Renee Zellweger Out of Tune in Chicago
By Jonathan Schwartz
Contributing Writer

With a best musical/comedy win at the Golden Globes and 13 Oscar nominations (one more than Ben Hur received in 1959), Chicago is rapidly becoming one of the most decorated films in the past five years. Unfortunately, the film fails to live up to the undeservedly bestowed hype. Chicago is a mostly cute, sometimes spectacular show, but it falters as often as it thrills.

The plot of Chicago involves the efforts of two jailed murderesses in the 1920s to free themselves from prison and find fame and fortune. One is a former Vaudeville star and the other is a struggling wanna-be. Splashing their stories across the tabloids using a publicity-hound lawyer, the two gain notoriety. The story can be all but written off as a silly backdrop for the song-and-dance numbers that form the heart of Chicago's Broadway counterpart. Screenwriter Bill Condon poses the musical acts mostly as the jazzed-up inner monologues of the high-ambition, low-talent Roxie Hart (Renee Zellweger), enabling director Rob Marshall to stage over-the-top visual stunners.

Marshall's big-screen debut marks him as a rising talent, but he's still wet behind the ears as a blockbusting director. With Marshall's background in choreography, one expects a competence with the productions that the director displays only in spurts.

There is a degree of inspiration, if not genius, on display in the gussied-up renditions of "Razzle Dazzle," "Cell Block Tango," and "We Both Reached For the Gun," but other songs simply lack the visuals or vocals that would justify a fifty-million dollar Hollywood remake. Marshall's breakneck pacing both helps and hurts; while a few weak spots get glossed over by rapid-fire edits, just as many potentially compelling numbers get lost in the shuffle of direction that at times devolves into Luhrmann-for-dummies. The director consistently frustrates the viewer as he moves between proficiency and madness like a middlebrow Nietzsche, displaying a few instant gems amidst a mediocre clutter of unnecessary prancing.

The cast, like the film, has flashes of brilliance, yet also has fatal flaws. Catherine Zeta-Jones brings a delicious cynicism and vampishness to Velma Kelly; her skilled dancing and vocal quality evince an aborted career in musical theater. Richard Gere's turn as huckster mouthpiece Billy Flynn is as slick and brassy as any, surprising considering Gere's decade-long string of stinkers. With a part that any actor would kill for served up on a silver platter, Gere doesn't disappoint, and almost succeeds in stealing the picture. Giving a career-remaking performance, Gere seems poised to catapult himself from third-rate romantic lead to second-rate hotshot lawyer/detective/fighter-pilot, as long as he can stay away from Julia Roberts vehicles and titles that include "Mothman". The supporting cast is exceptional; the efforts of Taye Diggs, Queen Latifah, and John C. Reilly produce some of the movie's finest moments.

The snag is Zellweger, around whom Marshall hangs the plot. Almost from the start she seems miscast, having formed a star persona around portrayals of hyper-awkward arm candy. In her role as Roxie, one part conniving and one part naïve, Zellweger plays both traits semi-convincingly, but alternates between them so quickly and with so little warning that her character ends up as a scramble of conflicting emotions. Zellweger easily stands out as the weak link of a breathtaking cast, an unfortunate fact given her abundance of screen time.

Due to the unsightly warts on Marshall's picture, it seems confusing that such an ambitious but flawed project should be transfigured into an Academy Awards juggernaut. Still, Hollywood has always been, and likely will always be, soft on musicals. One need look no further than the visually magnificent yet flawed production of the equally ballyhooed Moulin Rouge! to recognize an industry-wide soft spot for Fosse-derived theater. What Rouge! posited and Chicago confirms is that decent-at-best musicals are critical contenders, while dramas realized on the same level are ignored.

Awards, however, are just awards, and the Oscars are rapidly losing their pretense of honoring films on the basis of artistic merit and heading towards simply constructing monuments to studio-driven hubris. Yet Chicago remains an interesting film, not only for the genuine moments in which Marshall displays his clearly prodigious talent, but for its status as the latest entry in the rebirth of the musical.

While cynicism may rule the film's day, irony does not, and there remains a refreshing and liberating aspect to hearing movie stars belt out showtunes. Still, the only constant in Chicago is its ability to disappoint. Lacking in narrative despite a sure directorial hand, without a star who can bear its cumbersome load, Chicago ultimately collapses under its expectations and ambitions. While there are worthwhile chunks in the rubble, the film is a reminder that Hollywood and Broadway are a country apart.