I am sure many of my avid blog readers will find this hard to believe, but sometimes I just want to be entertained. Yes, there are days when any thoughts of seeing one more obscure foreign-language film, or another experimental, multi-media theater piece, or one more obtuse visual artwork are banished from my hurting brain. Sometimes, even I surrender at the thought of any more Peter Sellars or Eugene Ionesco. I’m sure Meryl Streep also has days when she’s had had enough of mastering difficult, foreign accents, or playing intense, emotional roller-coaster dramatic scenes, days when all she wants to do is sing “Waterloo” and do a split in midair while wearing overalls and a mop of stringy hair. And thank heavens for all of us, she does those, as well as play air guitar, fall through a roof, wear a spandex spacesuit, and lead a conga line for “Dancing Queen” in the absolutely, wonderfully, irresistibly entertaining film version of the stage hit Mamma Mia! The divine Ms. Streep looks like she’s actually having a ball, and that is the one surefire way to get audiences to heartily feel that the nine dollars they paid to see her is worth it. Of course, Mamma Mia! has built in terrific-time-ness: who can resist the superficial yet snappy, infectious musical rhythms and endearing, perplexingly syntaxed Scandinavian-English lyrics of ABBA’s invaluable songbook? Songs like “Take a Chance on Me” and “Chiquitita” are like candybars without the calories, instant gratification without the queasy need to take a shower right after. I’m not really sure what these cranky film reviewers were expecting- have they not seen the play? Mamma Mia! is not about plot, or realism, or nuanced, multi-dimensional characters. It’s about ABBA songs and the pleasures that they give. And the movie makes these pleasures seem even more, uhmmm, pleasurable, by having Christine Baranski redefine what it means to be a trainstopping cougar in “Does Your Mother Know That You’re Out?”; by having Julie Walters knock out both physical comedy and emotive singing in the hilarious “Take a Chance on Me”; by having Colin Firth in paisley pants and Dominic Cooper in almost nothing (love this boy! I saw him in the Broadway production of The History Boys, and everytime he was on stage you really didn’t want to look at Richard Griffiths, the scenery, or anything else, actually, but I digress); and by having Ms. Meryl Streep, greatest living American actress, show she’s having a hell of a time belting the schmaltz and the corn and the quirky grammar of “Winner Takes It All”, and proving to one and all that she can be as riveting as Sophie or Karen Silkwood or Isak Dinesen when playing a role that’s a walk in the park, in a film that’s as glossy and shallow as the Greek ocean that permeates it.
Jul 24
Recent Comments