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A Sleazy Cinderella Story

Crissa-Jean Chappell
Review of  Chicago
(PG-13) ***  

Roxie didn’t mean to do it. She shot the guy, but she’s not guilty. At least, that’s what she claims. Her sordid story is plucked straight from the muckraking Front Page headlines of the Prohibition era. All she wanted was a chance at stardom. Her deadbeat boyfriend, Fred Casely (Dominic West), had sweet-talked her with the lure of fame. Roxie had already given up on her lunkhead husband, Amos Hart (John C. Reilly). One night, Fred pushes her against the wall. He admits he’s been lying all along. Roxie grabs a gun from the bedside table and blows him away. When the cops drag her off to jail, Roxie finally gets what she wanted. The murder makes her a celebrity.

The long, winding history of Chicago began with a non-musical Broadway play by hardboiled Tribune reporter Maurine Watkins. She chronicled the real-life 1924 murder trials of two sassy dames who were eventually acquitted of their alleged crimes. The production became the basis of two movies (including Roxie Hart, starring none other than Ginger Rogers). In 1975, Bob Fosse obtained the rights to the story and created a musical version to the stage. It played for 900 performances before the curtain finally closed. The choreographer, Ann Reinking, revised Chicago in 1996 amid rumors of a movie adaptation. At one time, Madonna might have snagged the lead.

Despite the fact that musicals often seem unsuited for the silver screen, director Rob Marshall, a veteran of the stage, makes his movie debut with panache. His dazzling adaptation doesn’t disrupt the story with brassy music. Instead, he and screenwriter Bill Condon stage the songs inside star-struck Roxie’s feverish imagination (not unlike Bjork’s melodic daydreams in Dancer in the Dark). This makes more dramatic sense than filming the script by the numbers. All the greed-driven characters in the seedy city remain larger than life. Chicago doesn’t pretend to be anything more serious than a glitzy revue. The plot feels like a long, cynical joke—a sleazy Cinderella story with enormous appetites.

The film opens with the neon-splattered number, “All That Jazz,” as if setting the tone for things to come. Catherine Zeta-Jones kicks up her rhinestone heels in a Louise Brooks wig. In fact, she was a professional dancer in London before taking a chance with acting. She plays the vampy Velma Kelly, the toast of the tabloids, a murderous chorus girl who ended up in the slammer. There, Roxie also meets Mama (Queen Latifah in a stroke of casting genius), the prison matron. She belts out “When You’re Good to Mama” with supercharged self-assurance, whipping scarves out of her hefty bosom. Roxy toggles between Kewpie Doll sweetness and deep, dark id-iocies as she learns to manipulate her newfound publicity. Enter Billy Flyn (Richard Gere), her slick-talking layer. His mantra, “Give ‘em the old razzle-dazzle,” explodes into a euphoric floor-stomper during Roxy’s trial. As he tap-dances (metaphorically and literally) through the tense proceedings, the courtroom morphs into the electric riot of the stage.

The relentless crosscutting lends the movie a dynamic energy. In one of the most extravagant showstoppers, “Cell Block Tango,” five femmes fatale in flesh-packed corsets re-enact the scenarios that drove them to murder. Even John C. Reilly gets a turn in the spotlight with his woebegone ditty, “Mr. Cellophane.” All the performers fare exceptionally well. Gere is an island of charisma. Zeta-Jones sizzles in every scene. And Ms. Zellweger works double-time to portray Roxy’s ever-shifting persona. It helps when you’ve got a smart script. With all this bamboozling in the Windy City, there’s barely time to catch your breath. The barb-laced screenplay compares the ruthlessness of show biz to the larger world and its obsession with the ego. When Roxie and Velma finally perform as a twosome, Velma says of their mutual loathing, “There’s only one business in the world where that’s no problem at all.”