Showman Jerry Travers is working for producer Horace Hardwick in London. Jerry demonstrates his new dance steps late one night in Horace's hotel room, much to the annoyance of sleeping Dale Tremont below. She goes upstairs to complain and the two are immediately attracted to each other. Complications arise when Dale mistakes Jerry for Horace.

Around [Felicity Huffman's] bold performance shelter cardboard cut-outs.

No musical in the past 10 years (with the exception of Chicago) has had the courage of its convictions, and that's the whole problem.

No musical in the past 10 years (with the exception of Chicago) has had the courage of its convictions, and that's the whole problem.

. . .sublime performances lend the film a rare aural self-sufficiency: you could close your eyes and still enjoy it.

In the face of this film something adolescent in me surged to the surface and I mean that as a great compliment: adolescence is a state I hold in high regard.

The audience gasps in that odd mixture of surprise and recognition that great story-telling affords.

Walk the Line -- although conspicuously well acted -- is really no different from previous efforts, and that's a good thing. It shares the charm of the (musical biopic) genre.

Herzog has his documentary in hand, explaining that what we have here "iz on astone-ishing story of beauty and depth". He's not wrong.

Some of my favorite films, like The Philadelphia Story, are incredibly artificial constructions. They creak, like plays when you see them filmed. I don’t know why but I’ve always preferred that kind of thing: extreme artificiality on film.