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"Mamma Mia!" Directed by: Phyllida Lloyd
MPAA rating: PG (probably because somebody hollers "Bollocks!") Running time: 107 minutes Best suited for: musical and Streep fans Least suited for: the machismo, the unhappy, the utterly nonspontaneous, punk rockers (go see "Reefer Madness, The Movie Musical" instead) Me? I don't like musicals. I like pyrotechnics and zombies and aortic blood squirts. And I don't like ABBA. I like Led Zeppelin and U2 and Nickelback. So fill a musical with a string of feather-light pop-addled ABBA hits and I'm gonna hate it, right? Wrong. Not since "The Lakehouse" have I felt so unabashedly, shamefully, guiltily pleased by such overindulgent chick-flickiness. By such blatant attempts to trick my emotions into a puddle of submission. (If anyone's seen "The Family Guy" episode where Peter inadvertently gets hooked on chick flicks, then you know what I mean.)
Just in case you've spent the last seven to 10 in Lompoc, here's what's been happening. Back in 1999, "Mamma Mia!" opened as a stage play that went on to gross about $2 billion and gobs of critical success. Sounds to me like a major motion picture opportunity. "Mamma Mia!" has nothing to do with the pop band ABBA, by the way (other than a producer or two). It's about Donna (Meryl Streep), an ex-hippie and free spirit who owns a small inn on the edge of a perfectly sculpted Greek island. Donna's 20yearold daughter, Sophie (Amanda Seyfried), is about to get married. Unbeknownst to Donna, her daughter has found Mom's old diary. Sophie, who's never met her father, learns that 20 years ago Donna spent one incredibly hot summer with three guys (oh, those hippies!), and any of the trio could be her father. So without telling Donna, Sophie invites the three to attend her wedding, assuming she'll recognize her father on sight. None of the men (Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth and Stellan Skarsgard) knows the others or the real reason behind his unexpected invitation. But all joyously remember Donna, setting the stage for a splendid juggler's dream of who's who and what's going on and why are these men here? Stirred chaotically into the mix are folks breaking into song and dance every now and then, accompanied by a plethora of old ABBA hits. Good lord, this really shouldn't work. But it does work. After a few uneasy minutes watching people bursting into song for no apparent reason and not singing to traditionally sanitized, utterly perfect (i.e. dubbed) Hollywood standards, mind you—I realized this wasn't going to be your typical ultrastylized presentation. "Mamma Mia!" isn't glossy. It's not even what I'd call refined. But these folks are having fun. They're dancing the way we all might dance if caught up in some magically maniacal moment of bliss. The final straw of realization? The dozen or so buff guys in bathing suits and flippers dancing on a wooden dock, attempting eyehigh synchronized kicks à la the Rockettes. It's not exactly Fosse, but in its own goofy way, maybe it's better. And, oh yeah—a nice, simple, funny romance happens to unfold along the way . . . to a swell of Swedish pop music. The characters aren't afraid to get loud and crazy, like a favorite old aunt wearing Birkenstocks (and, of course, purple), with clinking bracelets and a devil-may-care opinion about everything and everyone within earshot. If there's a flaw with the film, it's that Donna's trio of ex-suitors are too quickly segregated. One's still in love with her, but the others have valid reasons not to be (and that's okay, too, because this is Greece and so laid back it makes even Malibu feel downright hostile). I wouldn't have minded a few more minutes of pandemonium, of less obvious clues about Sophie's real father. . . . I mean you've got me watching a musical, listening to ABBA. You may as well take advantage. Because this is one Swedish pop musical about second-chance love in the Greek Isles, where I wouldn't mind having lingered a few minutes longer. |
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