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Chicago
Director: Rob MarshallShifting effortlessly from a comedic tale, about a woman who kills her lover and then manipulates her image to get away with the crime, to honest-to-goodness fantasy musical numbers that express the emotions and thematic undercurrents of each scene, Chicago is a gratifying testimonial to the thrilling uniqueness of the movie musical form. It is also as addictive as most of its songs and as fetching as most of its dance numbers. Set during the Twenties (it is actually based, loosely and with altered names, on a true story), its depiction of a trial sensationalized by the fickle press is every bit as relevant now as it was when the original Broadway show was conceived 30 years ago (primarily by Bob Fosse, whose specter lurks around the edges of the production, like neon) or when the original trial occurred 80 or so years ago. The music is 30-years old, too-you can hear the A Chorus Line orchestrations in most of the song constructions-but then musical tastes stopped advancing around the time the show first opened anyway, so nobody seems to care about its antiquity. Renée Zellweger is the murderess, Richard Gere is her lawyer and Catherine Zeta-Jones is a fellow jail inmate awaiting trial and jealous of the attention Zellweger's character is receiving. Directed by Rob Marshall, the film is as dazzling and amusing as it is refreshing, a celebration of cynicism that is as deadly accurate as its format is artificial.
The 2002 Oscar winner has been released by Miramax Home Entertainment (30700, $30) in letterboxed format only, with an aspect ratio of about 1.85:1 and an accommodation for enhanced 16:9 playback. The color transfer is super, with crisp, delicious hues. The 5.1-channel Dolby Digital sound and similar DTS sound are passable but not spectacular. It is mostly the musical orchestrations that receive attention in the rear channels and neither the rear nor the front is all that muscular. The 113-minute program has an alternate French audio track (with French songs!) in 5.1 Dolby, optional English and Spanish subtitles, a 4-minute musical number featuring Zeta-Jones and Queen Latifah that does not have the tone of the other musical numbers and was sensibly dropped, and a good 28-minute production documentary with lots of great rehearsal footage.
Marshall and screenwriter Bill Condon supply a very good commentary track, too, over the film and the deleted musical number, talking about how they transformed the stage musical to the screen, describing what it was like working with the cast, and revealing the movie's mechanics in a manner that enhances a viewer's appreciation of what they've accomplished.
Fosse's 1979 autobiographical feature that drew its title from Chicago's opening number, All That Jazz, has been released by 20th Century Fox Home Entertainment (2003579, $15). Roy Scheider portrays the driven stage director who is trying to mount an elaborate musical (as Fosse actually did with Chicago), complete a feature film (as Fosse actually did with Lenny) and juggle a number of love affairs amid his cigarettes, pills and booze. The film is also about death. While Fosse didn't die immediately after All That Jazz was finished, as time recedes it seems that way, making it one of the most unnerving autobiographical films ever made. Fosse never lets the viewer off the hook, either, as if he were some prophet of doom bent upon wiping every smile away. The first half of the film is exhilarating, as you watch his character sculpt the choreography of the show and hone the intricate editing on his film, and then when he has his heart attack, all of that is taken away. But he doesn't die right then, so the viewer is treated to an excruciatingly endless fantasy sequence, full of great dance numbers but still not the real thing, as the hero hovers in his recovery, slipping in and out of Fellini-esque hallucinations, his work receding from his grasp. You feel the loss. Your face gets rubbed in it, and it is hard to name a movie that comes closer to duplicating the sense of helplessness surrounding death that this film instills through its very structure. The theatrics of Chicago, in comparison, are child's play.
The picture is presented in letterboxed format only, with an aspect ratio of about 1.85:1 and an accommodation for enhanced 16:9 playback. It seems like a fresher transfer might be possible. Colors look a little drab and fleshtones are somewhat pale, though the image is sharp and is free of overt wear. There is a mildly stereophonic audio track that disengages the music from the center just enough to make the show a bit more involving. The 123-minute program has an alternate French audio track in mono (with English songs), optional English and Spanish subtitles ("El hora del espectáculo, amigos."), a trailer, 8 minutes of terrific clips that show Fosse working on the opening dance sequence, and 3 minutes of interviews with Scheider that were conducted on the set.
Scheider also supplies a very nice commentary track, reminiscing a lot about Fosse both on the set and off (They became very close friends. "Fosse really loved the business. But he knew all of the pitfalls, he knew all of the ugliness, he knew all of the hypocrisy, he knew all of the lying, all of the manipulation.") and describing the exhaustive work he went through to do his part. He also talks about the other cast members, some of the problems the production ran into (about halfway through the shoot, Columbia signed the movie over to Fox) and the mixed reactions that greeted it. "Now the film is in everyone's home library. I mean, look what we're doing here now. This is a film that's going to last. It's going to be around for a long time. It's going to be around a long time because it's beautifully shot, it's well acted, it's beautifully directed, it's intelligently written, it's honest and it's also fantastically entertaining at the same time."
