Pictured Brandon Routh as Superman.
Last summer's blockbuster releases included Monster-in-Law and Batman Begins, both inadvertently pitched at gay audiences. In the first, we got to watch Jane Fonda, as a controlling Barbara Walters type, go head-to-head with the seemingly innocent Jennifer Lopez. In the second, Warner Bros. boldly re-created its moribund comic-book franchise, thanks to a fresh approach and major gay eye candy in the role of the caped crusader, Christian Bale. Now we get two of this summer's most anticipated releases—The Devil Wears Prada and Superman Returns—and, again, both movies are inadvertently pitched at gay audiences and follow the same blueprint. Is it any wonder that moviegoers will experience more than a smidgen of déjà vu when watching these two pictures?
The answer is 'no'—and this isn't exactly groundbreaking news for movies in general, and summer blockbusters in particular. At some point, many, many of these pictures are bound to congeal in the mind. For gay audiences, the appeal of Prada is in the tacit Mommie Dearest-type relationship between Streep, in a frosty white wig as the frosty gorgon fashion editor Miranda Priestly, and her Christina Crawford-like assistant, Andrea 'Andy' Sachs ( Anne Hathaway ) . Hathaway's character has the same inner strength and quiet defiance that was the starting point for all the on-screen battles between Faye Dunaway and Diana Scarwid, as Crawford and daughter, in Mommie Dearest.
But Streep's character is much more controlled and much deadlier than Dunaway's Crawford. She never raises her voice, rattles off her instructions to her lackeys in machine-gun fashion, and brooks no dissent. The two control freaks are very much sisters under the skin. That Streep humanizes this sophisticated witch beyond camp is, like Dunaway, a testament to her superior acting skills.
Hathaway, playing a recent college journalism graduate who doesn't really want the job as Streep's assistant in the first place ( but does want the promised writing connections ) , begins as an innocent in the area of fashion but is very capable nonetheless. Unsurprisingly, she quickly blossoms and rises to the challenge of Streep's increasingly preposterous demands ( and becomes a threat in the process, a la All About Eve, to the other assistant played by Emily Blunt, so memorable in last year's seductive lesbian romance, My Summer of Love ) .
The transformation includes a sartorial makeover ( with Hathaway wearing over 70 costumes ) . This is presided over by the gay art director character ( played with typical welcome expertise by Stanley Tucci ) and the clothes, designed by Sex and the City's Patricia Field, are spectacular. They are the kind of costumes that could only be called 'movie couture'—the modern-day equivalent of the outrageous clothes that Theodora Runkle designed for Lucille Ball in Mame and that Edith Head adorned Shirley MacLaine with in What a Way to Go! These are clothes, like those sported by Rene Russo in The Thomas Crown Affair and the characters in Altman's fashion fiasco, Ready to Wear, that fashionistas and drag queens will swoon over.
But the movie, predictable as fashion designers changing hemlines from season to season, is not nearly as fun; after Hathaway's character has had the makeover and triumphs, she will need to be seduced by the sick, venal, soulless world of fashion—and finally return to the 'real world.' It's all in true Diana Ross/Mahogany fashion but without the camp sensibility of that dreadful, fabu-lush epic ( and I can't WAIT for that DVD ) . It sounds perverse, but Prada is too well-directed, -written and -acted for camp enshrinement. Let's hope that a deleted 'confrontation' scene like the one between Crawford and Shearer in The Women surfaces down the road. Wouldn't it be fun to watch Hathaway proclaiming 'Her hair's as phony as she is!' while flushing Streep's snowy white wig down the john? Keep your manicured fingernails crossed.
Something else to dream about, frankly, is one Brandon Routh. I don't think the producers of Superman Returns could have found a more perfect actor to step into the role of the superhero so strongly identified with the late Christopher Reeve. The statuesque Routh, with his comic-book proportions, gentle voice and polite manor eerily suggests Reeve ( down to the dimpled chin ) . Routh is more muscular ( all the better to please today's audiences—gay and straight ) , which is a much closer 3-D approximation of the comic-book drawings of Superman. However, unlike Reeve, Routh's Superman doesn't get nearly such a fun supporting cast.
Kate Bosworth doesn't have close to the klutzy braininess ( or sexiness ) of Margot Kidder's Lois Lane, nor does Kevin Spacey have the hammy fun with super villain Lex Luthor that Gene Hackman did. Spacey plays Luthor with his typical clenched jaw and contemptuous manner that have really worn thin, and there is no explanation why such an intolerant egotist would have Parker Posey ( wearing a Barbra Streisand Star is Born curly afro ) as a sidekick. The hunky henchman I understood, but not the Parker Posey character ( who Spacey barely bothers to acknowledge and tries to kill at one point ) . No one wondered what Hackman's Luthor was doing with Valerie Perrine, who played his dim-witted but luscious sidekick.
The picture covers much of the turf of the 1978 original and its sequel but reconfigures it ( and it's thrilling and eerie to hear Marlon Brando's voiceover as Jor-El, Superman's father ) . We are told via a screen crawl that when Superman caught a whiff of his former planet amongst the cosmos, he took off to explore the remains. Upon his return, Superman discovers that his beloved, Lane, has married another beauty, James Marsden ( who plays the nephew of newspaper editor Perry White, essayed by Frank Langella ) , and for the balance of the picture we are saddled with a tired quasi-love triangle ( although, in my mind it was Marsden that Routh was mooning over—much more interesting ) . This wends around a special effects-laden fiendish Dr. Evil-like plot that revolves, in Donald Trump fashion, around real estate ( ! ) that is cooked up by Spacey's Luthor.
The end result, photographed in steel blues, grays and browns to flatter Superman's red cape, moves along nicely, aided by gay director Bryan Singer's sure pacing and John Ottman's melodic score that pays homage to John Williams original ( and includes a creative nod to Williams' 'Can You Read My Mind' love theme ) . A plot development leading to the climax of the picture is quite unbelievable and the ending is dragged out ( to say the least ) but, all in all, Warner Bros. can breathe a sign of relief. The company has successfully reinvented its man of steel.
_____
Film Series of Note: Speaking of spectacular shapes, '50s sex siren Jayne Mansfield is amply displayed in 1956's The Girl Can't Help It and 1957's Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?, which are featured along with 11 other comedies ( including several Jerry Lewis vehicles ) and 12 cartoons by director Frank Tashlin as part of a month-long tribute to the auteur called Thoroughly Modern Tashlin: The Comedies and Cartoons of Frank Tashlin. The series kicks off Sat., July 1, with Tashlin's first film, 1952's domestic comedy The First Time, and plays for a month at the Gene Siskel Film Center. Several of the films ( including the two Mansfield comedies ) will be shown in restored 35mm prints and Shawn Beltson, 20th Century Fox's vice-president of film preservation, will be on hand at the July 22 screening of Rock Hunter to talk about the restoration and Tashlin's career. For complete schedule and ticket information, see www.siskelfilmcenter.com or call 312-846-2600.
_____
Check out my archived reviews at www.windycitytimes.com or www.knightatthemovies.com . Feedback can be left at the latter Web site.
