#Fuck the prom dvd movie
The insistence on putting huge stars who can’t quite carry the tune into movie musicals betrays a central distrust in the original medium. well, it might just be Patti LuPone-is meant for a belter. Streep does some pleasantly reliable Streepy things, but she’s not a belter, and her role-basically a mix of Patti LuPone and.
#Fuck the prom dvd free
Key and Washington play their square parts well-he’s the kindly principal, she the bigoted head of the PTA-but they can’t perform their way free of the film’s leaden weight. Kidman is stuck in that obfuscating Fosse number and otherwise disappears. We are meant to be drawn in by the big names: Corden, Nicole Kidman, Keegan-Michael Key, Kerry Washington, Meryl Streep. Matthew Sklar's music, Chad Beguelin's lyrics, and Bob Martin's book fare the adaptation okay, but their theater jokes and general air of hammy whimsy are not given the sly spin they require to really land, and they’re often drowned out by Murphy’s hurried, overly adorned visuals. It can even expand upon it, in ways unique to cinema. The Prom is a shellacked lump of Hollywood product, all canned fabulousness-including Corden’s noxious mugging-and none of the difficult, awe-inspiring technicality that makes musical performance truly snap and sing with theater’s scrappy magic.Įven if you didn’t see a particular stage show-as I didn’t, in this case-a film version can still evoke some of that thrill, when done right. Murphy doesn’t seem to have any true interest in, or understanding of, what people actually like about musicals. Instead, he films them mostly from the shoulders up-somewhere, Gwen Verdon is screaming. During a musical number that’s a slavish homage to Bob Fosse, Murphy barely even shows the two characters’ legs or feet-let alone their whole bodies in glorious motion. Murphy shoots in a color palette ranging from gay discotheque at 11PM on a Thursday to third period physics class, none of which inspires much wonder in any given scene. Otherwise, The Prom is staged in confusing, frustrating ways. They add dashes of bright theater-kid moxie to the film, conjuring up a bit of what it feels like to sit in a Broadway house and watch a bunch of lovable goobers belt their hearts out. There’s little good elsewhere in The Prom, save for newcomers Jo Ellen Pellman and Ariana DeBose as the winsome young couple at the center of the prom-troversy. Barry is instead played by talk-show host and occasional actor James Corden, most recently seen on the big screen in Cats. Nor is he played by Brooks Ashmanskas, the out gay theater mainstay who played the role in the Broadway production and received a Tony nomination for his troubles. But in the film, he’s not played by Lane. I’m thinking Nathan Lane, if his star had actually faded. One of the actors is a grand old show queen, Barry Glickman, a vain swish whose star is fading but still looms as a legend of the form. The Prom is about a bunch of self-involved New York theater actors descending on an Indiana high school to protest a lesbian student being essentially barred from attending her prom. Then I watched The Prom (Netflix, December 11), Ryan Murphy’s film version of the recent Broadway musical, and I got mad all over again.
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I know it’s bad when it’s bad, but otherwise I’m not too fussed about it. It doesn’t bother me, though, in any grandly absolute way.
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In general, yes, I wish more gay actors got the chance to tell our stories, embody our people, rather than straight men getting accolades for being brave-or cheers for being sassy. That’s a nuance that precludes any hard and fast rule about who should play gay men on screen. It’s all about intention and execution, I guess, ineffable qualities that shine through in the most successful transformations.
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Meaning, sometimes it’s just fine- Bill Hader in The Skeleton Twins comes to mind, or Trevante Rhodes in the tremendous third act of Moonlight-and other times it’s very much not. I eventually told them it was because when it comes to the problem of straight guys playing gay men on screen, I just know it when I see it. At some point during my crush on the 2017 film Call Me By Your Name, a friend asked me a vexing question: if I was always complaining about gay actors not being hired to play gay (or, in CMBYN’s case, queer) roles, why didn’t the fact that the film’s stars are straight make me upset? I hemmed, I hawed, trying to rationalize my selective hypocrisy.