The state of American film in the 21st Century has been generally abysmal but nowhere is it more evident than in the film musical. Taking the most honored of the period Chicago, a Fosse wanta be with bad performances and forgettable tunes as the benchmark it is more than evident all singing all dancing has lost its voice and more than a step. The latest entry and every bit the tepid much ado about nothing heat and light display of flaccid musical storytelling as the Oscar winner (an even bigger comment on the unimaginative state of the movie business) is the insipidly slick Burlesque.
Stop me if you've heard this. Young impressionable girl with massive hidden talent leaves the land of corn for the bright lights of LA where she stumbles upon a run down anachronism with a crusty but understanding owner still in it for love of the game who gives the kid a break and, well you can fill in the rest.
In the role of Judy Garland Christine Aguleria sings the blues with impressive voice but it's all plastic soul and slumming for the former mouseketeer who presents an unintentionally jarring visual context of an Aryan uber babe singing Bessie Smith. Speaking of plastic Cher all polished and waxed like an antique Oldsmobile splits her time offering sage advice and sarcasm. In addition she does a couple of tunes with her signature howl wrapped as always in distracting outfit and opulent stagecraft to soften its blow. There's some male characters whose purpose it seems is to stand around with expressions of awe for the divas and of course the serious pyrotechnics surrounding the noir dance numbers that attempts to put some make-up on this pig but in the end it is all forced Fosse.
Stop me if you've heard this. Young impressionable girl with massive hidden talent leaves the land of corn for the bright lights of LA where she stumbles upon a run down anachronism with a crusty but understanding owner still in it for love of the game who gives the kid a break and, well you can fill in the rest.
In the role of Judy Garland Christine Aguleria sings the blues with impressive voice but it's all plastic soul and slumming for the former mouseketeer who presents an unintentionally jarring visual context of an Aryan uber babe singing Bessie Smith. Speaking of plastic Cher all polished and waxed like an antique Oldsmobile splits her time offering sage advice and sarcasm. In addition she does a couple of tunes with her signature howl wrapped as always in distracting outfit and opulent stagecraft to soften its blow. There's some male characters whose purpose it seems is to stand around with expressions of awe for the divas and of course the serious pyrotechnics surrounding the noir dance numbers that attempts to put some make-up on this pig but in the end it is all forced Fosse.