A good film, emotionally moving and powerful. Joaquin Phoenix did a good, brooding acting job as Cash, and Reese Witherspoon was extraordinary as June Carter: strong, perky, principled, and loving, and a damned fine performer.



The symbolism (falling down, slamming doors) was a thought heavy-handed, but the film was well-made and authentic in feeling if not always in look. With some movies that cover my early days, I feel the almost physical shock of recognition of the world I knew then. I never felt that in this film, but I may be getting jaded.



Johnny Cash comes across as a man of grit, honesty, and persistence, capable of both compassion and great love, but also as a bastard with a mean streak a mile wide. He seems to have come by it naturally. Although Johnny Cash's mother was a hardworking woman with a sweet singing voice, she does not come across as a strong character. Her drunken, judgmental husband never forgave Johnny for surviving when his older, smarter brother died. Later on, she sat silent while her husband gibed at his successful son. Johnny Cash endured a lifetime of rejection and verbal abuse from his father -- and dumped it on anyone who got in his way, including June Carter.



The film left me wondering about the stereotype of the artist as a selfish jerk. How accurate is it, generally? Does it have to be that way? What role does the nastiness and short temper play for the artist? I could see it as a smokescreen generated by a hypersensitive individual to keep people distant or just as a reaction to the intolerable stress of fame. I can also see it as arising from a sense of privilege--acting badly because they deserve better than others, or simply because their fame and money let them get away with it.



I don't fall for the idea that the Arteeeeeste is a higher life form who can be forgiven anything. But I wonder how much art has been lost because the potential artist is too damned nice to create emotional space for the work.