Mr Pinky viewed this film with great trepidation. After all, the original John Waters production is one of his all time fave films. Well, what can he say except that he was both pleasantly surprised yet mostly disappointed.
The films opening sequence bodes well with the terrific musical number Good Morning Baltimore where Tracy Turnblad is introduced skipping and singing thru the streets of that notorious city, hitching a ride on a garbage truck and feeding rats. Even a cameo by the Pope of Trash himself, John Waters pointed to things being true to the original spirit of the film.
In fact, there is no denying the work that has gone into this film. Cinematography, art direction and choreography are all spot on. But this is where the problem lies. Once you take away the songs, which sound like generic karaoke pastiches of 60’s music you are just left with a glossier yet less charming version of the original film.
Adam Shankman who directed and choreographed this musical version obviously knows where and how to move the performers. But everything else feels so weird. Queen Latifah seems way too modern compared to the original Motormouth Maybelle and some scenes just don’t make sense. A sequence involving Michelle Pfeiffer (who looks amazing!) and Christopher Walken is so badly scripted and directed I had no idea what was supposed to be happening. My mind was wandering back to Batman Returns where these two actors were previously cast together.
John Travolta plays the part of Tracy’s mom behind a constricting mask of rubber which makes him look less like Divine and more like Cher on steroids. He talks with a strange accent which makes his lines hard to decipher and wears a truly bad fatty suit. At least the late and great Divine’s fat was for real!
Don’t get me wrong. This film is not a total disaster. There are some clever set pieces and the casting of Jerry Stiller (Hairspray’s original Wilbur Turnblad) as Mr Pinky (no relation to this porcine reviewer) was a nice touch. Maybe I am getting to be an old fuddy duddy but at the end of the day I can only see fans of Disney’s High School Musical being the type of cineastes who could possibly extract long lasting pleasure from this piece of 21st century celluloid cloning.
The films opening sequence bodes well with the terrific musical number Good Morning Baltimore where Tracy Turnblad is introduced skipping and singing thru the streets of that notorious city, hitching a ride on a garbage truck and feeding rats. Even a cameo by the Pope of Trash himself, John Waters pointed to things being true to the original spirit of the film.
In fact, there is no denying the work that has gone into this film. Cinematography, art direction and choreography are all spot on. But this is where the problem lies. Once you take away the songs, which sound like generic karaoke pastiches of 60’s music you are just left with a glossier yet less charming version of the original film.
Adam Shankman who directed and choreographed this musical version obviously knows where and how to move the performers. But everything else feels so weird. Queen Latifah seems way too modern compared to the original Motormouth Maybelle and some scenes just don’t make sense. A sequence involving Michelle Pfeiffer (who looks amazing!) and Christopher Walken is so badly scripted and directed I had no idea what was supposed to be happening. My mind was wandering back to Batman Returns where these two actors were previously cast together.
John Travolta plays the part of Tracy’s mom behind a constricting mask of rubber which makes him look less like Divine and more like Cher on steroids. He talks with a strange accent which makes his lines hard to decipher and wears a truly bad fatty suit. At least the late and great Divine’s fat was for real!
Don’t get me wrong. This film is not a total disaster. There are some clever set pieces and the casting of Jerry Stiller (Hairspray’s original Wilbur Turnblad) as Mr Pinky (no relation to this porcine reviewer) was a nice touch. Maybe I am getting to be an old fuddy duddy but at the end of the day I can only see fans of Disney’s High School Musical being the type of cineastes who could possibly extract long lasting pleasure from this piece of 21st century celluloid cloning.
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