Thursday, January 02, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Film: Stage divas are natural-born killers in thrilling Chicago

By Mike Prevatt

No sooner has fledgling stage singer Roxie Hart (Renee Zellweger) gunned down the well-connected Fred Casely (who five minutes earlier had bedded her; played by Dominic West) than she's seeing herself in the mirror as a star. She poses, sings, fawns over her new luster without a hint of irony or guilt. And why should she feel remorse? In 1920s Chicago, stars are born not by talent or perseverance, but their ability to lose all sense of reality, take drama to its violent extreme and placate the sensationalism-hungry public. As her hammy and morally bankrupt lawyer, Billy Flynn (Richard Gere), tells her, "In this town, murder is entertainment."

Chicago, the cinematic adaptation of Bob Fosse's popular Broadway production, is no Natural Born Killers, but it most certainly has the crime-as-hype theme in common with it. And it's just one of many dimensions this whirlwind of a musical-cum-movie-cum-musical has. While the dominant theme of this taut, flashy spectacle is the desperation fame breeds, it also looks at feminism, dishonesty, escapism, rebellion, spiritual emptiness and the loosening of morals in a way that gives the film surprising depth.

Chicago feels like such a discovery, if only because we're not used to modern movie musicals possessing such topical and aesthetic capacities. In looking at cinema over the past 20 years, there's been a dearth of releases in the genre, in contrast to the glut of song-and-dance epics from mid-century. In the 1990s, Disney's animated flicks were often looked at as the last bastion of the movie musical, the rare exception notwithstanding (Everyone Says I Love You, Evita, Newsies). For a character to burst out into song during a film today, it just seems so...strange. But after last year's Moulin Rouge became one of those rare mid-level successes that went on to grow in legacy, some called the musical the comeback kid of film. Chicago seems poised to propel that sentiment further.

The film centers on the fallout--and the upshots--of Roxie's crime. Once she's nabbed Flynn as her legal representation (or, rather, her spin doctor), she's painted as a victim, the press and public wrapped up in her fabricated story, thus making her a star. All this without a show or the experience to back up her supposed talents; as it turns out, the public only cares about her sensational exploits off-stage.

Simultaneously, she steals the spotlight from Velma Kelly (Catherine Zeta-Jones), also awaiting trial for her own double homicide and equally hungry for the fame it will bring. But it isn't long before another woman-done-wrong-by-her-man (Lucy Liu) is cuffed, and Roxie is threatened to face obscurity once again. And you thought Hollywood was a tough town.

The film is awash with the superficial nature of fame, each character becoming smart enough to know when to manipulate who at just the right time. This might not be so easily apparent in the hands of lesser actors, but Zeta-Jones, Zellweger and Gere are naturals here. They (and their voices, capable enough to be convincing) might not be primed for stage, but within the constructs of this particular production, they shine.

And speaking of structure, Chicago is brilliantly envisioned for film. Most of the 14 musical numbers are fantasy sequences as seen by Roxie, similar to Bjork's daydreamt performances in 2000's Dancer in the Dark. That each minimally choreographed, maximally edited number doesn't thwart the film's momentum, but, rather, enhances the progression of the story and further reveals the intentions of its characters is a testament to the skill and instinctual bravado of director Rob Marshall and screenwriter Bill Condon. The two act as a force of one, even as Marshall threatens to lose control of the picture with his trigger-finger cutaways and occasional over-the-top-ness. Maybe Chicago is too tidy, too slick, but it's never too entertaining. And in this town--or any town--nothing is too entertaining.