Bob Fosse's original stage version of Chicago with Gwen Verdon and Chita Rivera turned into the stuff of Broadway legend and a strong source of inspiration for every struggling hoofer and drag queen on the east coast. It was a down-and-dirty, dark anti-musical but paled in comparison with the box-office blowout and more comfortably mainstream A Chorus Line when the two shows hit the stage in 1976; Chicago stayed in limbo for awhile -pulled out of the closet every now and then as an exciting diamond-in-the-rough for various theater groups when constructing their seasonal lineup- then made its comeback in a Tony award winning revival choreographed by Fosse's ex-girlfriend Ann Reinking and starring Bebe Neuwirth. Personally, I've always felt the story itself to be a more-desperate-than-usual attempt to bring forth some great songs and music and provide an audience with an evening's worth of entertainment yet it was made 'brilliant' by star power and acceptable word-of-mouth. This screen version starring Renee Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones is nothing more than recycled costumes, images, and dance moves and should only inspire someone to make a musical where the editor is not the star. (Hopefully, someone will see a repeat showing of the dance play 'Contact' on Great Performances and notice how the camera hardly moves, taking in the breathtaking movements of its dancers for an exhilarating effect.) This type of material requires actors ablaze with a shoot-from-the-hip-and-take-no-prisoners style and only Chita Rivera (in a 20 second cameo) has it. The film itself lacks both the dark cynicism and zestful fun needed for Chicago to be successful; the result is similiar to those lumbering film musicals of the late sixties and early seventies -Star!, On a Clear Day, Hello Dolly!, Doctor Doolittle, Paint Your Wagon, Thoroughly Modern Millie- only with darker lighting and skimpier costumes but complete with miscasting and lackluster direction. (Actually, it's like Showgirls with singing, fan kicks, and bowler hats substituting for gang rape, lap dances, and bondage outfits.) The fact that our culture has been almost deprived of "old fashioned" musicals for almost over twenty years is the only reason I can see for the critical accolades and surprising mainstream success of Chicago; the originality of Moulin Rouge and Dancer in the Dark breathed life back into a dead genre but not a skeptical public who either loved, loathed, or refused to see these stunningly beautiful accomplishments. For some reason, they were the warm-ups and Chicago is the star.
"Keep smiling and pretend you're soldiers holding bayonets with the bodies of babies on the end." This was the type of grim direction Bob Fosse gave his cast so the characters would get under your skin and give Chicago a unique look and feel; you would not forget this play as easily as you would, say, 42 Street or Grease. That attempt to be more-than-what-it-is is what's missing in the film. Chicago still retains the clever lyrics to its songs and toe-tapping ability in its music but Rob Marshall's direction guts the chilling seediness in favor of a Fosse-like sexy hipness that never finds its own unique visual style. The opening number (All That Jazz) has all the components -a good song, a spotlight, smoky lighting, game dancers- but the editing feels rushed, jumbled, and its rhythms seem a snap off (an observation true for all the musical numbers). Actually, it looks like the filmmakers viewed Cabaret one too many times then merely spliced Willkommen with Mein Herr. The flimsy material then just buckles under the weight of the musical numbers that spit themselves out one after another, each one growing more underwhelming than the last.
Renee Zellweger is a talented actor but it's a mistake to cast her as somebody 'tough' (like here, Bridget Jones's Diary, One True Thing) and the character of Roxie needs to be inhabited by someone with the ever-so-slightly-edgy charm of a young Gwen Verdon, Shirley Maclaine, or Bernadette Peters; she has to snap, crackle and pop. Miss Zellwger never really gets a firm grasp on her and just winds up doing the job, so to speak. The same can be said of Catherine Zeta-Jones but she almost -but not quite- catches fire with her dancing and shows some range with her singing voice but she has yet to prove herself as an actor; sure there's a fire in her eyes but her speaking voice is flat and has no edge. Her talking scenes are all-too-brief -she says no more than five lines before another number shoots itself at the screen- but you can see her lack of resources as an actor: she doesn't possess the skills for either a broad characterization or a subtle, nuanced performance.
Richard Gere obviously just adores playing Billy Flynn but he's still too stiff and self-conscious to generate any heat. With the exceptions of Primal Fear and Unfaithful, his film performances have always been bland and humorless, lacking surprises and depth; he's definitley game for the challenge of Chicago but his slight striptease number leaves a viewer cold and his tap dance routine is cut too quickly to impress. For the record, Christopher Walken did the same thing in Pennies from Heaven and brought down the house with his shocking displaying of jaw-dropping talent.
Queen Latifah's vocal on 'When You're Good To Mama' sounds sensational and she's a beautiful woman who looks great in gold satin and feathers but she's a dull actor who sports a stoned hippo's grin and a mile of cleavage; she takes a background music character and does nothing with it and, along with Miss Zeta-Jones, is another one with a one-note speaking voice. As far as musical artists-turned-actors go, the First Lady of Rap is not quite as bad as Madonna, Mariah Carey, or Whitney Houston but she doesn't hold the screen the way Tina Turner in Tommy did or even -I hate to say this- Eminem in 8Mile. She makes for the most boring prison matron in the history of motion pictures -even Garrett Morris in drag showed more snap when he did his turn as a matron in the Debs Behind Bars skit on Saturday Night Live circa 1979.
The only saving grace -and worthwhile performance- is John C. Reilly as Amos: he's perfectly -brilliantly- cast and his rendition of Mister Cellophane is the only real showstopper and reason to see the film. Amos is the beating heart of the story and Mr. Reilly brings him to life almost effortlessly; he trumps the other performers without hardly ever lifting a finger and manages to break your heart by simply showing Amos's loss through posture, vocal inflection, and -most importantly- his eyes. It's a beautiful job.
All the big budgeted, Hollywood monstrosities that have made their way out of the gate this year (Chicago, Gangs of New York, Catch Me If You Can, The Road to Perdition) have been chores to sit through and it mystifies me why so many are willing to consistantly embrace mediocrity. These films are not really all that bad, but they are certainly not that good. (As far as all the desperate, masturbatory film rhetoric being posted about Chicago making a statement on our society and being a guilty politically incorrect pleasure for women, that idea borders on intellectual camp and may I suggest re-renting Coffy, Foxy Brown, Carrie, Norma Rae, Working Girl, Thelma & Louise, or Gypsy if you need some inspirational kicks.) Chicago may be the movie-of-the-moment but time will probably not be kind and cause future movie lovers to scratch their heads in bewilderment, wondering what all the fuss was about.
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