Walk the Line.” Although the film is book-ended by his January 1968 performance at the maximum security Folsom Prison, its emotional heart lies in post-Depression Arkansas.

A tragic early childhood event would define the dichotomy of Cash’s world: an unquenchable desire to prove himself obscured by an outward indifference. When brother Jack (Lucas Till) encounters the wrong end of a woodshop’s saw, it’s an alcoholic father who damned his boy to a lifetime of feeling inadequate.

“The Devil did this,” said father Ray (Robert Patrick, in a solid performance). “He took the wrong son.”

And as Cash grows up, we can’t help but wonder if Ray had a little prescient clarity amidst that booze-addled fumbling. Johnny’s singularly minded on the music, which his wife, Vivian (Ginnifer Goodwin), dutifully reminds him isn’t paying the monthly rent.

But even after “Cry, Cry, Cry” is a minor hit, Cash neglects his home duties. Instead, he runs wild on a barnstormer’s tour with Jerry Lee Lewis (Waylon Payne), Elvis Presley (Tyler Hilton) and June Carter (Reese Witherspoon).

By 1956, Cash has scored big with “I Walk the Line” – and a gaggle of adolescent girls. But Johnny’s unquenched desire remains June, who is coping with her first divorce.

Over the next nine years, Johnny will begin a rapid descent into full-time philandering, boozing and pill-popping. Vivian, who remains dutiful even when confronted with evidence about Johnny and June’s tryst, tells her husband, “You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. She’ll find out, John. She’ll find out.”

Despite the way that Cash tears himself apart with his vices, there’s an undeniable chemistry between Phoenix and Witherspoon which helps the audience believe that maybe, just maybe, these two hard-luck lovers were meant for each other. The situation is naturally conflicting for the film’s audience. We can’t conscionably root for someone so spiritually bankrupt, yet we often do without hesitation.

It’s the music that provides hope that Cash will overcome his inner demons and make a proper suitor for June. Phoenix’s surprising baritone not only injects a modicum of authenticity into the film’s concerts, but it often tricks our ears into hearing what we want to hear: the Man in Black’s unique cadence. Phoenix is careful not to overdo the delivery and make the attempt seem like a cheap imitation. But both he and Witherspoon, who sings beautifully in her own right, shower performances with real sparks, adding white-hot tension to songs like Dylan’s “It Isn’t Me Babe” and one of their signature duets, “Jackson.”

Despite including a bevy of Cash’s most revered tunes, the film has little to say about Cash’s impact on the burgeoning rockabilly scene of the 1950s. Instead, it’s singularly focused on the love affair between Johnny and June.

In adapting Cash’s autobiography for the screen, director James Mangold doesn’t shy away from the singer’s habitual drug use. The amphetamines, an integral part of Johnny’s life, are an almost permanent roadblock to his relationship with June. The film ends on an upswing, with Johnny proposing marriage onstage after maintaining complete, albeit brief, sobriety. It’s a scene made literally for the movies, serving conveniently as a poignant coda. Johnny Cash would continue to record and live for another 35 years, but why let that fact overshadow a good love story?

Zorro is a dull blade amongst heroes

The Legend of Zorro (2005)
Sony Pictures presents a Martin Campbell film, starring Antonio Banderas and Catherine Zeta-Jones. Written Roberto Orci, Alex Kurtzman, Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio. 129m. PG for sequences of violence/peril and action, language and a couple of suggestive moments.

1.5 stars

Those who own Zorro could do no greater disservice to their titular character than to try and resuscitate him these days.

The modern mindset can barely comprehend the swashbuckling hero of the former Spanish California. Lost in translation – or in our cynicism – is the glorious opportunity for escapism in the character’s fight against injustice.

You’ll be lost trying to apply 21st century logic to this fantasy world. A brief example: Zorro (Antonio Banderas) has approximately six sword fights with insurgents, who choose the blade over the revolver saddled to their hips. It’s maddening. Has anyone won a fairly contested sword fight with Zorro in 80 years?

That’s saying nothing of the plot, which would be a grievous insult if the writers were asking the audience to take the film seriously. After successfully protecting the right of Californians to join their Union comrades in seeking statehood, Zorro follows the trail of Armand (Rufus Sewell), a wealthy Aristocrat and vineyard owner. While both men swear similar allegiances publicly, Zorro remains suspicious that Armand’s individual interests will trump his desire to see California united with the northern force.

Don Alejandro’s marauding as Zorro has created tension within the de la Vega household, as former wife-in-arms, Elena (Catherine Zeta-Jones), pushes for the pair to settle down with their precocious son, Joaquin (Adrian Alonso). But soon it’s Elena who is recruited for espionage, working in tandem with Alejandro to infiltrate Armand’s winery.

Of course Zorro’s hunches are right; Armand has far more nefarious plans that doubling the markup on his Bordeaux. Why he would go to the trouble of creating a fully operational winery, which must have cost thousands in start up expenses, is a plot hole never addressed amongst the swordplay and land grabbing.

The intent of “Legend” was to complement the cheeky banter between feisty lovers with generous helpings of action. But it’s the couple’s mischievous son who steals scenes instead, exhibiting a level of naïve recklessness that young children will identify with. However, you may find yourself poking the little ones awake as the film creeps past the two-hour mark.

It’s one of the flaws embedded in the setup. The film soft-pedals its violence for a family-friendly PG rating but becomes so detail orientated in its plot that the fight against injustice will largely be lost on its intended audience.

Zorro is one of the most fair-minded protagonists. He does not recklessly kill or intentionally maim. But as far as this year’s superheroes, he’s not nearly as conflicted as Bruce Wayne, unique as the Fantastic Four, or powerful as Anakin Skywalker. His world lacks the panache of “Sin City” or the unique vision of “Robots.” We’re asked to root for him, but I never felt any great stakes were involved.

That’s probably because our gullibility is constantly being tested. For example, is the flight of a horse off a cliff onto a speeding rail car amazing or amazingly stupid? Is a fistfight in a room full of nitroglycerin thrilling or poor planning? Your answers to these questions could determine how much entertainment can be gleaned from “The Legend of Zorro.”

Perhaps it’s time to retire or reinvent our masked crusader. Movie theaters are inundated with superheroes these days; the action is bigger, brighter and far bolder. Over the years, many long-running franchises – Spider-Man, Superman and Batman, to name three – have been re-imagined in a carefully constructed manner. The fresh perspectives of the post-Baby Boomer generation have added dimension to once static characterizations, allowing studios to produce enjoyable films with these superheroes. Zorro, in his simple mask, black cape and sombrero, has been a beacon of hope for disenfranchised Californians for parts of nine decades. Now I think it’s time for a new calling.