Blu-ray Review: The Birdcage (1996)

Now Available to Own  



  
Photo Slideshow
   

Blu-ray Introduction:

"I feel like I’m insane!" Gene Hackman’s conservative senator exclaims mere moments after he had been so fooled by Nathan Lane’s drag masquerade as an old-fashioned housewife (while pretending to be the prospective mother-in-law of Hackman’s daughter played by Calista Flockhart), that the senator had raved, "they don’t make women like that anymore."

And although he’s in a state of shock because he’d been hoodwinked as a straight man, one of the most endearing aspects about The Birdcage is how well the filmmakers and actors worked together to establish characters that we instantly understand even without language.

For example, in an earlier act when Lane enters the frame wearing a suit – initially ready to play the part of "the uncle" of the biological son (Dan Futterman) of his partner (Robin Williams) whom he'd raised his whole life – we can feel the heartbreak, tension and dismay practically waft from the screen directly into our living room.

A film about being true to who you are and the true (and evolving) definition of family, while The Birdcage may have been behind in the times with regard to gay stereotypes, it was ahead of its time in foreshadowing the progress this country has made in the fight for equal rights.

Nearly twenty years ago when the MGM/Fox film was released, a modern family that’s accepted on the same level as the one on Fox’s contemporary ABC sitcom Modern Family was just a hopeful fairytale that gay parents would’ve undoubtedly raised their child on, telling him tales of future acceptance to ensure sweet dreams at bedtime.

Roughly twenty years later, that dream has become a pop culture reality even if the U.S. is still slow to grant gay couples the equal rights they deserve in life.

And while yes, it’s slightly dated, it’s also anachronistic given its forward thinking approach as we watch the gay leads plan for their future together (signing palimony papers and discussing joint burial plots) and marvel at the realization that the 1996 blockbuster is in all actuality a remake of a foreign film that had been released nearly twenty years before that. Thus The Birdcage is part of a much larger conversation that's been going on for over forty years on screens both big and small.

Optically The Birdcage has always been bombastic and bright as noteworthy cinematography and an emphasis on visual storytelling has been a trademark of director Mike Nichols since the beginning of his auspicious career, as evidenced in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Graduate in particular.

But now that the film has been transferred to stiletto-sharp Blu-ray high definition, the vibrant world of not only Miami but also the dream factory of the "fairy dust, fairy dust, fairy dust" and "Fosse, Fosse, Fosse" filled club the men run below their South Beach apartment comes wondrously alive.

Not only can you see each and every sequin, seam, and false eyelash but you can practically feel the texture of the fabric of The Birdcage’s costumes, with which the onscreen actors and offscreen filmmakers (including future helmer Rodrigo Garcia who worked on the film as a camera operator) brought so delightfully to life.

And while it might threaten to drive a straight-laced, right-wing senator crazy, it’s exactly the thing to drive a mainstream audience into crazy fits of laughter with enough empathy and open-mindedness to help ensure that a prejudicial society (rather than its characters) are the recurring punchline.

Original Review:

(Published 6/22/10)

Mike Nichols’s old comedy partner Elaine May adapted this wildly raucous remake of the ’78 foreign film La Cage Aux Folles that managed to remain both true to the plot and even a majority of the dialogue of the original work but ensure that leads Robin Williams and Nathan Lane would have plenty of room to improvise.

Despite its tremendous box office returns, upon its release reaction to the work was somewhat divided. Namely, half of the audience seemed unable to look past the stereotype embodied particularly by Lane as Albert, the partner of Williams’ Armand who also works as the headliner at their Miami South Beach drag club.

Meanwhile the other half of the audience was extremely impressed by the way the actors transcends the stereotype to truly get straight audiences to look past orientation and empathize with the couple when Armand’s son begs them to play straight for his fiance’s extremely conservative parents (Gene Hackman and Dianne Weist).

While I can see both sides of the argument, I tend to lean towards the latter reaction as Nichols’ film marks the first gay-themed film that I ventured to the theatre to see growing up as a straight, suburban teen.

The fact that I wasn’t alone in the audience as a heterosexual fully involved in the plight of the characters to me makes the film a resounding success in subtly getting the message out about tolerance, acceptance and respecting everyone’s rights to live as equals.

Yet by adding in a spoonful of sugar, the filmmakers manage to consistently leave viewers in hysterics – smiling and laughing at something we may not have otherwise experienced while opening our eyes to other points-of-view.

With a far superior third act to the original film that works better on both a comedic level with Lane managing to win over a clueless Hackman as the son’s old-fashioned homemaker "mother" and likewise winning back our respect for their selfish son with some tender declarations, The Birdcage remains one of Williams’ most triumphant comedies in a decade that also scored the actor a hit in another drag related comedy, Mrs. Doubtfire.

Text ©2014, Film Intuition, LLC; All Rights Reserved. http://www.filmintuition.com Unauthorized Reproduction or Publication Elsewhere is Strictly Prohibited and in violation of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act.  FTC Disclosure: Per standard professional practice, I may have received a review copy of this title in order to evaluate it for my readers, which had no impact whatsoever on whether or not it received a favorable or unfavorable critique.

Mamma Mia! (2008)

Director: Phyllida Lloyd

I was raised in the era of “please and thank you,” “sir and ma’am,” The Golden Rule, and the firm belief that if one doesn’t have anything nice to say, one shouldn’t say anything at all. It’s a thought that goes back centuries to Jane Austen’s time when the women were advised to stick to the topics of either inquiring as to another’s health and/or restricting their comments to the weather.

Unfortunately, as a film critic, I seldom have that luxury and while I feel I’m far gentler than some critics who curse, berate, exaggerate and figuratively crucify films they loathe—although this being said my favorite critic Roger Ebert summed it up best in the title of a new book, I Hated, Hated, Hated This Movie—instead, I turn from those manners implanted in me from my youth and go to an old Hollywood standby.

It’s become a movie premiere joke that if an attendee dislikes a film but doesn’t want to say this to another’s face, they usually begin by complimenting its cinematography in the fierce hope the topic will soon change. It’s a strange custom—“I really loved the cinematography” in Hollywood can be code for “I’d rather have a root canal than sit through that thing again,” yet cinematography is one of my favorite aspects of filmmaking.

However, in the case of the dreadful Mamma Mia! which is only slightly better than another ghastly film I’ve just seen but can’t even bring myself to review (Ellen Page in The Tracey Fragments which is so dreadful that it makes you start to rethink Page’s performance in Juno) but yet still worse than the mirthless comedy The Promotion, the only thing I can think to praise is the cinematography.

And the sad fact is, I’m not even being ironic or coy—director of photography, the amazing Sleuth and Venus lensman Haris Zambarloukos actually topped his underrated work on last year’s Sleuth. His picturesque, exuberant, and breathtaking Mamma Mia! shots that were so jaw-droppingly gorgeous, they helped detract from the much-crucified sadly giggle-inducing awfulness of Pierce Brosnan’s singing. Additionally, like a morally questionable yet talented plastic surgeon, they helped make a film I can only call shockingly “ugly” just by its direction, odd choreography, and off-putting humor, seem like any given frame could be clipped out of the reel and hung in a museum. Indeed, the travel board of Greece’s island Kalokairi, may want to think about hiring Zambarloukos to film any future travel commercials, yet I feel it’s probably superfluous as the monstrous hit, Mamma Mia! has probably garnered enough fans who’ve decided to visit just on their appreciation for the Broadway musical alone.

Before I even begin to address the film itself, let me preface this by saying—at great risk to my already nerdy reputation-- that in the late 90’s, there was no bigger ABBA fan than yours truly. Their greatest hits album Gold and its sequel had a permanent place in both my home and car CD player and I was often busted at stoplights by drivers in other cars who saw me singing my heart out along to the lyrics penned by Sweden’s greatest export, which was especially embarrassing when this very incident happened not only one block from my college but I was caught by my crush of the week who luckily found it charming, yet proceeded to tease me the rest of the semester by belting out the chorus of “Take a Chance on Me” whenever he saw me walk down a hallway. (Naturally, I took this as an invitation!)

In fact, super-fan that I was, I annoyed my DJ cousin for ABBA requests at receptions he worked until he clued me in that in the DJ world, there’s nothing less hip than a woman requesting “Dancing Queen.” While I told him that any other track would suffice, all I got was an eye-roll and a pat on the back but fortunately, after viewing ABBA: The Movie far too many times on VH1, I began to outgrow my love of the band… until-- that is--word came ‘round that their music had been used throughout a new Broadway hit, Mamma Mia!

It took a few years until I saw the show in a touring company in my hometown and while indeed it was fun to see others enjoy ABBA’s music (despite the overabundance of misguided middle aged men and women dancing and singing along in the aisles which instantly cured me of any major worship of the band), I couldn’t get over the feeling that the show itself was a bit forgettable and overrated.

Yet, to misquote the old Elvis slogan, I assumed that millions of fans around the globe can’t be wrong so when I learned it was going to be adapted to film, as a huge Hollywood musical lover (I know, I just get geekier by the minute), I hoped for the best. Initially, I was skeptical when I heard that Meryl Streep had been selected for the lead role of Donna, the film’s heroine whose soon-to-be wed twenty-year-old daughter Sophie (the adorable Amanda Seyfried) has unbeknownst to Donna-- after discovering her mother’s vintage diary--invited her three possible biological fathers to the wedding with the hope of identifying which one is her dear old dad.

While Streep is hands-down one of the finest actresses in the world, I just didn’t see her as the singing, dancing, earthily sexy, free-spirited Donna, imagining someone like the musically gifted Michelle Pfeiffer for her role. Thankfully, Streep's actually quite good in the film, managing to nail not only every required emotion but hit the notes in a nice way that never overpowers, and manages to win over any doubters with the showstopper “The Winner Takes It All,” for which IMDb reports the vocals were recorded in Sweden in just one take.

No, the problem isn’t with Streep—although she’s given some of the most unflattering, unfeminine, and downright ugly direction ever captured in a musical, with pratfalls aplenty and cannonballs into the sea. However, far more irritating is the continuous choreography that finds her landing with her legs in the air numerous times as though she’s overdue for a pelvic exam. This seems all the more grotesque when this is precisely the way that Mamma’s original stage director Phyllida Lloyd (who also helmed the film) decided to have her first encounter her three former lovers, as though she’s figuratively readying herself for a fertility exercise or about to give birth just as they arrive... complete with—and I kid you not—a Lamaze type breath out the side of her mouth to blow her hair off her face.

Yikes, baby, we’ve come a long, sad way from Cyd Charisse wooing with her sexy legs, or a flirtatious laugh by Ginger Rogers, or a come hither look by Catherine Zeta Jones in Chicago. And while the actors all try their best—even poor, pitiful Brosnan who always seems like he’s staring off in the distance, longing to leave the set and go home to his family, not to mention his James Bond residual checks— they’re given very little with which to work in an uneven translation from stage to screen-- making the fault lie squarely with Lloyd.

In the end and despite casting such excellent talents such as up-and-coming hunky British Generation Y star Dominic Cooper, the underrated Stellan Skarsgard and my favorite version of Mr. Darcy, Colin Firth-- overall Mamma Mia! is one over-the-top, bawdy, Fellini like carnvialesque freak-show. I'm not sure about Greece but in the tacky land of Mamma, often the women shriek for no apparent reason (including a wasted Christine Baranski who nonetheless kills in her one showstopper “Does Your Mother Know”) while playing dress-up complete with quirky props that probably would never have even made it into the far campier yet more successful John Waters musical turned film Hairspray from 2007.

In addition, don’t even get me started on a downright embarrassing and desperate sequence featuring Julie Walters crooning “Take a Chance on Me” to a nearly terrified looking Skarsgard, who-- par for the course of male stars in the film-- spends a majority of his time like Firth and Brosnan, trying his damndest not to look at his watch in the hopes that the madness will end sooner rather than later (probably much like a majority of heterosexual males dragged to the film).

And as someone who still knows every single word of every one of ABBA’s classic songs (yes, even the forgettable ones like “Money, Money, Money”), not to mention a film buff who truly makes an effort to champion musical filmmaking in the hopes that we’re given more quality musicals to rival the golden age of those unforgettable MGM classics, it breaks my heart to say that the film is one of the biggest disappointments of the summer.

However, it’s one that I can also say in complete honesty and without just trying to politely evade critique, that man, did I love that spectacular cinematography.

Bonneville

Director: Christopher N. Rowley

It’s become a near prerequisite for female bonding movies or, to use man’s favorite term that still makes me squeamish—chick flicks-- to include one or more of the following: a) the word sisterhood in the title; b) unlikely bonding between the obligatory straight-laced friend and the obligatory flirtatious or promiscuous rebel; c) flashbacks from childhood where the women pledged they would remain BFFs for all eternity; d) dysfunction reigns supreme either in the form of abuse, marital infidelity, medical drama, or parental issues; e) it’s unbearably depressing; f) utilizes a heavy “you go girl” styled soundtrack of 60’s and 70’s female empowerment hits that have now become the theme songs of drag queens; g) there’s an overly sensitive, sexless and nearly neutered Prince Charming who not only looks amazing shirtless but says all the right things at all the right times to compensate for the Neanderthals they’ve met in the past; and lastly h) it involves a journey of some kind-- usually in the form of a road trip-- which we all know is a motif for the women to “cut loose, kick off… [their] Sunday shoes,” and get Footloose while rediscovering their true selves.

And frankly, it’s a tragedy in not only unleashing horrifically bad films on the public but even more so in perpetuating sexist stereotypes on the teenage boys who purchase tickets to the latest video game turned into a movie as well as a predominantly male profession of journalists whose scathing reviews will no doubt-- even if they’re completely justified-- not only keep people away but prevent Hollywood from trying to create more films for the demographic… and dare I say help shape future media coverage about us when we do something out of the “norm” like perhaps run for presidential office. Oh, but we won't go there!

Yet, even as a woman who—more than anything—wants to encourage more films made for our gender, it’s an appalling fact that the ones we’re peddled usually condescend with several of the aforementioned criteria and so the vicious cycle continues and instead of a modern day equivalent of All About Eve or Gone With the Wind, we get Paris Hilton in The Hottie or the Nottie and Mandy Moore in Because I Said So.

With this in mind, after I saw the previews for the latest female bonding picture, Bonneville, starring Academy Award winners and nominees Jessica Lange, Kathy Bates, and Joan Allen, I began bracing myself for the worst. First a confession-- I’m a great fan of all three actresses, (especially the underrated Joan Allen whose chameleon like ability never ceases to amaze), and I applauded the moxie to produce a film starring a trio of women over the age of fifty. However, the fact that the trailer featured: the three jumping on a bed like giggling schoolgirls, one remaining like a prim schoolmarm while the other acts flirtatious in trying to meet cute with a Prince Charming, and taking a lengthy road trip to face a dysfunctional relative after a depressing event seemed to solidify every cliché in the genre book... yet I found myself pleasantly surprised by this predictable but innocuous and heartwarming little sleeper just released on DVD.

The film, which begins in Pocatello, Idaho, opens as the beautiful, recently widowed Arvilla (Jessica Lange) tries to come to grips with the death of her much older, adventuring, best-selling author husband. Although she’d been his wife for twenty years, her goodhearted yet absentminded husband Joe was so consumed with living life to the fullest that he neglected to create a new will explaining not only his wish to be cremated and have his ashes scattered but also to leave the house to his beloved wife. When Joe’s bitter, defensive daughter Francine (a wicked Christine Baranski) arrives to contest her father’s undocumented wishes, she blackmails her stepmother by giving her a week to deliver Joe’s ashes to her in Montecito, California where she intends to bury him next to his first wife or else she will kick Arvilla out of the home Francine has now inherited.

Still reeling from the untimely death of her mate, not to mention the threat of homelessness lingering in her mind, Arvilla decides she will hand-deliver Joe to Francine herself and her two best friends--the strict but kind, perpetual reader of The Book of Mormon, Carol (Joan Allen) and the rebellious Margene who breaks Mormon rule and indulges in coffee, decide they will go along with their friend, feeling that there’s no time like the present to have a girl’s vacation.

Deciding to take Joe’s gorgeous blue, vintage Bonneville out for a spin for the first time in her life, Arvilla picks up her friends and after a few mishaps including a flat tire and several detours, makes the impulsive decision to skip the flight and make it up to Montecito by car, with her loyal friends by her side. Predictably, they encounter memorable eccentrics along the way such as a young, beautiful hippie born decades too late played by Victor Rasuk (Adrift in Manhattan) who rescues them in the Salt Flats and then gives them his MP3 player in exchange for a ride, along with big-rig driving Tom Skerritt who catches Margene’s eye and interest, yet when the time comes wherein he actually ask the ladies to dinner, she’s the most hesitant one—revealing the truism for not only Margene but most women that it’s far easier to fantasize than actualize-- until with a little prompting she opens herself up to the possibility of love.

Filled with sumptuous cinematography of the majestic American southwest that’s worth the price of the DVD rental alone, although the film hits one contrived plot-point after another and anyone who has seen even a few female bonding classics know precisely what will happen next, the actresses seem to genuinely engage one another in ways that make what may have been one-dimensional roles seem far more real than the less than inspired writing.

In fact, it’s on their capable shoulders that Bonneville rests and I’m sure I don’t have to assure you that when you have Bates and Allen navigating with Lange in the driver’s seat, even if you hit some potentially rough traffic and annoying road construction along the way, you’re guaranteed a mostly smooth and entertaining trip, if you can face your fear from enough bad female journey pictures of the past to give the likable, mild Bonneville a spin.