Monday, July 23, 2007

Hairspray


Grade: A-

At long last, a movie musical that actually embraces being a movie musical.

Don’t get me wrong. “Chicago” brilliantly concealed its genre (every time someone started to sing, it was all taking place in Roxie’s head, remember) and “Dreamgirls” was about a singing group after all, but “Hairspray” is the first movie musical since the likes of “Oliver” that has people literally dancing in the streets and singing their hearts out for no other reason than, well, it’ s M-U-S-I-C-A-L.

Infectious. You’ll be constitutionally unable not to laugh, grin, tap your feet and swish your hips. Based on the splashy Broadway musical based on the cult John Water’s movie classic, in 1962 Baltimore fat girls win the hearts of heartthrob twinks, integration succeeds because its time has come, and anyone standing in the way of progress is either fired, squashed or otherwise humiliated. Joyously earnest, heartwarmingly innocent and yet more than a little tongue-in-cheek twisted, Director Adam Shankman takes the uncomplicated and winning path of transferring the stage show to the screen sans medium-altering rethinking, mass plot restructuring, or heavy-handed gimmickry. Opening up its locales without shutting down its heart, this one is a welcome throwback to the old style movie musical when studios wanted people to believe Broadway was being transported right to their local movie theater.

John Travolta. In the original film Divine was a campy freaky goddess as the story’s matriarch, in the original musical Harvey Fierstein brought that singing voice that is like no other - for which we are eternally grateful, love him though we do. Travolta brings a rather odd, Baltimore-by-way-of the midwest accent and a much softer touch to the role of Edna Turnblad, a zaftig wife and mother who has let her poor self-image imprison her while the world outside has passed her by. When she finally frees herself and explodes onto the scene, only Tina Turner can compare in costume, exuberance and intensity. Just try not to clap your hands and hoot with pleasure, I just dare ya’.

Michelle Pfeiffer is obviously having a ball as a station manager with both racism and weightism in her heart, and though not quite as vocally robust as her stage predecessors, Queen Latifah still has soul to spare as the one-day-a-month hostess of the local station’s “Negro Day.” But James Marsden is the real surprise here as the station’s singing, swinging, tooth-beaming answer to Dick Clark. (Should you ever leave your wife, James…call me ;) Only Christopher Walken falls flat, as he is simply too weird to pass for a song and dance man – and that’s really saying something when your female dance partner is John Travolta.

Newcomers Nikki Blonsky, Elijah Kelley and Zac Efron (yeah, I love “High School Musical” too, but don’t even dare try and tell me he’s not a newcomer) give the more seasoned veterans a run for their money with strong pipes and personalities to match. Hitchcockian cameos by original film Director John Waters and stars Ricki Lake and Jerry Stiller add to the fun. The score by Marc Shaiman (who also manages himself a cameo) and Scott Wittman is a catchy, witty, period pastiche with a big belting Broadway heart thumping underneath – you will want the original soundtrack if you don’t already own the original cast album. Some of us will want both. (“Mama, I’m A Big Girl Now,” runs during the credits featuring the song stylings of Blonsky, Lake, and original Broadway star Marissa Jaret Winokur – even Harvey makes a cameo vocal appearance.)

It was just a few short years ago that the time of the movie musical was thought to be dead and buried. Happily, stopping people from singing and dancing onscreen is like, oh I don’t know, trying to stop the “motion of the ocean or the sun in the sky.” You simply can’t stop the beat.
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posted by SternReviews @ 8:03 PM   0 comments

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix


Grade: B+

Harry Potter is growing up. And I’m not just saying that because I saw Daniel Radcliffe naked in “Equus.”

The books are progressively deeper and darker, and the movies are befittingly following suit. Relying less on special effects and more on human struggles and relationships (although computer generated wizardry is still plentiful and generally falls somewhere between satisfying and soaring, with a few claymation-like exceptions) in the last installment Harry finally met the Dark Lord face-to-face and now knows he must prepare himself for a great battle between good and evil. The world at large doesn’t believe him, the Ministry of Magic is undermining him, his protector isn’t speaking to him, and his friends don’t know how to help him. And then there are girl troubles. Adolescence is a bitch, and Radcliffe has imbued Harry with all the insecurities and uncertainties of a teenager who just happens to carry the fate of the world on his shoulders.

Pacing has always been an issue in both the books and the films, but while J.K. Rowling’s tales keep getting progressively longer, the films are mercifully getting tighter and shorter. While the first few films were little more than pallid books on tape, “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” demonstrated what was possible with a little ingenuity and fearlessness. Director David Yates continues the upward trend, with both a willingness to cut and the ability to translate without transcribing. While it still takes a while for broomsticks to start flying and wands to start sparking, and little enchants or mystifies in quite the same way it did when we cracked the spine on the very first mesmerizing book, we now actually have people to care about replacing new worlds to discover. We see the transformation from childhood fancy into adult responsibility, and we empathize all the more because of it. Reminiscent of the same simple truths and basic motifs ever-present in “The Lord of the Rings” and “Star Wars” sagas with a great deal of Merlyn thrown in for good measure, themes of friendship, betrayal, loyalty, courage and sacrifice gain resonance as the series grows into the climax that will have so many of us waiting outside of Barnes & Noble at 10 a.m. this coming Saturday morning (if not the midnight before).

A tendency toward the convoluted has also been an issue in both the books and films, as Rowling relishes meandering, stretching, segueing, and referring back to hundreds if not thousands of pages ago, usually depending on Albus Dumbledore to explain it all in the book’s final chapter. Her expositions always come at the end rather than the beginning, and like all the other films this one sometimes gets confusing to follow, difficult to hear and challenging to decipher, but so long as one can separate the gooduns from the baduns it’s easy enough to go for the ride whether or not it all makes linear sense. You know who to root for, and here that remains more than enough.

Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint are becoming thespians in their own right, Ralph Fiennes continues to be creepy and scary as all shit as Lord Voldemort, and Michael Gambon has finally come into his own as Hogwarts' noble Headmaster and Harry’s gentle guide. But the star of the show is Imelda Staunton, so sugary evil you can’t help but wish for the most excruciatingly delectable death possible. She’s so much fun to hate it’s more than a little sinful.

I for one will never forget being unemployed, downtrodden, and picking up an oddly named children’s book because Rosie O’Donnell ranted on and on about it one day during her morning talk show. I will also always remember devouring it (and the next one, and the next one, and the next one…) via an Iddy Biddy Book Light while my partner slept in our loft bed above, being transported from my own troubles into a world I could scarcely have imagined.

Some things you love because you love. And some things you will dearly miss when they finally come to an end.
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posted by SternReviews @ 7:22 PM   0 comments