Are films about artists all alike because there’s some sort of filmmakers’ formula? Or they all alike because they’re all about artists?
Yes, the film was predictable. In fact, apart from different styles of cattin’ around and the presence of a father in one case Walk the Line is damned near indistiguishable from Ray.
Early loss of a loved one? Check. Rubbing shoulders with the look-at-’em-now crowd? Check. Descent into a haze of drugs and alcohol? Check. Final redemption and ascent to artistic godhood? Check.
I loved it. A friend once proclaimed he’d buy a box set of Eddie Vedder on the loo provided Ed talked during the deed. I’d watch a film of a Tennessee snowstorm if Johnny Cash sang during it.
And I won’t take back all the bad things I said about the two pansies playing giants but I will give Reese Witherspoon mad props for her performance. I’ll even refrain from complaining about the way her chin stole every scene and distracted from the film. And Joaquin? He ain’t a bad singer.
But Johnny was better.