This is a long way from the warm-hearted MGM musicals of the 1940s and 50s. They were already finished, subject to pattern exhaustion, by the end of the 1950s. And after a hiatus of ten or so years, musicals were revived as a set of edgier comments on contemporary life -- with "West Side Story" and "Cabaret." By the time of Bob Fosse's "All That Jazz," they were as energetic as ever but mighty dark in tone.
This was taken from the Broadway play and directed by award-winning choreographer Rob Marshall, who learned a lot from Bob Fosse's work. Even the tricky use of hats appears in the last number, though the hats aren't derbies.
Marshall shows a lot of skill in handling his performers. Hollywood is compelled to thrust name stars into musical roles even if they have next to no musical training. Of the three principals here, Catherine Zeta-Jones had some dancing and singing roles early in her career but had since become an ordinary actress of some talent. Neither Renee Zellweger nor Richard Gere have had dance training -- and dancing is difficult. (Anybody can sing. You can sing. I can sing. We all can sing.) Rob Marshall masks the paucity of their experience using several techniques. When possible he surrounds them with twirling bodies of more accomplished dancers. He keeps most of the takes short, so that if a step is flubbed it doesn't much matter. And he keeps the steps themselves easy and sometimes brazenly tricky, like Michael Jackson's "moonwalk." There may be nothing much to the dances -- no grand jetes or any demanding stuff like that -- but they're flashy and impressive. Fosse was able to choreograph some neat minimalist steps with non professionals like Janet Leigh in "My Sister Eileen." Only one of the featured players has had formal dance training, having danced with the Kirov Ballet and worked as a soloist with the American Ballet Theater before becoming a teacher in Canada. She's hardly on screen. I won't even bother to identify her because you can pick her out at once.
Not to knock the three or four stars. At the very least, the two ladies are sinuous and sexy and, like Gere, they give it everything they have. I still can't help wishing they'd had one or two polished performers like Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse.
For the most part the numbers are staged as if they were being performed on a platform with one or two single bright lights illuminating the performers, similar to the hospital hallucination in "All That Jazz." The music is bumpy and rhythmic and evokes Chicago jazz of the 1920s. None of the numbers is likely to enter The Great American Songbook but the lyrics by Fred Ebb, however, are cutting and sometimes very amusing. And some of the dialog sparkles with irony. "So I got a shotgun and fired two warning shots -- into his head." The plot doesn't matter too much. Gere is a high-end criminal lawyer who saves Zellweger from the noose by means that are cheerfully illegal and unethical. Zeta-Jones cooperates in getting Zellweger off and they form a successful two-act. Everybody is happy. Everybody who counts, anyway. Nothing is more satisfying that watching Gere belt out his first number, "All I Care About Is Love." It's like the gathering of the mobsters and their goons in "Some Like It Hot" -- and the organization is called "Friends of Italian Opera." The hypocrisy stuns.
This was taken from the Broadway play and directed by award-winning choreographer Rob Marshall, who learned a lot from Bob Fosse's work. Even the tricky use of hats appears in the last number, though the hats aren't derbies.
Marshall shows a lot of skill in handling his performers. Hollywood is compelled to thrust name stars into musical roles even if they have next to no musical training. Of the three principals here, Catherine Zeta-Jones had some dancing and singing roles early in her career but had since become an ordinary actress of some talent. Neither Renee Zellweger nor Richard Gere have had dance training -- and dancing is difficult. (Anybody can sing. You can sing. I can sing. We all can sing.) Rob Marshall masks the paucity of their experience using several techniques. When possible he surrounds them with twirling bodies of more accomplished dancers. He keeps most of the takes short, so that if a step is flubbed it doesn't much matter. And he keeps the steps themselves easy and sometimes brazenly tricky, like Michael Jackson's "moonwalk." There may be nothing much to the dances -- no grand jetes or any demanding stuff like that -- but they're flashy and impressive. Fosse was able to choreograph some neat minimalist steps with non professionals like Janet Leigh in "My Sister Eileen." Only one of the featured players has had formal dance training, having danced with the Kirov Ballet and worked as a soloist with the American Ballet Theater before becoming a teacher in Canada. She's hardly on screen. I won't even bother to identify her because you can pick her out at once.
Not to knock the three or four stars. At the very least, the two ladies are sinuous and sexy and, like Gere, they give it everything they have. I still can't help wishing they'd had one or two polished performers like Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse.
For the most part the numbers are staged as if they were being performed on a platform with one or two single bright lights illuminating the performers, similar to the hospital hallucination in "All That Jazz." The music is bumpy and rhythmic and evokes Chicago jazz of the 1920s. None of the numbers is likely to enter The Great American Songbook but the lyrics by Fred Ebb, however, are cutting and sometimes very amusing. And some of the dialog sparkles with irony. "So I got a shotgun and fired two warning shots -- into his head." The plot doesn't matter too much. Gere is a high-end criminal lawyer who saves Zellweger from the noose by means that are cheerfully illegal and unethical. Zeta-Jones cooperates in getting Zellweger off and they form a successful two-act. Everybody is happy. Everybody who counts, anyway. Nothing is more satisfying that watching Gere belt out his first number, "All I Care About Is Love." It's like the gathering of the mobsters and their goons in "Some Like It Hot" -- and the organization is called "Friends of Italian Opera." The hypocrisy stuns.