Mamma Mia - July, 2008

After seeing the debacle that is the movie version of the stage musical “Mamma Mia,” one can only hope that Billy Crystal hosts the Oscars again next year. God knows he’ll have all the material he needs – and then some. Not since Lucy staged her own musical, “The Pleasant Peasant,” (also remembered as “Queen of the Gypsies”) on “I Love Lucy” has a musical seemed so disarmingly bad. “Mamma Mia” makes “Hairspray” look like “My Fair Lady.”

My favorite sister (henceforth referred to as FS) and I took advantage of a free night together to see her (former) favorite actress, Meryl Streep, in the ABBA-inspired musical. Having seen the show on Broadway, I knew the plot was not exactly like the screenplay of “Citizen Kane”, so I didn’t go in expecting to be blown away by the story. I was blown away, however, but not in a good way. Meryl looked like she was having fun, which meant that: A) She really WAS having fun; B) She actually is the world’s best actress and her performance in this film – looking happy most of the time – is proof of profound theatrical chops; or C) Anyone can be happy spending time on a Greek island while getting a big paycheck. “I can only hope she did it for a lark,” lamented my disappointed sister.

Meryl is joined by a post-James Bond Pierce Brosnan, who looked more shaken than stirred. Every time it looked like he was about to break into song, I kept muttering, “Please, don’t sing,” the way you would at a wedding when some drunk guest gets up to warble the words to “Feelings.” Chagrin abounded every time he opened his mouth. Really, didn’t anyone in charge of producing this thing (thanks, Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson) listen to Pierce’s singing? Get Marnie Nixon, get anyone, to dub in his songs, please. He was actually painful to hear. I kept rooting for the Greek chorus to chime in and hoping the volume on the background singers would go to 11.

As for Meryl’s female accomplices – I mean co-stars – Christine Baranski played essentially the same character she played in the Cybill Shepherd TV sitcom “Cybill” of a few years back, a sardonic drunk capable of simultaneously knocking back a martini while knocking down anyone near her. British actress Julie Walters, star of the much appreciated “Educating Rita,” played Streep’s other friend from her days in the fictitious singing trio Donna and the Dynamos (FS and I assumed Beyonce and Queen Latifah were unavailable). In this role, Julie bears a uncanny resemblance to former tennis great Billie Jean King. If one of the male co-stars had looked anything like Bobby Riggs, I doubt I could have made it through the whole movie.

Without spoiling the story here (ha!), suffice to say that the thin plot is loosely constructed around a series of ABBA songs, some of which make sense in the dramatic structure (and I use that term very loosely) and many of which just seem randomly placed. Musicals are awkward by nature. Seldom in real life do we break out in song. But we can, as an audience, usually accept the inclusion of music (especially good music; see “West Side Story,” where you don’t mind the warring Sharks and Jets trying to out sing and dance each other) when it moves the plot forward, dramatizes the emotions of the characters or somehow relates to the story. When the “creators” of this musical couldn’t find a place for the ABBA song “Waterloo,” they simply tacked it on to an end-of-movie performance by Donna and the Dynamos (which, to be fair, was the same treatment used in the Broadway version). Really, you haven’t lived until you have seen late-middle-aged people prancing around stage (I’d call it dancing, but that would be a stretch) in disco-era get-ups and platform shoes. It seemed to me they had each met their personal Waterloo at that point. All I know is that my FS says she’ll never again be able to hear an ABBA song without laughing. I’m not sure that’s what the producers – or ABBA – had in mind.

During the course of the movie, my FS noticed a man a few rows ahead of us texting on his cell phone. “He’s probably writing ‘HELP, get me out of here,’” I suggested. As we exited, FS spotted a teenaged boy and his father leaving the theater. “I wonder what the kid did to deserve this,” she sighed. We made a mental note to buy the DVD and threaten her son with watching it to deter any possible bad behavior, though DYFS might weigh in on this form of cruel and unusual punishment.

In high school, Meryl Streep took a typing class taught by my former colleague, Marcia Bower, a one-time business teacher. Just think, I mused to my FS, if Meryl had been a better typing student, we could have been spared this performance. “I don’t think Meryl will need to clear off the mantle for another Oscar,” she replied, adding, “What could she have been thinking?”

My father always taught us to find something nice to say, so in that spirit, I can tell you the setting and shots of the Mediterranean were very pretty, that the girl who plays Meryl’s daughter is pretty good, it looked like the cast – especially Meryl – had a lot of fun doing this movie, and that a lot of theater-goers will find this film entertaining. For me, this was great grist for my monthly mill. And I doubt anyone in that theater had a better time than me and my favorite sister.