I’m sitting down in front of the fingertip alphabet immediately after watching Walk The Line, the chronicle of Johnny Cash’s life, so forgive me for feeling the way I feel – the words will be tainted by heartbleed, and come out all dramatic and sentimental and wrong and weird and wired. But I am a sensitive man; I can not help it, it just burns, burns, burns.
I love the movie. Everything about it. First second to last. One guitar string after the other. Screw plot and cinematography and manuscripts and I don’t care whatnotandhow – when the acting is what it truly can be and the legend even more, it comes alive… on the screen and inside the viewer, this viewer.
Joaquin Phoenix was robbed at Oscar night; take a hike, Capote. To step into those dark and damp shoes of Cash and fill ’em up like that, own singing included, is the cocky guts I dream about. Praise the lord justice was served in form of the golden statuette for Reese Witherspoon as June Carter. I fell in love with her the moment her perfect reflection hit my retinas. Did you see her whipping those country legs? And where the hell did those bite marks on my knuckles come from?
I am gasping from joy of bubbling life, but at the same time struck by melancholy and the infinite sadness. I can only guess how hard it is to beat your personal demons, and rise while everyone around you is dragging you down. Yeah, wait… I am lying… I can do a whole lot more than ‘guess’…
But if I may push my own demons aside for a minute, then let me tell you this. Walk The Line is essentially a love story surrounded by the greatest country music ever made and sung. Watching Johnny and June sing together are moments in time when you realize what beauty means, what contrast means, what harmony means, what heart and family means, what love is all about. And that is what it is all about, always. Just watching it makes a difference – so, watch it!
It’s getting late. I’m going to bed. In my own ring of fire.