Johnny Cash's death in 2003 – just months after his wife June Carter Cash – marked the end of an extraordinary life; one that spanned poverty stricken beginnings in the cotton fields of the Deep South to a pivotal role in the birth of Rock n' Roll. A contemporary of Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly and Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash would grow to be one of the most powerful, authoritative and recognisable voices in popular music and influenced generations to come as an outlaw icon of dark country blues. His renaissance as a recording artist in the 90's with producer Rick Rubin resulted in some of his most spare, powerful and emotionally resonant work, a full four decades after his debut.

James Mangold's sturdy drama chooses to concentrate on the key early periods in Johnny Cash's career, from his Army days up until the notorious Folsom Prison performances which cemented The Man in Black's outlaw status and rescued his career. It is as at the prison that lent its name to one of his most nihilistic hits, that we first meet Cash, preparing to take the stage as his bands' trademark rhythm – "steady as a train, sharp as a razor" – reverberates around the prison walls. Mangold then takes us back to Cash's humble beginnings, a childhood marked by the tragedy of losing his brother (an increasingly familiar trope of the biopic), that ensured Cash always felt a morbid fascination with death, with his father's claim that "God took the wrong son" adding further layers of self loathing to Cash's guilty burden.

Cash's early days on the road with Sun Studio's troupe of rock n roll pioneers is unglamorously recreated: an endless highway tour-bus purgatory which drove an insurmountable wedge between Cash and his first wife. Fuelled by the primitive belief that playing rock 'n' roll was a sure-fire ticket to Hell, it is on the road that Cash is introduced to amphetamines, described by Jerry Lee Lewis as "making you wanna drive all the way to Jacksonville and have some fun when you get there." Years of relentless touring sees Cash slip into an addiction he barely resists, as if he deserved to be damned. However, it is on the road that he also meets his redemption, in the form of June Carter, and it is their relationship that is at the heart of this handsome film.

A well respected country star in her own right, the already married June resists Cash's advances over the years, despite their obvious attraction. In this pivotal role, Reese Witherspoon excels, creating a memorable and nuanced performance that extinguishes memories of the countless uninspired rom-coms that clutter up her CV. The chemistry between her and Joaquin Phoenix as Cash is tangible throughout, and the pair thoroughly deserve the Golden Globes they received for their performances. Phoenix has never been better, delivering an excellent approximation of the iconic Cash. Despite his comparatively slight frame and smooth un- weathered complexion (the real Cash's face could have been hewn from Mount Rushmore), the young actor manages to get the gait, stature and unusual combination of ferociousness and vulnerability of this huge and haunted persona just right. Both actors perform all the musical numbers themselves, with Phoenix 's vocal delivery especially impressive, perfecting the growling bass rumble 'voice of death' that gave Cash's recordings such graveyard gravitas.

Any biopic must decide how to compress a life as grand as this into a feature length film. Mangold does well with characters subtly drawn and the passing of time signalled with impressive production design and wardrobe choices. However, for all that Walk The Line crams into its 136 minutes, for emotional intensity and heart rending pathos, it cannot beat what Mark Romanek achieved in four minutes with his 2003 promo for Cash's version of Hurt. Inter cut with archive footage of Cash throughout the years, we see the great man, ill and months from death, with June at his side. The effect is devastating and painfully real, more so than a Hollywood biopic could ever be.