Reviews

...or did this magnificent History Channel documentary about the Kennedy assassination actually unfold without showing the assassination once? I need to regroup a bit here, because I was certain that I saw this TV special a year or two ago, so much does it feel like something I've seen before. But it appears for all intents and purposes to be brand-new, told in almost real-time (no narration or God-awful reenactments which are supposed to represent the actual history that we are so often subjected to in storm chaser videos and such). But this special- especially for the first 25 minutes- is absolutely amazing: plain black boarders with a teletype clock click minute-by-minute as the events of November 22, 1963 unfold: Kennedy's breakfast speech in Fort Worth, a quick flight to Love Field in Dallas, and the start of the motorcade into Dealey Plaza. And all the images are true documents: black-and-white and color film- both newsreel and home movies- interspersed with some fantastic quality b&w videotape, a medium still relatively new in 1963.

And then, perhaps the most genius edit of all: the moment the cars turn onto that small expressway past the Texas Book Depository at the strike of 12:30 pm CST, the scene switches *not* to the famous Zapruder film that we all know, but to the start of "As The World Turns," in monochrome videotape, with the first CBS Bulletin (voiced by an off-camera Walter Cronkite) interrupting the soap opera- just as it had 46 years ago.

Not seeing the event actually made this more frightening to watch.

When the action resumes from the bulletin interruption, the cars have already begun their sprint to the hospital, but we already know it will be to no avail. A few minutes later, the docudrama gives the same treatment on the ABC network, as a ladies' fashion show (also in its original black-and-white videotape) is interrupted by ABC/WFAA's "out-of-breath" program director Jay Watson. (Watson's ABC footage, it seems, is given more air time than the CBS Cronkite footage- perhaps because Cronkite's now famous on-camera reaction had been aired many times before.) Incredibly, horribly, it's all over at the strike of 1:00 pm, just a scant 30 minutes after it began, as the death knell tolls all over the country and the world falls into sorrow. Almost without a break, we are then given a minute-by minute blow of the antics of Lee Harvey (Harold?) Oswald- arrested almost immediately and transferred to what looks like the police station's night court. But by the time we can begin to process his back story, he, too, is gunned down by Jack Ruby (nee' Rubenstein)- this even caught on both film AND videotape. The remainder of the docudrama, of course, delves into the never-ending Warren Commission analysis of what really happened to the president, and the ensuing speculation as to whether or not there was more than one assassin- a speculation that continues to this day. For 4 grueling hours we are transplanted into a block of time, the events of which seemed to have happened in a matter of minutes. And, echoing a famous newsreel from the 1960's, we are there.

...and say that I LIKED THIS FILM VERY MUCH!! For God sakes, remakes are not a mystery; the attitude of the producers is usually based on the myth that a modern audience would not warm up to the original (in this case, 69-year-old film), but they'd find time for a modern update. Overly simplified, but there you are. (I don't agree with that logic, but I AM over 40.) Anywho, I learned a long time ago the best way to view a film that is a remake or an update is to judge it on its own merit and put the brakes on comparisons. Just STOP thinking about the other films. Because Meg Ryan is Meg Ryan, not Norma Shearer. Eva Mendes is not Joan Crawford, Annette Bening is not Rosalind Russell, and so on. They are their own special creations, and bring their own brand of fire to the party.

Oddly enough, it was the supporting cast that impressed me more than anything else. I liked the additions of Debra Messing and Jada Pinkett-Smith rounding out our quartet of heroines. They were the most interesting updates. In the original film, the mom with all the kids was a high society matron, but here Messing is 'Edie,' a bohemian artist with crazy hair, crazy clothes, a disheveled studio, and four girls, plus another baby on the way. But she wears the mom mantle beautifully, and is sort of the heartbeat of the film. And the writers seemed to have combined the characters of sassy actress Miriam and 'old maid' author Nancy into the new, feisty 'Alex' for Pinkett-Smith. She's a smokin' book author- and lesbian- who's not afraid to get to the point in short order. And acting legends Cloris Leachman and Candice Bergen round out the impressive cast as housekeeper and mother of the heroine very nicely. There's still the annoying daughter, the cat-fight between the dogs, and the 'jungle red' nail polish, but there's also smoother, more layered characterizations in all of the cast. Some have complained that the character of Sylvia was ruined because they made her 'nice,' but that's incredibly short-sighted. The fact that she's no longer a catty, unhappy harpy determined to make sure those around her are unhappy as well does not diminish her impact one bit. Writer-director Diane English pens a wonderful third-act conflict which focuses directly on Sylvia and her crumbling magazine empire. This way, all the women of our film's title are forced to look inside themselves for security and fulfillment. And after they find themselves, they turn to each other- much like a family. Definitely a nod to the sensibility of the 21st century.

The true beauty of "The Ghost And Mrs. Muir" is that the romance which ultimately springs forth from its two stars is fully realized, fleshed out, and consummated without them ever having physical contact. I won't spoil anything by going over too much of the plot, but suffice it to say that what begins as a verbal battle between the sexes never disappoints as it gradually turns into the most thoughtful and sensitive banter betwixt a man and woman. And even though there are no kisses or exchanges of "I love you's," the friendship, longing, and love which passes between Gene Tierney and Rex Harrison is smoldering, even bewitching. (Consider, in particular, the exchanges of dialog between Lucy and the Captain: he accurately sums up her practical, but somewhat loveless union with her late husband; she asks about his life as a sailor and what made him go to sea in the first place, and so on.) Every exchange they have is like two concert instruments playing in perfect harmony. And yet there is an unspoken yearn for them to take their friendship to the next level. Add to this a positively stunning music score by Bernard Herrmann, whose orchestral crescendos begin weaving a spell as soon as the Fox logo appears on screen. There are later, equally glorious, scenes- like Lucy and the Captain, at the end of their pen collaboration, gently revealing their affection for each other for the first time ("what's to become of us?"); Harrison's late-night departure from a sleeping Tierney which will make your heart race and simultaneously bring tears to your eyes; and a particularly moving epilogue (which I think often goes unappreciated) of a middle-aged Mrs. Muir with her beautiful college-age daughter, who has her own revelations about the salty sea captain. At once lovely and bittersweet it is. And that *still* isn't the climax of the film!!

I should clarify that I actually love "Cinderella" stories. I think what I really love is the challenge of how each subsequent version is going to differ from (or somehow outshine) the last one. Each Cinderella story is infused with new things, old things, and just plain bizarre things. In this telling, there is much more emphasis on the prince- after all, Richard Chamberlain is top billed. Unfortunately, the characterization of his prince Edward is no different from any other fictional depiction of royalty: born of privilege, but hating it and wanting to live like 'regular people.' (If these were actual royal figures, such a wish would never commence.) The story also expands roughly a half hour beyond the glass slipper finding its rightful owner, and for me this dragged the film out considerably. Nevertheless, it's still the quintessential fairy story.

Yet I am amazed that so many posters hail it as some sort of Kirousawa-like masterpiece. Is this because it's a British film? We always seem to rate European films just a little higher than American ones, calling them high art and so forth. And as critical as so many are especially about musical films recently- RENT, CHICAGO, THE PRODUCERS, and perhaps most acerbically and nastily, DREAMGIRLS- they all seem to turn a deaf ear on this one. I did like the costumes and set pieces, but was not thrilled with most of the Sherman Brothers' score- save two rather exquisite songs. It paces a bit sluggishly and, at 143 minutes, is about 43 minutes too long.

There are two saving graces: One is in the name of Annette Crosbie. Her fairy godmother is a dream and a scream at the same time. Possessing incredibly dry wit and very sly on the subject of magic, it appears that she works with other famous fairy tale heroines (some of whom are referenced throughout the film). Her introduction to Cinderella as a simple, practical woman who shuns the "sparkle and glitter," and seems to want to unionize fairies worldwide, is hilarious. And the rags-to-riches sequence built around the song "Suddenly It Happens" is magical indeed. (How could it not be, with mice that turn into ballet dancers even before they turn into horses?) The other saving grace is the ball: easily some of the most exquisite costumes ever assembled for a period film, all in an amazing rainbow of sherbet-like pastels. The ball sequence is climaxed by a glorious grand waltz, which begins with two dancers on an empty floor, then adds other couples- two and four at a time- joining into the swirling and spinning choreography, until all are waltzing in the same direction and having a marvelous time. A truly breathtaking sequence. I almost wished the film had ended right there.

I loved "Stepping Out." If you chose not to, you're more than entitled (as people who hate so much around these websites are wont to say), but for God's sakes, get the facts right. The company of dancers in question does not "put on a show" in this movie. That's something that star Liza Minnelli's mother did in films over sixty-seven years ago. (Gosh, people's obvious prejudices against musical films is so sadly obvious here.) The company of working class, small community tappers PARTICIPATE in a benefit show already established by a haughty committee muckety-muck who makes her bias against Mavis Turner's awkward, beginning dance class painfully apparent. And there's your heartbeat of this very small, unassuming film. Shot on Canadian locations disguised to simulate upstate New York, STO is actually more in tune with the plot of A CHORUS LINE than any Mickey-Judy film. The obvious difference is that the dancers are not professional. They tap in a church hall after hours, after their regular jobs and family matters. It's their single emotional release, and the thing that makes them feel like kings. And while the film does not literally delve into the life of each dancer individually, it paints enough of an ensemble portrait to make you realize that these folks support each other, lean on each other, and love one another unconditionally, almost like a second family. I suppose the sentimental nature of that premise is too much for a lot of modern cynics to take, but there it is. Minnelli's plucky Mavis is the only real professional amongst them; she almost became a star, but didn't quite make it. Minnelli, in fact, has one lovely, CHORUS LINE-like moment in the film where she dances a solo to the title number (spotlight, mirrors, and all), then has to explain to a single eavesdropper how she briefly touched dance stardom before quietly, somewhat brokenly, retiring to Buffalo. But she truly believes in her dancers and is the perfect cheerleader and counselor to them in the end. And there is a fine, somewhat surprising epilogue which formally shows off the dance family- wonderfully represented by Ellen Greene, Andrea Martin, Bill Irwin, Julie Walters, Carol Woods, Jane Krakowski, Sheila McCarthy, and Robyn Stevan. It truly is a feel-good movie. In fact, it's a feel terrific movie.

I wish we could get over the current wave of rudeness, nastiness, and bitchiness currently permeating the internet on this film. Few people are actually reviewing it, as opposed to just smothering the boards with endless platitudes about how much they hate musicals, and how this particular film wouldn't stop with the "cheesy (a word being used ad nauseam, despite the appearance that no one seems to know what it actually means)" musical numbers. Poor things. I haven't the heart to tell them that that's what a musical ACTUALLY is-- film, play, or otherwise. Oh well, on to the show. I saw DG on stage 23 years ago and wouldn't wish the job of turning such a stage-bound show into a film on my worst enemy. But director Bill Condon and producer Laurence Mark rose to the occasion, thank you very much, and made an effort to infuse the film with as much 'on-stage' tribute as they possibly could. Scenes or songs which had been staged intimately on the B'way stage were almost all moved to an actual stage in this film. I'm still on the fence as to whether that was necessary or not, but I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. One number entitled "It's All Over" was originally set in a dressing room, but in this film it became a on-stage dress rehearsal. While it looked fine opened out, I said to myself, 'they could've left it in the dressing room.' But in the world of stage-to-screen adaptations, debates will abound on which is better, and will probably never end.

So we have the story of an R&B singing trio not unlike The Supremes with a full-figured lead who has a sauciness not unlike Florence Ballard, and a thinner, more Eurocentric beauty not unlike Diana Ross who is made the new lead when the group's slimy manager successfully maneuvers the girls from "chitlin' circuit" singing into mainstream pop singing, and turns the backup-singing Dreamettes into the beautiful front-and-center Dreams, with bouffant wigs, Cholly Atkins-like choreography, and sparkling mermaid gowns to boot. One of the more famous TV critics decided to dump on the film because it had all these Supremes references running throughout the film, but never admitted or owned up to that biography. Never understood this as a reason to dislike the film. For 25 years the stage DG has never claimed this as a Supremes (or Motown) biography. So what exactly is the point of the complaint? 5 years before DG came out there was a lovely little film released entitled SPARKLE, which could've been the Supremes story also. No one gave that film any plagiaristic grief. What's my point here? People have got to lighten up- a film is not a corporation. Variations on the same type of story are often told over and over again (BATMAN, anyone?). It seems people never care about this UNTIL it's a musical. Then, it's hands-off!! One musical is enough!! Sheesh, get a hobby.

Let's rate performances: The girls did it, and did it well. Beyonce' Knowles is lovely, and on her way to a mainstream movie career. She can sing. She does not have the bland voice that her Svengali accuses her of having in the 3rd act of the film, but she does EXACTLY what she needs to as the ladylike and malleable Deena. The middle Dream, Anika Noni Rose, is probably the least known to movie audiences because she's a Broadway baby (and Tony award-winning one at that). She plays the 18-year-old Lorrell with pluck and comic sexiness. (Not to mention 6-inch heels to keep her in frame with her two taller co-stars. You go, girl.) And our 3rd Dream, Jennifer Hudson, is still entertaining ridiculous comments from the IDOL peanut gallery: 'how did she get in,' 'she can scream, but can she sing,' etc. She was, and IS, Effie. She's the girl with the church belt. Yikes. This is an understatement. Her voice is not Jennifer Holliday's, and not quite Aretha Franklin's, but there's no reason why it should be. For the Act 1 finale of "And I Am Telling You..." she gets it done. I was almost in tears, the girl ACTS the song as beautifully as she sings it. Keith Robinson plays baby brother C.C. to Effie, and has his day in what might be my favorite moment of the movie: In an important and pivotal moment of story- after his sister has been given some devastating news about her participation in the group, C.C. has to single-handedly maneuver her back into the fold, into his good graces. And the song "Family" is born. This had been another number originally staged in a dressing room. But director Condon improved upon this for the movie: He had the camera begin on a crestfallen Effie as she walked out of the dressing room, following her to an empty stage and have the other principals join her on stage one by one. Heartbreaking and lovely. Only Gordy-like manager Jamie Foxx was slightly underwhelming, but his was the villain of the piece- nothing more. (In hindsight, one wonders what Terrence Howard might've done with the same role.) But Eddie Murphy has the comeback role of the century. His essay of James "Thunder" Early is nothing short of amazing- and especially poignant now following the recent passing of real-life inspiration James Brown. Supporting Actor nominations? Why not?

Just as so many people come onto these boards bragging about how much they hate musicals (or Judy, or entertainment biopics, or anything even remotely happy), I hate having to come onto these boards and explain, once more, why the haters should really just shut it. Harsh? No harsher than publicly broadcasting a dissenting opinion that won't change anyone else's movie-going habits, so what's the point?

Anyway...Those who LIKE this one have already given it enough superlatives to last into the next century, so I'll just mention some significant tidbits: The restored film (and letter-boxed DVD) gives more detail not only to the intricate relationship between Judy Garland (Esther) and James Mason (Norman), but also to the ugly side of the lead character's hustle into the acting business. After Norman 'discovers' Esther and makes plans to screen-test her at his studio, he's unceremoniously rushed into a location film shoot while hung-over, and he and Esther lose contact with each other for an undisclosed period of time. Then we see Esther truly work for her supper: after quitting the band she'd been singing with, she must economize by moving to a cheap boarding house, ghost sing on television commercials, and moonlight as a drive-in waitress. (Ironic, considering an earlier scene where she tells James Mason that she hated waitressing, and was glad she didn't have to do that anymore.) This is, *obviously,* not a new story. The dissenters who love to hate are particularly fond of whiningly resurrecting this rather pallid fact over and over again-- IT'S NOT A NEW STORY!! Well, if it wasn't a musical, it would STILL not be a new story. What's the difference? It tells the story extremely well, thank you. It gives you not one, but TWO perfectly likable leading characters. James Mason's elegant and charming alcoholic is actually a bigger acting challenge to pull off (and the role was apparently met with a lot of apprehension, as several leading men turned down the chance to play it). But act he does, whether he's on the prowl at the Coconut Grove looking for a fresh conquest, or nobly telling the woman he's already fallen in love with that she should forget him because he'll destroy her, or collapsing in humiliated, pitiful tears when he overhears a very painful conversation uttered by the one he loves the most.

And Judy? Well, it's not as if she didn't have prior knowledge of the star-making demons of self-absorption, insecurity, or substance abuse. In fact, while she drank occasionally, she probably abused pills more than anything else, while longing to be as patient and as unaffected as her alter ego Esther Blodgett. But her chemistry with Mason fairly crackles, and their scenes of romantic bliss are unmatched: a love song tenderly rendered on their wedding night, an impromptu and campy performance in a living room with no audience or attendants, a proposal done on a sound stage- with sound technicians as unintentional witnesses. Ms. Garland did ASIB in her thirties, and had already been both a wife and mother for the third time, and fired from a film studio for the first time. This was regarded, whether she admitted it or not, as her comeback. But it worked. She is charming, nervous, awkward, sometimes unattractive, sometimes over-the-top (as in a scene near the end where she has to be bullied out of a particularly long period of emotional solitude), but always a champion. And in perhaps her finest moment in this or any other film, when we hear her flawless performance of torch-song extraordinary "The Man That Got Away," it is in a nightclub, after-hours, just for herself and the jazz band which plays with her- but we are as lucky to have stumbled into the club that night as James Mason himself. What a treat.

Because "Ziegfeld Follies" has no book and no concrete plot, any critique on it must focus, more or less, on the individual musical numbers and comic sketches which make up its 110 scintillating minutes. Looking at these pieces today, one can't help but think of MTV or VH-1: the visuals on those stations are self-contained musical shorts, often only five or so minutes in length, while others are abstract takes on lyrics and still others complete dramas which begin and end all in roughly 10 minutes. Some numbers, like the Esther Williams water ballet or the "Traviata" opera vignette are exercises and nothing more. But "This Heart of Mine" is tone poem and romantic drama all in one fell swoop, with gorgeous ballroom turns by Fred Astaire and a Cinderella-looking Lucille Bremer. He's an elegant jewel thief who crashes a ball, but ends up being 'taken' by his beautiful prey. They do another dramatic turn in "Limehouse Blues," which is even trickier to pull off because they are both performing in Chinese makeup, and Astaire in particular is more athletic than usual: dancing close to the floor, acrobatics with a fan, cartwheels, tumbles, splits, etc. (And this is all while in his mid-40s.) But no other film, revue or otherwise, was better suited for Technicolor than this one. Of special note (after the two Astaire numbers) are Judy Garland, gorgeous in white in a campy musical press junket; Red Skelton in a sketch which allows him to become progressively inebriated; Lena Horne in a Martinique-like café' performing a soliloquy on romance; Cyd Charisse (in her MGM debut) as the ballerina in pink in the film's opening (seen again towards the film's end in soap bubbles); the only serious pairing of Astaire and Gene Kelly in a stunning tap-off; Lucille Ball, perhaps in her single most beautiful moment on film as a whip-cracking, red-headed panther tamer in pink sequins; and a finale with an early appearance by Kathryn Grayson looking very goddess-like, while being run over by amazon beauties in a world run amok with suds and soap bubbles. Not making any of this up.

I actually planned not to see this. Not because I think it's leftist, blasphemous propaganda (WTF?!!), but because I just think Hollywood has saturated the public with too many 3-D/PIXAR/TOY STORY/MONSTER'S INC/FINDING NEMO/SHREK/CARS/computer animated films. My particular generation (younger than the baby boomer's, but older then the GenXers) grew up on cell animation, the cartoony, 2-D stuff. Now not only do most persons under the age of 30 not know (or care) what that is, but the old style of animation is apparently obsolete in film-making nowadays.

So there you are. But the story is deliciously simple, straightforward, and in the end very moving and sentimental. We have a pride of penguins. They communicate by singing. Literally. That's your 'buy-the-bit' premise. The Emperor penguins of Antartica sing. Some sing better than others, but in matters of solidifying your identity and wooing your future mate, they MUST sing. They sing rock 'n' roll. They sing jazz and blues. They sing Elvis, they sing Queen, they sing Stevie Wonder. Unfortunately, one newly hatched member of them cannot sing. But he can tap dance, almost magically- with feet as fleet as Savion Glover (your humble ghost tapper). Unfortunately, this difference is enough to make him an outcast in his community, and there's your fable and moral in one fell swoop. But the film pulls this off wonderfully, from small comic bits of tone-deaf vocalizing by Elijah Wood (voice of our hero), to supporting bits of hilarity by Robin Williams- the voice of no less than THREE characters, including a sort of elder penguin evangelist who sounds a great deal like Barry White. The film's most joyous scenes are Wood's tapping penguin meeting and befriending a group of lusty Latin penguins (their leader also voiced by Williams), who not only accept the non-singing Wood, but actually regard him as "accidentally cool." When the film develops into its more dramatic second half (resolving the penguins' food famine as well as the future existence of the penguins themselves), some of the movie's lighter-than-air pace comes to a screeching halt. But it's worth it to hear tributes to some great music, including Elvis's 'Heartbreak Hotel,' Prince's 'Kiss,' Stevie Wonder's 'I Wish,' and the disco-influenced 'Boogie Wonderland,' which may illustrate the best scene in the film: a full-blown staccato courtship done entirely in song-and-tap dance between two penguins falling in love. A true charmer, with a lesson about embracing your differences and accepting them in others-- a premise that, unfortunately, has already been interpreted by some critics as some kind of secular, liberal agenda to pounce upon the masses. Oy gevalt! Hopefully, you will just watch the film and find it as entertaining as I did.

Critics and fans frequently cite this one as a falling-off of the A-R series. I once thought that too, but I bought the video and gave it a second look. Plotwise, it's an improvement on that mistaken identity nonsense that usually permeates these films-- though you could make an argument that this plot (which has the central characters presumed married, only to actually get married so they can get divorced) isn't much better. But the nonsensical fun is still there- from Astaire's tap-happy ballet dancer (whose exaggerated Russian accent is hysterical), to the Gershwin score of songs, to the tasty dance numbers: "Slap That Bass" (part tap exhibition and part engine room jam session); "They All Laughed" (the duo's incredibly late first duet); "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" (eether/eyether- need we say more?); to the glorious "They Can't Take That Away From Me;" the film's only misfire (but it was a big one) being that this beautiful ballad by Astaire was not danced by him and Rogers. (Reprising it later with ballet contortionist Harriet Hoctor might have been consistent with the plot, but watching her back-kick herself in the head is one of the unintentionally funniest things I've ever seen in a film.) The Gershwin score- more than anything else- takes this one up a few notches.

Now that I know the back story on Pal Joey, I can sort of appreciate the film a bit better. I didn't like it for years because of Frank Sinatra. Suppose I'm in the minority on that one, but I just didn't like the character leading so many women astray- young, old, rich, poor, etc. Two things made me reconsider the story: (1) The girls allow themselves to be played, and (2) PJ originated from a stage musical almost 20 years earlier, with much of the original story intact. The character *is* a heel- 'nuff said. It was created by, of all people, Gene Kelly-- whose screen characters often included a touch of the larcenous in the first place. And apparently, Columbia tried to film PJ with Kelly waaay back in the 1940's when he was the right age to do it-- but the Hays censors raised too many red flags on the film's decidedly 'adult' content to let it be filmed. By the time it was cleared for film, 17 years had passed and Joey's heel had become a Sinatra crooner rather than a Kelly dancer, and much of the book and lyrics had been watered down. (When you think about it, JOEY needs to be re-filmed today, but with its original stage content. Can you imagine?!)

Anyway, now that I look at Sinatra, the-cynical-50's rat-packer playing Joey, the-cynical-50's-womanizer, I have to conclude that he got it exactly right, culminating in one perfect scene in the film: his piano-playing, spotlight croon of "The Lady Is a Tramp" to socialite Rita Hayworth. Just like Astaire seduced women with dance, Sinatra completely breaks down the icy Hayworth through the clever arrangement and performance of the song. At the end of it, THEY are slow-dancing. Wicked!! Other fine moments include Sinatra's treatment of "I Didn't Know What Time It Was," the breathtaking ballad "My Funny Valentine," and the smoky-voiced Hayworth in two numbers: a pretend striptease to the very clever song "Zip" and waking up in the most luscious state of drunken love to "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered." (No one but Hayworth could make rising out of bed- in a sun-colored nightgown- a thing of sexy beauty.)

Unfortunately, this is where the parts do not equal a decent sum. The book has Joey caught between *two* women, and Kim Novak, for all of her traffic-stopping sex appeal, seems out of place as the second girl in the equation, perennially starry-eyed for a man more than twice her age and more of a doormat than a 'mouse,' as she is referred. If that was the original book, then I demand a rewrite. I was under the impression that the virginal ingénue was supposed to resist Joey and his charms, which made him want her all the more. (Once again, the idea of doing JOEY with a modern cast and sensibility seems irresistible today.) Novak does a very funny drunk scene on a boat, and her Victorian striptease is smoldering, to say the least. But an 11th-hour fantasy number called "What Do I Care for a Dame" is silly looking because it features too many people who can't dance. And I've heard other legends about the story's change from the stage: It's supposed to be set in Chicago, not San Francisco; the older woman is married, not widowed; and no one ends up with anyone at the end. For a story with an almost flawless musical score, it is one of the bumpiest films I've ever seen. But I'm glad I saw it.

...and I think the movie is a treat. Yes, it has schmaltzy moments and it has catty moments, but what melodrama doesn't? It's been a tried-and-true film genre since the 1940's, and shows no signs of fading away yet. But I get sick and tired of society turning a cynical eye on sentiment or love or sensitivity in a film, and dismissing it as a chick flick. (40 years ago, the same type of film was dismissed as a 'woman's picture.' Obviously we haven't come a long way, baby.) What's the point of this tirade? The centerpiece of 'Beaches' is a friendship. Between two women. But it could be between a man and a woman; it could even be between two men, though they probably wouldn't have fought over the same things. But we all possess the same emotions: insecurity, ambition, bitterness when things are bad, joy when things are great. This isn't just reserved for the fairer sex. Bette Midler essays what is close to an autobiographical role: a singer bordering on the multiple-talent bandwagon. We already know Bette can be funny, but when she gets to emote she often sounds raw and untrained- something which makes her acting style seem all the more natural. Barbara Hershey compliments her perfectly as a beautiful socialite-turned-civil-rights-attorney whose face appears to be her fortune, but is smart, humble, and not at all self-absorbed. The film soars highest when the two friends are brought together by life circumstances: celebrating holidays in a cold apartment; playing cards while doing the laundry; conversations thru letters; a beautiful pregnancy montage framed around the song "Baby Mine;" a tragedy in the film's 11th hour featuring Midler cooing a very melancholy "I Think It's Gonna Rain Today." Guaranteed tears in your eyes. And this is all BEFORE the musical finale of "Wind Beneath My Wings."

Let's begin with the obvious: the complaints about the age difference between Fred Astaire and Leslie Caron. Yes, there is one. But I think there's a night-and-day difference between this film and, say, 'Charade' or 'Entrapment' when the leading man is grandfatherly and the leading lady is a sweet young thing, and we're not supposed to notice. The brilliant thing about DLL is that the age difference, or discrepancy, is front and center at the plot of the film. But the film broaches this rather sticky material in a very chaste and innocent way. After seeing her from afar as a teenager, Astaire's courtship with Caron becomes anonymous. For two years. The film's first masterstroke comes in the guise of Thelma Ritter acting as an armchair Cupid. Through a gentle push on her part we begin to see the pair finally interact. (And when they first dance together, it isn't even real.) Astaire also attempts nobility- several times!! But everything is in an elegant and tasteful courtship, leading up to the stunning rooftop turn of "Something's Gotta Give." I didn't like the Roland Petit ballet towards the end of the film as much as others did, just because I felt that the point of loss had been beaten to death. But the ending is especially fine because two love stories resolve instead of just one. And how cool is it to dance with someone on your roof terrace, step into your hat, spin into your wrap, and dance out the front door?!!