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Walk The Line
Cast
John R. Cash: Joaquin Phoenix
June Carter: Reese Witherspoon
Vivian Cash: Ginnifer Goodwin
Ray Cash: Robert Patrick
Sam Phillips: Dallas Roberts
Luther Perkins: DAn John Miller
Marshall Grant: Larry Bagby
Carrie Cash: Shelby Lynne
Elvis Presley: Tyler Hilton
Jerry Lee Lewis:Waylon Malloy Payne
Waylon Jennings:Shooter Jennings
Directed by James Mangold
Written by Gill Dennis and James Mangold
Based on Man in Black and Cash The Autobiography by Johnny Cash
Running time: 135 minutes
"Hello, I'm Johnny Cash." With a distinguished baritone voice and a constant rockabilly rhythm, Johnny Cash reshaped
the country music landscape with confidence. Widely recognised as The Man in Black, Cash became a legend, a rebel rocker with
a conscience whose songs reached out to the impoverished, the blue collar, and the downtrodden. Based on 'Man in Black' and
'Cash: The Autobiography', "Walk the Line" chronicles Cash's early struggles, from his childhood days in Kingsland,
Arkansas to his first big break at Sun Records to the gradual rise to fame and fortune on the country music scene, culminating
in the famous concert at Folsom Prison. But even more so, the film depicts a great love story - the kindred spirit and long
lasting romantic affair between Johnny and June Carter Cash. Filled with great music, "Walk the Line" pulsates with
the early songs that gave Johnny his start to the songs that defined his success: "Folsom Prison Blues," "Ring
of Fire," and the film's title track. Starring Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon, "Walk the Line" is stirring,
straightforward and superb.
The sound of a buzz saw from within Folsom Prison spurns a flashback. Born and raised in a small Arkansas town, Johnny
Cash grew up working in the cotton fields alongside his parents, Ray and Carrie, and his brother, Jack. He grew close to his
brother, occasionally going fishing with him and listening to the country and gospel tunes he heard on the local radio. But
in 1944, a tragic accident would forever change young Cash. While Johnny was fishing, his brother Jack was pulled into a whirling
table saw and sadly passed away. Making matters worse, his already strained relationship with his father was made more severe
as Ray blamed Johnny for Jack's death. For that, Johnny was burdened with a tremendous amount of guilt for the rest of his
life.
Eventually, he grew up and enlisted in the Air Force, where he aspired to be a musician and came to write his first song.
Then, following his tour of duty, Johnny found a wife in Vivian Liberto, settled down, and worked as an appliance salesman
in Memphis. It was a respectable but middle class conventional life, and far short of his dream of becoming a recording artist.
While in Memphis, he stumbled upon Luther Perkins and Marshall Grant, who later became known as the Tennessee Two. Together,
this trio honed their talent and won over legendary producer Sam Phillips at his Sun Records label. They recorded a few hit
songs such as "Hey Porter" and "Cry, Cry, Cry" and soon thereafter joined a tour with a young Jerry Lee
Lewis, Elvis Presley, and the lovely singer/comedienne June Carter, of whom Johnny felt an immediate attraction.
But as Johnny became more popular, so too did his problems. Constantly touring, he became distant from his wife and children,
he began drinking heavily and became addicted to painkillers, and on numerous occasions, found himself in trouble with the
law. No matter what Johnny did, he could not impress his father. Nor could he escape the ghost of his brother. When things
seemingly hit rock bottom, it was June and her family who intervened, giving Johnny the love and support that he sorely missed
growing up. With a second lease on life, Johnny Cash made the most of it, determined to walk that line.
Directed by James Mangold, "Walk the Line" is most noticeably a tender love story with lots of great music.
But underneath the warm and pleasant exterior, there lies a harder edge as the film deals head on with Cash's personal afflictions
involving childhood trauma, drugs and alcohol, and pressures to perform. Such characteristics are quite familiar to Mangold,
a director who first earned acclaim in 1995 for "Heavy," a Sundance award winner about an overweight pizza chef
trying to find romance in light of his negative self-image. It was also Mangold who was responsible for "Cop Land,"
starring Sylvester Stallone, about a half-deaf sheriff trying to maintain a guilt free conscience while fighting police corruption,
and Susanna Kaysen's "Girl, Interrupted," about a woman trying to overcome internal demons while at a mental hospital.
And it is this kind of insight, that depiction of personal affliction that Mangold brings to the table, effortlessly evoking
moments of awkward strife, emptiness and sorrow, guilt and yearning, and that devilish abandon that comes from drug dependency.
In "Walk the Line," both Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon take monumental gambles, juggling between acting,
singing, and musicianship. A very difficult task made more so by the fact that both were hand picked by Johnny and June Carter
Cash themselves - an honour and a heavy obligation rolled into one. The two spent nearly six months in vocal training with
music producer T-Bone Burnett, and during that time, Phoenix learned to play the guitar and Witherspoon the auto-harp. Both
actors actually sang and played each and every song on the soundtrack - and while the sound isn't exactly a perfect match
with their counterparts, the illusion and authenticity works to perfection. There is an indescribable feeling that overwhelms
you when the two share the same stage - an original moment. Just watch the rip roaring "It Ain't Me Babe" or the
romantic cat and mouse game that occurs during "Jackson" and you'll know exactly what I mean. The highlight however
is a stunning, staggeringly brilliant recreation of Cash's seminal Folsom Prison gig - this is music/emotion/cinematic accuracy
blending faultlessly - a total joy.
In the title role, Joaquin Phoenix evokes expressionless anguish. Embittered and wrought with guilt, Cash rarely finds
pleasure or happiness in life, sulking and frowning with his behaviour and appearance full of sorrow, but easily enlivened
by the outgoing and vibrant June Carter, portrayed wholesomely by Reese Witherspoon. Witherspoon is almost angelic, giving
June proper respect and virtue, particularly since the public and private personas were so extreme and misunderstood. From
strong and motherly to smart and charming to enraged and betrayed, Witherspoon shows the full spectrum, properly matching
Phoenix scene for scene in a fine performance.
Although the film follows the same formula for music biopics of the past, i.e. a traumatic childhood, an early breakthrough,
conflicts of fame and fortune, drug addiction, marriage troubles, and life on the road, it succeeds because it never wavers,
remaining focused throughout on the romance between Johnny and June Carter Cash.
From Johnny's childhood days of listening to the Grand Ole Opry on the radio to the early touring days through drug intervention
and failed relationships, that single thread remains the same. In fact, it would remain a common theme beyond the film, for
well over thirty years. Secondly, the importance of the music cannot be ignored. Music is what brought Johnny and June together
and in the film, it acts as an extension of the story rather than the story itself. On stage, the energy and magnetism are
at their strongest, and the sounds and lyrics require no explanation, as it wisely and beautifully contains itself.
Some sixty years after his brother's death and all Johnny Cash could talk about was a reunion with his brother in Heaven.
Sadly, that day came on September 12, 2003, less than four months after his wife's death, when Johnny Cash passed away at
the age of 71 following a massive contemporary resurgence with the critically-acclaimed Rick Rubin-produced albums.
An American icon, Cash personified country music, won numerous Grammy awards, transcended genres, inspired the likes of
Bob Dylan to U2, and demonstrated the necessity of breaking musical boundaries and rules. The film is a fitting tribute to
the man in black, exuding the same rugged simplicity and poetic beauty that filled Cash's own existence. With two magnificent
performances from Phoenix and Witherspoon, "Walk the Line" reverberates thematically with feelings of sorrow and
redemption. In fact, it's the kind of movie that Johnny himself would have been proud of - a film that was "steady like
a train, sharp like a razor."
Shopgirl
Cast & Credits
Ray Porter: Steve Martin
Mirabelle: Claire Danes
Jeremy: Jason Schwartzman
Lisa: Bridgette Wilson-Sampras
Dan Buttersfield: Sam Bottoms
Catherine Buttersfield: Frances Conroy
Christie Richards: Rebecca Pidgeon
Loki: Samantha Shelton
Directed by Anand Tucker
Written by Steve Martin, based on his novella.
Running time: 116 minutes.
Steve Martin's novella Shopgirl is fictional rather than overtly autobiographical, but it does follow the theme of self-lacerating,
gratingly narcissistic men who chastise themselves, in film or in literature, over their inability to truly reciprocate the
deep, almost obsessive love they inspire in beautiful women. Martin's ubiquity in the film adaptation - he produced, scripted,
co-stars, and narrates the thing - exacerbates the narcissistic element. In a role seemingly similar to his offscreen self,
Martin plays a deeply private man of wealth and taste who enters the lonely existence of Los Angeles Sak's Fifth Avenue department
store shopgirl Claire Danes, sweeps her off her feet, smothers her in expensive presents, and embarks on an intense affair
with her.
Jason Schwartzman lends a peppery kind of charming offbeat charisma and at times ingratiating quirkiness to the role of
Martin's romantic rival and complete opposite, a dizzy aspiring font-creator who spends much of the film on tour with a crap
aor rock band, getting in touch with his feminine side.
Martin establishes early on that he's looking for a no-strings-attached sexual fling rather than a permanent long-term
relationship, but his material generosity and attempted warmth contradict the icy boundaries his words establish. Shopgirl
is concerned with the way power imbalances affect and corrupt romantic relationships, both in terms of economic power (Martin
is rich, Danes is barely scraping by) and emotional power (Danes is more emotionally invested in the relationship, which comes
off here as a form of weakness).
Martin's third-person omniscient narration further emphasises his character's power and Danes' vulnerability. With her
lithe frame and wonderfully expressive face and body language, Danes excels in conveying that sad, slightly desperate vulnerability
non-verbally rather than through her sparse dialogue. Her performance's fragile openness stands in poignant contrast to Martin's
closed-off nature, which gives the film a beguiling, pervasive melancholy. Hilary And Jackie director Anand Tucker establishes
and maintains an appropriately delicate tone, apart from the presence of cartoonish, jarring man-eater Bridgette Wilson, who
seems to have accidentally staggered in from a much cruder comedy. She's a wholly unnecessary gargoyle of a villain, and she
couldn't be more out of place in this strangely resonant wisp of a movie, which at best is, in Martin's elegant words, tender
and true.
A Cock and Bull Story
Director: Michael Winterbottom
Producers: Andrew Eaton, Kate Ogborn, Julia Blackman, Jeff Abberley, David M. Thompson, Tracey Scoffield, Henry Norham
Screenwriter: Martin Hardy
Cast: Steven Coogan, Rob Brydon, Keeley Hawes, Dylan Moran, Jeremy Northam, Naomie Harris, Kelly Macdonald, Ian Hart,
Gillian Anderson, Stephen Fry
Director Michael Winterbottom's latest outing is a shambles of switching between the story, the generations of its subjects
and the travails and triumphs of its film crew. Carrying us through the confusion as narrator is actor Steve Coogan playing
Tristram Shandy, Walter Shandy (Tristram's father), and himself, Steve Coogan. Linear clarity is not the overriding purpose
of this feature - in fact, it's meant to avoid it.
The work on which it's based is "The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman" by Laurence Sterne, an
18th century pastor of Yorkshire. His book was published in 9 volumes from 1759 to 1767 and received a great reception. Screenwriter
Martin Hardy, in creative alliance with Winterbottom, adapted its trailblazing structural techniques, a narrator who frequently
addresses the reader and discusses his choices as well as his narrative excursions.
What's told in such a vivid and apparently extemporaneous disregard for conventions is a costume non-drama of a film intended
to parallel the original, the family story of one of the richest men of his time, his son, wives, servants, and mundane details
of life in a huge mansion of the time. Both the cock and the bull of the title are given their due.
Walter Shandy is a man of many details. As filmgoers we're not made aware of the business acumen that supports the household,
but we do get deeply into concerns about the shape of his nose, the method of delivery of his son (he won't have a local midwife)
and his son's name. In classically comedic fashion, everything he gets involved with seems to go wrong. For example, the name
of "Tristram" for his son is the one he explicitly forbids.
The narrator takes us into Uncle Toby's (Rob Brydon) military experience as Captain Shandy at the Battle of Namur, a subplot
of the film that's sadly underfunded and so poorly produced that it's excised from the final cut. We are treated to the producers'
commiserations over it. When the production team manages to get Gillian Anderson ("The X-Files") to join the cast,
there's an infusion of additional production money but, alas, not enough to quite salvage the battlefield footage.
Note that we're suddenly in a behind-the-scenes documentary about the making of the film and the crew. Which is how the
film itself does it in a sort of tongue-in-cheek inside gag at the unfilmability of the original book - so why bother?!
Steve Coogan keeps a level of steady guidance through the characterisation and the mish-mosh of the alter-reality with
a nifty and natural charm and charisma.
Shirley Henderson as maid Susannah, acquits herself as well and uniquely as the scenario permits. Gillian Anderson, with
an even smaller role, is looking slim and better than ever and Jeremy Northam is good in a barely visible part. Terrific too
to see Kelly Madonald, an actress of natural sexy appeal showing up here as Tristram Shandy's wife. Also worth noting is Naomie
Harris as an overeager production assistant who wants to seduce the star.
What it all amounts to is a vehicle that's as experimental as the book from which it's derived, nicely photographed by
Marcel Zyskind, with a bizarre edge that somehow manages to provide period and modern amusements in a charade of slightly
fascinating wit and tribulation. Finally - do stay back for a brilliant Brydon v Coogan Al Pacino impression battle over the
quirky closing credits.
Memoirs Of A Geisha
Sayuri: Ziyi Zhang
The Chairman: Ken Watanabe
Mameha: Michelle Yeoh
Hatsumomo: Gong Li
Nobu: Koji Yakusho
Pumpkin: Youki Kudoh
Directed by Rob Marshall
Written by Robin Swicord
Based on the book by Arthur Golden
Running time: 137 minutes
Like a maiko, or apprentice geisha, Rob Marshall's feature adaptation of "Memoirs of a Geisha" comes in a pretty
package, but doesn't quite succeed in being as graceful, intelligent or charming as he'd obviously intended it to be.
Part of the problem lies in the source material, Arthur Golden's best-selling novel of the same name, which has a great
amount of astonishing, behind-the-kimonos details, but is a rather melodramatically uninvolving tale. Since Marshall follows
the plot as faithfully as can be expected, it falls into this same trap. Of its many mis-steps, however, the main one is the
all-important love story, which drives the action, but remains cold, distant and unaffecting.
Naturally, the main appeal of the film is the glimpse into an exotic and baffling subculture that hints of drama, pleasure
and secrets. The titular narrator explains, "My world is as forbidden as it is fragile - without its mysteries, it cannot
survive." This also holds true with the film itself, which at times is as flimsy as the rice paper in a shoji screen.
Much has been said about Chinese actresses portraying the main three female characters, who are supposed to be Japanese.
While these are legitimate, socially correct concerns, the film needs all the star power it can get considering the film's
lack of subtlety and the audience's need to see something familiar in such bewildering surroundings. Unfortunately, this also
goes for subtitling, which would do away with the clunky, halting English and allow the actors to concentrate on their performances,
but would frighten off a good chunk of the filmgoing public.
The first act of "Geisha" is strangely tedious considering all the heartwrenching drama that befalls poor Sayuri,
a young fisherman's daughter who is sold to an okiya, or geisha house. Not only is she cut off from her family, but she has
to deal with the spiteful geisha Hatsumomo (Gong Li), painful beatings and other unjust aspects of her virtual slavery.
Things pick up when a benevolent geisha known as Mameha (Michelle Yeoh) decides to mentor the girl, who has now grown
into a young woman (Zhang Ziyi). Lessons involving sitting, flirting, dressing, dancing, etc. are shown in rapid succession
- the geisha equivalent to a training sequence in a sport film. Drama begins in earnest while Sayuri and Mameha try to outmanoeuvre
Hatsumomo in order to get the richest danna (patron), inherit the okiya and sell Sayuri's mizuage (virginity) to the highest
bidder.
Action shifts yet again when reality in the guise of war and ugly Americans invade the vicious fairy tale world. But even
when Sayuri finally triumphs, it feels like a hollow victory because she's been passive throughout the film. The handful of
times she actually shows some gumption - an escape attempt and trying to dissuade a potential danna - she fails miserably.
It's no wonder her love for the cryptic Chairman (Ken Watanabe) is also passive, a classic Cinderella complex that causes
her to pursue geisha status "Until he finds me. Until I am his." There's very little interaction between the two
- sort of an idealised courtly love that is an anaemic thing compared to the equally chaste, but eminently more stirring battle/courtship
in "Pride & Prejudice."
As mentioned before, many of the performances are hampered by the actors struggling to speak English with the proper cadence
or accent. While Zhang is definitely leading lady material, she's had better luck with roles that balance her terminal cuteness
with a bit of edge or strength, as seen in her martial arts-heavy films "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" or "House
of Flying Daggers." Yeoh also does a decent job with the few tepid scenes she's given, but most of the time she's portrayed
as a rather attractive Yoda-like teacher who spouts off glib instructions and fortune cookie phrases.
The most intriguing performance is given by Gong, whose angular beauty and abundance of hair reflects Hatsumomo's turbulent
motivations. She is catty, condescending and conceited, yet always captivating. It's easy to see why she would be a popular
geisha, someone to add spice to a man stuck in a loveless arranged marriage. It would have been nice to focus on her story
since her contrariness is the rebellion that Sayuri lacks.
"Geisha" will have a better time putting in an Oscar bid for its technical aspects. Costuming is comprehensive
and displayed to advantage, and a few scenes, especially nearing the conclusion have an extremely strong visual impact. The
one standout is Sayuri's featured dance - a chaotic, thrashing affair full of swaying limbs, simulated snow, flying fabric
and stunning color contrasts. Other scenes, such as Sayuri on a cliff or covered in sakura (cherry blossoms), are pleasing,
but in a purely conventional way.
Sadly, the most interesting aspect for salacious audiences is treated circumspectly. Even though the film hits you over
the head with the idea that geishas are not prostitutes ("We don't deal in flesh," "We sell our skills, not
our bodies"), no one in the movie questions the obvious contradiction of selling one's virginity. This is undoubtedly
a modern, western judgement on a foreign culture, but isn't that the point of showing this hidden world - broadening thought
and creating dialogue?
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