The most entertaining musicals are about showbusiness. From Singin' in the Rain to All That Jazz and the latest, Dreamgirls (a film adaptation of the 1980s Broadway hit), the mirror of self-reflection both heightens and blurs the backstage realism as well as the drama of the theatre. It also provides a natural excuse for characters to break into song. But some works are better suited to the stage - and Dreamgirls is one of them.
That doesn't mean it isn't entertaining and enchanting. Director Bill Condon's effort is at times breathtaking, joyful and captivating - but that's more a result of his performers letting rip than any cinematic trickery in this feel-good tale of a Detroit girl group in the 1960s.
Based loosely (well, perhaps not so loosely) on the Supremes and the Motown label, it's a well-worn story of success and fallout, sell-out and redemption. You don't have to be a soul and R&B fan to enjoy the film, but it does help.
Jamie Foxx is an ambitious record executive (with more than a faint resemblance to Motown boss Berry Gordy) who grows an ego as big as his empire. The Dreamettes are a tight but struggling vocal trio who pay for their success. When they finally make it big, the big-voiced, big-boned lead singer (played in a star-making turn by Jennifer Hudson) is brushed aside for the whiter, prettier member (Beyonce Knowles playing a Diana Ross-like figure).
Along the way, the film bookmarks moments in American culture - from the radio payola era to the Vietnam war and disco's whitewashing of soul music. There's much to like in Dreamgirls, particularly Hudson and Eddie Murphy as Chitlin' Circuit entertainer Jimmy Early, who's too funky for his career's good.
We've seen Murphy's brash side before, but the pathos of his character's demise provides the conscience of the film, while Hudson is the heart. By contrast, Foxx is a bore.
What makes Hudson a standout is also what drags the film down. In one show-stopping sequence, she belts out a solo number, And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going, on stage. It's thunderous and potent, but it also nails the narrative dead in its tracks.
Condon, who wrote Chicago, keeps editing and moving the camera, making it obvious he doesn't know what to do during the climatic musical moment.
On stage, this would be spectacular. Although there's no doubt that Hudson's explosive voice is genuine, these performances on film - especially when it isn't a concert film - lose their dynamism. The same goes for Knowles' histrionics. As vocal performances they're fierce, but they come across as little more than contemporary music videos. Nevertheless, they make for entertaining viewing.
Dreamgirls opens on Mar 1
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