Adapted from the 1975 Broadway show and set in the Roaring Twenties, Chicago is all about absurd, amoral fame-hunting. The gal at the center of the circus is Roxie Hart (Renee Zellweger), a wannabe singer-dancer who lands behind bars after she shoots her lover. When she subsequently recruits seedy lawyer Billy Flynn (Richard Gere) to keep her from getting the noose, Roxie receives the attention she's hungered for. She becomes Chicago's unlikely sweetheart, and even though she's stuck in the slammer, she couldn't be happier.
While the title suggests an epic look at the Windy City, much of Chicago
takes place within the main character's mind. Desperate for the
spotlight, Roxie imagines her life as one big song-and-dance. This is an
interesting conceit, but it doesn't quite pan out.
One
reason for this semi-failure is that it puts a ton of weight on
Zellweger's shoulders. She's a fine actress, but she's no leading lady.
She completely lacks movie star charisma. This is readily apparent when
she goes toe-to-toe with Catherine Zeta-Jones, a force of nature as
Velma Kelly, Roxie's former idol and current inmate. Zeta-Jones not only
literally sings and dances circles around Zellweger, but she does so
with incredible gusto. There's constant fire in her eyes and acid on her
tongue. Her performance is the kind you go to the movies for: big,
cinematic, grand.
The
disparity between Zellweger and Zeta-Jones works on some levels. Velma
is supposed to be more talented than Roxie. Sure, she gets a career
boost from her newfound notoriety, but it's Velma's showmanship that
first grabs people's attention. Roxie, on the other hand, has fabricated
fame. It's cheap and meaningless, conjured by her calculating lawyer.
Zellweger's inferior charms match up with Roxie's. So Chicago's casting makes sense thematically. But it's just not fun to watch.
The
same goes for the non-musical parts of the film. Roxie's fantasies are
vibrant and entertaining, but the little bits in between are lifeless.
The colors are duller and the emotions are cooler. Once again, this
works on a deep level. Roxie's one goal in life is to be on stage in
front of an adoring audience. Therefore, real life bores her. When the
movie leaves Roxie's mind, the drab look and feel of the movie fits this
theme. But just because it makes sense, that doesn't mean it's good.
With such lively and enjoyable songs playing out in Roxie's head,
everything else feels disappointing.
And it sends mixed messages. Sometimes the movie seems to satirize the notions of celebrity and 15-minute fame, but at other times it revels in them. It's like the filmmakers are trying to make a point, but they don't know what it is.
The movie's saving grace -- aside from Zeta-Jones -- is its music. When the tunes start up, the movie turns on. From the lighting to the costumes to the expert choreography, Chicago's set pieces are knockouts. They even overcome the overt staginess of the production, which sometimes feels unimaginative and cautious. The standouts are the thrilling "All That Jazz" and the sinful "Cell Block Tango." These captivating numbers are masterfully coordinated by director Rob Marshall. Not surprising, given his Tony-winning background. Unfortunately, these energetic showstoppers pop up early. The rest of Chicago never reaches their exhilarating heights.
For all its glamor, there's something unsatisfying about Chicago. Rather than grabbing audience members and whisking them off for endless fun, the film is stop-and-go. Like spending the day at a theme park, walking from ride to ride and eating nothing but cotton candy, it's amusing but exhausting. A number toward the end of the film -- "Razzle Dazzle"-- perfectly encapsulates this. Trying to win over the jury, Billy smugly sings the lines "Give 'em the old hocus pocus/Bead and feather 'em/How can they see with sequins in their eyes?"
It's a fitting song for the lightweight movie. Chicago gives audiences the ol' razzle dazzle, hiding its lack of heft behind a thick layer of gaudy, glitzy flash.
The movie's saving grace -- aside from Zeta-Jones -- is its music. When the tunes start up, the movie turns on. From the lighting to the costumes to the expert choreography, Chicago's set pieces are knockouts. They even overcome the overt staginess of the production, which sometimes feels unimaginative and cautious. The standouts are the thrilling "All That Jazz" and the sinful "Cell Block Tango." These captivating numbers are masterfully coordinated by director Rob Marshall. Not surprising, given his Tony-winning background. Unfortunately, these energetic showstoppers pop up early. The rest of Chicago never reaches their exhilarating heights.
For all its glamor, there's something unsatisfying about Chicago. Rather than grabbing audience members and whisking them off for endless fun, the film is stop-and-go. Like spending the day at a theme park, walking from ride to ride and eating nothing but cotton candy, it's amusing but exhausting. A number toward the end of the film -- "Razzle Dazzle"-- perfectly encapsulates this. Trying to win over the jury, Billy smugly sings the lines "Give 'em the old hocus pocus/Bead and feather 'em/How can they see with sequins in their eyes?"
It's a fitting song for the lightweight movie. Chicago gives audiences the ol' razzle dazzle, hiding its lack of heft behind a thick layer of gaudy, glitzy flash.
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