I Walked The Line
There was no reason for yesterday not being a chick-flick day, having had lunch with my friend Patty, and having two of Jennifer Aniston's, one of Gwyneth's and some other vampire that wasn't Kate Beckinsale, to pick from the movies showing at the Promenade. Thankfully, Pats already saw the Jennifer movie I wasn't inclined to watch, for rumor has it that it sucks (Go Team Jolie!). And then there was "Walk The Line".
I have always had this one true attraction for the dark, brooding type. The dirt and self-destruction is goth, divaesque, so promising of scandal and too poetic to resist. It's a given that Joaquin Phoenix, not Johnny Cash, was my reason for including "Walk ..." in my list of To Watch, and I did not come out disappointed with both.
Instead, I emerged making a mad dash for the little girls' room because the freezing cold inside the Cinema 5 gave me a lot to hold in that I kept because I did not want to miss out on the subtle nuances on Joaquin's face, who was so brilliantly, believably Johnny. The ache and want of loss and rejection was only all too clear in that boozed-out, speed-crashing, numbed-out daze, staring out of those high and heavy-laden eyes. Oh my God, I'm smitten and hopelessly in love, as usual.
Reese Witherspoon's June is part of this really good movie in a big, big way. And the songs of Johnny are the type so plainly spoken but deeply heartfelt, that must have struck a memorable chord with his fans even today. No wonder he was so famous. As for technical stuff, well, I'm not that kind of a viewer, I don't really notice those things in a movie. Just go to Rotten Tomatoes for more of the beef, or simply take my word for it, watch, and get your faith back in the power of love.
Filed Under: Movies
I have always had this one true attraction for the dark, brooding type. The dirt and self-destruction is goth, divaesque, so promising of scandal and too poetic to resist. It's a given that Joaquin Phoenix, not Johnny Cash, was my reason for including "Walk ..." in my list of To Watch, and I did not come out disappointed with both.
Instead, I emerged making a mad dash for the little girls' room because the freezing cold inside the Cinema 5 gave me a lot to hold in that I kept because I did not want to miss out on the subtle nuances on Joaquin's face, who was so brilliantly, believably Johnny. The ache and want of loss and rejection was only all too clear in that boozed-out, speed-crashing, numbed-out daze, staring out of those high and heavy-laden eyes. Oh my God, I'm smitten and hopelessly in love, as usual.
Reese Witherspoon's June is part of this really good movie in a big, big way. And the songs of Johnny are the type so plainly spoken but deeply heartfelt, that must have struck a memorable chord with his fans even today. No wonder he was so famous. As for technical stuff, well, I'm not that kind of a viewer, I don't really notice those things in a movie. Just go to Rotten Tomatoes for more of the beef, or simply take my word for it, watch, and get your faith back in the power of love.
Filed Under: Movies
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