Back to the Big Screen

By Dan Hudak

Hairspray, that chemical confection of ’60s camp and racial tolerance, has made its way to the big screen in a competent but far from spectacular adaptation.

Based on the 2002 Broadway musical inspired by the 1988 John Waters movie of the same name, the Baltimore-based fable follows teenyboppers Tracy Turnblad (newcomer Nikki Blonsky) and her friend Penny Pingleton (Amanda Bynes) as they try to get on The Corny Collins Show, a local music/dance television program. Tracy’s mother, Edna (John Travolta in a gargantuan fat suit), isn’t keen on her attending an open audition, but her understanding father (Christopher Walken) encourages her to pursue her dreams.

Tracy is initially rejected for being overweight by vile station manager Velma Von Tussle (Michelle Pfeiffer), whose daughter Amber (Brittany Snow) is the current star of the show, along with her boyfriend Link (Zac Efron, High School Musical). It’s not until Corny Collins (James Marsden) himself sees Tracy dance that she earns a spot as a regular, but there are bigger issues at hand.

The year is 1962, and Baltimore is still racially divided. To wit, once a month Corny’s show features a “Negro Day” led by emcee Motormouth Maybelle (Queen Latifah), but the posturing hasn’t fooled Tracy. Given that she learned her new dance moves from Seaweed (Elijah Kelley), an African-American student she met in detention, she goes on a quest to desegregate the show, which is met with great resistance by Velma.

Fortunately screenwriter Leslie Dixon and director Adam Shankman (The Pacifier) never get too heavy-handed with the racial subtext, and instead rely on the lighthearted song and dance numbers for the greatest impact. Good ballads include Tracy’s “I Can Hear the Bells” and Tracy/Edna’s “Welcome to the Sixties,” which marks the first time Travolta has sung on screen in nearly 30 years (Grease, 1978). Although you never forget who’s inside the fat suit and he’s adequate for the role, there’s nothing special about Travolta’s singing or dancing here.

Unlike recent musicals (Chicago, Dreamgirls) that featured quick edits with rapid-fire glimpses of seductive choreography, Hairspray is slower, more observational and deliberate in its approach. Although faster is not always better, the aforementioned films had an effusive energy that helped make them great movies. In fairness, the story and setting of Hairspray don’t lend themselves to up-tempo montage, and the more traditional Broadway style seems appropriate.

Perhaps this is why it’d probably be more fun to see the stage production. A number of songs, including the wonderful opener “Good Morning, Baltimore” and the climactic “You Can’t Stop the Beat,” resonate with the type of bravado that invigorates a live audience with a palpable energy that cannot only be seen and heard, but also felt throughout the theater.

The barrier of the movie screen inherently prevents cinema from offering the same sensation. This isn’t always a bad thing (you don’t want to be inside the torture chamber in Hostel, after all), but Hairspray never finds a way to transcend the big screen and truly connect with its stadium-seated audience. So while it’s certainly good, campy fun that harkens back to the musicals of yesteryear, it isn’t exuberant enough to have you singing and dancing in your seat.

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