No matter what you've heard, "Fame" is not a good movie. It's not worth the investment of over two hours to watch stereotypically troubled teens dancing, singing, learning, and staring at girls in the dressing rooms.
Every cliché finds a cozy little home in this movie. There's a gay teenager looking for acceptance. That would have been great if it had been treated as anything more than a secondary plot point. There's a ghetto kid who has too much attitude-- what, was I surprised? And guess what? They all want to become big stars, finding fame and fortune, and they'd all be willing to crawl over their own mothers' smoking corpses to get it.
Oddly enough, this film is remembered for its music. But in actuality, the only moderately good song is "Hot Lunch Jam," which is still too cheesy to be of any real quality. The two most popular songs are nothing, either. "Fame" is meaningless fluff drowned out by the sheer spectacle of a massive dancing-in-the-streets scene. And "I Sing the Body Electric" (what in Bubba's name does that even mean?!?!?!?!?) is just an incomprehensible joke.
Bad acting, tasteless dialog, and hack direction (it is, after all, from the director of "Evita") are only marginally helped by Michael Seresin's appropriately ordinary camera work. But cinematography alone cannot carry a movie, especially one as uninspiring and pointless as this.
Every cliché finds a cozy little home in this movie. There's a gay teenager looking for acceptance. That would have been great if it had been treated as anything more than a secondary plot point. There's a ghetto kid who has too much attitude-- what, was I surprised? And guess what? They all want to become big stars, finding fame and fortune, and they'd all be willing to crawl over their own mothers' smoking corpses to get it.
Oddly enough, this film is remembered for its music. But in actuality, the only moderately good song is "Hot Lunch Jam," which is still too cheesy to be of any real quality. The two most popular songs are nothing, either. "Fame" is meaningless fluff drowned out by the sheer spectacle of a massive dancing-in-the-streets scene. And "I Sing the Body Electric" (what in Bubba's name does that even mean?!?!?!?!?) is just an incomprehensible joke.
Bad acting, tasteless dialog, and hack direction (it is, after all, from the director of "Evita") are only marginally helped by Michael Seresin's appropriately ordinary camera work. But cinematography alone cannot carry a movie, especially one as uninspiring and pointless as this.