Four stars. Rated PG, for bits of dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.22.17
This lavish, opulently stylish
musical, based very loosely on the
early life and career of Phineas Taylor Barnum, is a slice of magic realism in
the style of last year’s La La Land.
First-time director Michael
Gracey delivers this splashy romp with a degree of razzle-dazzle that would
have delighted Barnum himself. Given Gracey’s earlier credits as a visual
effects artist and supervisor, we shouldn’t be surprised by the often stunning
production and dance numbers, many of them powered by Ashley Wallen’s
breathtaking choreography.
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| When shameless promoter P.T. Barnum (Hugh Jackman, right) decides to gain some respect from New York City's aristrocratic elite, he seeks out respected author and playwright Phillip Carlyle (Zac Efron). But will this writer of failed plays be willing to descend from his lofty perch? |
As is true of many musicals, some
of Benj Pasek and Justin Paul’s original songs are Barnum-style show-stoppers;
others ... sorta-kinda just hang there. The power anthems attached to the best
sequences, however, will be remembered long after the lights come up: most
notably the title song and “This Is Me,” the latter a triumphant statement of
personal dignity, on behalf of the colorful but publicly shunned members of
Barnum’s performing troupe.
The film also maintains its
momentum thanks to Hugh Jackman’s vibrant performance as Barnum: a role that
allows the actor to exercise the singing and dancing chops he displayed so magnificently
in the stage musical The Boy from Oz
(a side of his talent likely overlooked by those familiar only with various
Marvel superhero movies).
Casting directors Tiffany Little
Canfield and Bernard Telsey took care to avoid the mistake made in La La Land, which would have been vastly
superior with two stars who actually could sing and dance. Jackman’s
spellbinding performance is ably supported by a similarly adept roster of
co-stars, beginning with the equally enthusiastic Zac Efron, returning to the
genre that made him a star in the High
School Musical trilogy.
Jenny Bicks and Bill Condon’s
script plays fast and extremely loose with Barnum’s actual life, although they
certainly get the tone right: a masterpiece of style over substance, with the
same wink-wink-nudge-nudge hokum that the celebrated showman practiced himself.
A brief childhood prologue
suggests that young Barnum’s impossible ambitions — as the only son of a poor,
working-class father — get their momentum from his immediate devotion to
Charity, the aristocratic girl who catches his eye, and grows up to become his
wife. Their younger selves are played charmingly by Ellis Rubin and Skylar
Dunn, and they share a touching ballad — “A Million Dreams” — that carries the
narrative to adulthood and marriage (Michelle Williams taking over as Charity).
Now ensconced in the whirlwind of
mid-19th century New York City, frustrated by a series of clerking jobs, Barnum
hatches a mad scheme financed by a bald-faced bank swindle: a museum of the
unusual and unseen. But it’s primarily a static waxworks show that proves of
little interest to passersby.
“You need something living,” his young daughters Caroline
and Helen insist (the two girls winningly played by Austyn Johnson and Cameron
Seely).
This prompts Barnum’s inspired
master stroke, at which point he builds a fresh production after scouring the
city for its unloved and unwanted misfits, concealed behind cloaks and closed
doors: General Tom Thumb (Sam Humphrey); Lettie Lutz, the “Bearded Lady” (Keala
Settle); trapeze artists W.D. Wheeler (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) and his sister
Anne (Zendaya); the “Albino Dancers” (Mishay Petronelli and Caoife Coleman);
and additional oddities such as the “dog boy,” a giant, a strong man, the
“world’s fattest man” and conjoined twins Chang and Eng.
Bicks and Condon’s script doesn’t
entirely shy from the ethical misgivings and moral controversy at the heart of
Barnum’s exploitation of these people. The diminutive Charles Stratton — soon
to be re-christened Tom Thumb — voices such concerns when approached by Barnum,
worried that he’ll be mocked by the public.
“They already do that,” Barnum
replies, much too glibly. “You may as well get paid for it.”
We wince at that line, as is
intended; Jackman puts genuine compassion into Barnum’s next, far gentler
response, now selling this as an opportunity for empowerment. It’s definitely a
candy-coated reading of an environment that couldn’t possibly be as warm and
cozy as this film depicts, but that’s the whole point: This is the kinder,
gentler reading of Barnum’s vision, made romantic for today’s politically
correct sensibilities.
Everything comes together in the
first spectacular production number, “Come Alive,” powered by a stylish blend
of Wallen’s choreography and awesome visual effects trickery supplied by an
army of folks from Brainstorm Digital, Raynault VFX, MPC Montreal and EDI
Effetti Digitali Italiani, among others.
Other highlights include the
athletic “The Other Side,” a two-man romp by Jackman and Efron, when Barnum —
determined to earn approval not merely from “the masses,” but also from New
York’s aristocratic set — cajoles reluctant playwright Phillip Carlyle (a
fictitious character, played by Efron) to join the team. Once on board, Efron
and Zendaya share an equally magical trapeze pas de deux, when Phillip tries to persuade Anne that his love for
her is genuine.
Most of the “performances” don’t
display much in the way of acting range; Gracey goes for spectacle rather than
thespic chops. That said, the film does offer unexpected emotional depth, the
best coming from Settle’s Lettie Lutz, who becomes spokeswoman for the troupe,
and never misses an opportunity to remind Barnum of their dignity.
That becomes particularly crucial
when Barnum’s quest for upper-class legitimacy — motivated, in part, by a
series of stinging newspaper reviews by critic James Gordon Bennett (Paul
Sparks, quietly sublime) — leads him to sponsor an American tour by soprano
Jenny Lind (Rebecca Ferguson), the “Swedish Nightingale” then enormously
popular in Europe, but unknown in the States.
We anticipate the impending
romantic triangle, as does Charity: a narrative hiccup that affords Williams
the opportunity for some delicate shading. But even at its most angst-laden,
the narrative never threatens the film’s family-friendly PG rating.
The flamboyant,
Steampunk-modern-fantasy-pop show vibe comes courtesy of production designer
Nathan Crowley, who earned one of his three Academy Award nominations working
with Jackman on 2006’s The Prestige.
He and cinematographer Seamus McGarvey ensure that we’re never less than
amazed, even during the film’s quieter moments.
At an economical 105 minutes, The Greatest Showman understands the
importance of leaving its audience wanting more. That’s actually somewhat
frustrating, because the narrative concludes just as the actual Barnum’s life
was about to get really interesting.
(During one of his two terms as a Republican member of the Connecticut
legislature, he famously spoke in favor of the 13th Amendment to the U.S.
Constitution, insisting that “A human soul, ‘that God has created and Christ
died for,’ is not to be trifled with. It may tenant the body of a Chinaman, a
Turk, an Arab or a Hottentot; it is still an immortal spirit.”)
But Gracey obviously wasn’t
concerned with subsequent chapters in Barnum’s career; the goal was to give us
an extravaganza worthy of the unapologetic huckster who, later in life, said,
“I am a showman by profession ... and all the gilding shall make nothing else
of me.”
And in that, everybody involved
definitely succeeded.
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