People who don't like movie musicals usually object to the parts where characters who have been simply speaking suddenly burst into song. This can work in a theater, where the willing consent of the audience serves as a license for all sorts of onstage illusion. Thrown up onto a big screen, though, the artificiality of the convention is jarring.
The inherent riskiness of transmuting a stage musical into a movie is what has kept "Dreamgirls" from the screen for so long. The 1981 Broadway hit has become an object of cult-like veneration among its many graying devotees, and entertainment mogul David Geffen sat on the movie rights to it for years, convinced that any attempt to film the show would inevitably screw it up. However, he was finally convinced to let director Bill Condon ("Kinsey"), who'd scripted the Oscar-winning 2002 movie version of "Chicago," take a whack at "Dreamgirls." It was an excellent decision. Condon's film is a rousing synthesis of music, emotion and pop nostalgia. It's not just the best musical of the year (there's really no competition); it's simply one of the best movies.
"Dreamgirls" is essentially the story of Motown Records, the premiere black hit factory of the 1960s, and of its celebrated founder, Berry Gordy, Jr. The movie gets the outline of this illustrious American success story right. It conveys the determination of the Gordy character, Curtis Taylor Jr. (played by Jamie Foxx), to lift black music out of the R&B ghetto to which it was confined and propel it into the far more lucrative, white-dominated pop charts. And it focuses on Gordy's most successful vehicle in this undertaking, the Supremes (called the Dreams in the film). This female trio was started by singer Florence Ballard (called Effie White in the movie, and played by Jennifer Hudson); but Gordy pushed Ballard into the background in order to bring the more glamorous Diana Ross (Deena Jones here, played by Beyoncé Knowles) to the front.
"Dreamgirls" isn't slavish in its dedication to the details of the Motown story. Gordy wasn't a musical novice who financed the launch of his first label, Tamla, with proceeds from a gambling binge; he was already a successful songwriter. And Florence Ballard never made a triumphant comeback after being kicked out of the Supremes — she died on welfare in 1976. But the most significant aspect of the Motown legend that the movie fudges — unavoidably — is the music. What we hear has none of the propulsive magic of the old Motown hits by such acts as the Miracles, the Temptations or Marvin Gaye. Instead, we get Broadway show tunes. However, these are Broadway show tunes of a very high standard, a pop/rock/R&B fusion that's hard to resist. And at least one of them — the concluding showstopper "One Night Only" — could in fact pass for late-period Motown.
By now you've no doubt heard that Jennifer Hudson steals the show. This 25-year-old singer, whose talent was found to be inadequate by the arbiters of "American Idol" (a fact that would tell a visitor from Mars all he'd need to know about that dubious TV phenomenon), gives one of the all-time great breakthrough performances. Hudson is a spectacularly gifted belter, and reports from pre-release screenings of audiences erupting in cheers whenever she lets it rip onscreen are not exaggerated. Not only would she have been a star back in the classic R&B period in which the movie is for the most part set, she could — as is demonstrated in one electrifying number toward the end of the film — have been very nearly the equal of the peerless Aretha Franklin. That she is also a subtly effective and very funny, wisecracking actress makes her performance almost too much to process. She's an instant, overnight star, and you'll be cheering her, too.
What's most remarkable about the movie, though, is that Hudson isn't the only revelation in it. Eddie Murphy, playing a hard-R&B shouter in the mold of the late Wilson Pickett — a star whose time is passing — gives the performance of his career. Onstage, backed by a ferocious, horn-stoked band, he's a miracle of skinny-tied, shiny-suited dervish abandon — and he's a terrific singer, too. It's wonderful to have him back, and you have to hope that he'll now start getting more roles worthy of his overflowing talent.
Given the company she's keeping here, Beyoncé, as the nominal star of the film, faces some daunting challenges. The big surprise (to me, anyway) is that she delivers. Navigating the downward spiral of a deteriorating romance, she's touchingly effective; and, especially in an elaborate, high-fashion photo-shoot scene, when she's being groomed to become a movie star, her truly flawless beauty takes your breath away. She has also learned to sing here in a slightly more restrained and mannered style than her own, one that's consistent with the period — and she's rarely sounded better.
David Geffen must be happy about the way the film version of "Dreamgirls" has turned out. True, there is one scene in which a group of characters suddenly slips from conversation into song, and, yes, it seems (to me, again) ridiculous. But for the most part, the many musical sequences make sense: The actors are all playing performers, and we're simply watching them perform. And director Condon keeps the action moving with such agility that there's little time to quibble. The picture has an uncomplicated story that draws you in, and the music has more punch than anyone unfamiliar with the old stage show might expect. And it has Jennifer Hudson. I'd say remember that name, but after seeing "Dreamgirls," there's little chance you'll forget it.
("Dreamgirls" is a Paramount Pictures release. Paramount and MTV are both subsidiaries of Viacom.)
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