Archive
December 2002

all movies are graded out of four stars ()

Chicago (PG-13)
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With the release of the long-aborning film version of Bob Fosse's Roaring '20s-set Broadway hit Chicago, the origins of my Movie Poop Shoot column's title is now out there for the moviegoing world to see, in the late musical number "Razzle Dazzle": "Give 'em the old flim flam flummox/Fool and fracture 'em." It seemed like a good idea at the time; after all, it was a variation of a phrase that was proven to be catchy, and it was sung by a super-slimy yet super-smooth and super-cool character, attorney Billy Flynn. I guess it would only figure that in this film version he would be played by someone characterized by the first, but not the second or third, term--Richard Gere.

Another line from "Razzle Dazzle" comes to mind when watching--or, more specifically, listening--to Gere's performance: "Long as you keep 'em way off balance/How can they spot you got no talents?" That's the only reason I can rationalize the effusive praise, including a Golden Globe nomination, for his performance here. Certainly he's passable when simply speaking (after all, exuding smarm is Gere's strongest suit), and he does surprisingly decently with a big tap dance number. But singing? I'm not sure if his nasal, bad-Al-Jolson-impression vocalizing can qualify as such, and in so doing he murders the character. Billy's sleaze, to be sure, but he's also a seducer, and a convincing one at that--a quality that generally comes through in his singing. With Gere every bit as off-putting in that area, Billy's bag o' bamboozling tricks seem that much more ridiculous.

What makes Gere's off-key performance all the more frustrating is that first-time feature director Rob Marshall gets so much so right otherwise; in translation to stage to screen, Chicago has retained all of its deliciously mean spirit without a hint of Hollywood dilution. It certainly helps that Marshall's casting of the two central characters, publicity-hungry rival murderesses Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly, is spot-on. That Catherine Zeta-Jones does a bang-up job with the latter role isn't necessarily a surprise, considering she started her career hoofing and belting on the London stage. What does come as a shock is how the already-famously-ravishing starlet here achieves an even more stunning level of sensuality; sultrily singing and sashaying across the screen in the opening number "All That Jazz," Zeta-Jones gets the film off to a sexy, high-energy start, and the film flat-out electrifies whenever she's on screen. Zellweger, whose previous musical inexperience made her an especially unlikely casting choice (though not as unlikely as Gere), proves unexpectedly able to carry the torch with the film's second number, "Funny Honey," exposing a sneaky, dark edge and coquettish sexuality that usually stays buried under a girl next door persona. When the stage is all hers--literally--in her midway showcase number "Roxie," she carries it like an old pro, turning a bare black set into a dazzling place.

Or should I say "a razzle-dazzling place." Chicago is, after all, all about the showmanship of its music and performers, with the cynical plot about upstart Roxie and veteran Velma fighting for the spotlight, stardom, and for freedom with the help of oil-slick Billy most definitely a secondary concern. Marshall stages the narrative scenes in a fairly pedestrian manner and pulls out all the glitzy stops for the musical ones, reflecting the new-for-the-movies device devised by screenwriter Bill Condon: all of the numbers are fantasies sprung from Roxie's vaudeville-obsessed mind, à la Björk in Dancer in the Dark. (The "Cell Block Tango" number, which builds from the noise of a leaky faucet, especially brings that other film to mind.) For the most part, the conceit works, though at times it's a stretch, as in "Mr. Cellophane," the big song for Roxie's decent-to-a-fault husband, Amos (John C. Reilly, displaying a solid set of pipes). Marshall and editor Martin Walsh's giddy, flashy, MTV-style cutting sometimes works against the film, particularly Marshall's own choreography (ironic, considering Chicago the stage show is primarily known for its dancing), but the energy of the performances and John Kander and Fred Ebb's enduring score push these sequences and the entire film over any hurdle--yes, even including the misbegotten casting of Gere.

Kaante (Thorns) (R)
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A Bollywood take on Reservoir Dogs with a strong helping of The Usual Suspects on the side--complete with the requisite singing and dancing interludes--sounds, to put it mildly, unusual. So much credit is due writer-director Sanjay Gupta, who manages to conform to the tried-and-true Hindi masala film formula and respect the spirit of the source material in Kaante.

The first half of the film (which is the first Indian production to be shot entirely in Los Angeles) more closely resembles the Bryan Singer film than the Quentin Tarantino, with six "usual suspect" crooks (Amitabh Bachchan, Sanjay Dutt, Sunil Shetty, Mahesh Manjrekar, Kumar Gaurav and Lucky Ali) meeting up in jail after being picked up on suspicion of stealing a truck. While in a holding cell, the six devise a plan to strike back against the cops: robbing a bank that services the police force. The first act climaxes with the heist, and following the intermission the film traces the aftermath, which largely takes place in--yes--an abandoned warehouse.

A good thirty-minute chunk of this second half will be déjà vu for Dogs fans, as the characters true colors--if you get my drift--coming clear; the entrance of the mostly Mr. Blonde-ish character is lifted wholesale, as are some of his lines of dialogue. But Gupta ultimately uses this as a mere launchpad for his own spin on the familiar story. There is more extensive backstory for all of the characters (undoubtedly a product in part of the longer run time), not to mention this is more of a straight action film than either of the original films. In the big blow-'em-up set pieces, Gupta reveals a number of other influences aside from Singer, Christopher McQuarrie (after whom a cop character is named) and Tarantino, namely John Woo, Michael Bay and the general Jerry Bruckheimer aesthetic. Evoking the latter two may not necessarily be a good thing in general, but the slick Tinseltown-level sheen works in this context and is especially noteworthy given the slapdash nature of a lot of Bollywood productions.

In fact, the Western sensibility was perhaps too strongly in mind in the making of Kaante. The producers' plan is shop an edited version for a wider North American arthouse release, and as such the musical numbers have obviously been designed for easy removal--that is, what few musical numbers there are; there are only three total, two of which are largely focused on female back-up dancers rather than prominent characters. But the MTV-esque numbers do not upset the overall tone of the film, and they indeed get the entertaining job done (after all, how can one not resist a drunken song-and-dance by the guys in that familiar warehouse the night before the heist?) as well as show that if Gupta ever wants to cross over into Hollywood, he is equally suited to the realm of music video as he is to slam-bang action.

In the meantime, though, Gupta proves to be right at home in Bollywood with Kaante, which (with the unfortunate exception of one literally last-minute bit of hilariously godawful acting by an actress in a tiny but pivotal role as a mentally-challenged character) is as seamless and effective a mix of Bombay and Hollywood genre conventions as they come.