By Jocelyn Noveck, AP Film Writer
Musical lovers, take a bow. Your favorite art form is having quite the cultural moment.
On Broadway, of course, we've got the "Hamilton" phenomenon, making the stage musical feel more vital and relevant than it has in years. And we have popular live TV revivals like "Grease" and "Hairspray."
Now, in time for Christmas, there's the eye-popping, heart-lifting "La La Land," which both honors and modernizes the screen musical to such joyful effect that you might find yourself pirouetting home from the multiplex.
OK, perhaps we exaggerate. "La La Land," created by the copiously talented writer/director Damien Chazelle and featuring the dream pairing of Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling, is not for everyone.
Perhaps you don't like music, or singing, or dancing. Or romance, or love, or beautiful people falling in love. Or sunsets, or primary colors, or pastels. Or stories. Or, heck, the movies themselves. If you don't like any of those things, maybe stay home.
Otherwise, be prepared: By the end, something will surely have activated those tear ducts. The one complaint I overheard upon leaving the film was: "I didn't have enough Kleenex."
The first obvious gift of "La La Land" is its sheer originality. Let's start with the music. Unlike in so many other films, nobody else's hits are used here. The affecting score is by Justin Hurwitz, with lyrics by Benji Pasek and Justin Paul (also getting kudos for Broadway's "Dear Evan Hansen.")
Our setting is Los Angeles, and so it begins – as it must – on a jammed freeway. But unlike Michael Douglas in "Falling Down," the drivers here simply brush off their frustrations, exit their cars, and break into song and dance.
This virtuoso number, "Another Day of Sun," which was filmed on a freeway interchange with some 100 dancers toiling in sizzling temperatures, establishes Chazelle's high-flying ambitions. It also tells us we'd darned well better be ready for people to break out into song – because that happens in musicals. And it introduces our main characters.
Sebastian (Gosling) is a struggling jazz pianist, with stubborn dreams of opening his own club. Mia (Stone) is an aspiring actress, working as a barista while auditioning for TV parts. They clash on the freeway. She gives him the finger.
They have a second bad meeting at a piano bar. Finally they meet a third time, at a party. Suddenly, they find themselves on a bench overlooking the Hollywood Hills at dusk. And then … they dance.
Is it Astaire and Rogers (or Charisse)? Yes and no. Stone and Gosling are charming musical performers, but way less polished and ethereal than their cinematic forbears. This human quality in their first duet makes us root for them.
And we keep on rooting. It's hard to imagine more perfect casting here. Gosling's Sebastian is suave and sexy but also ornery and unsure of himself; Stone's Mia is warm and ebullient but also fretful and self-doubting. They need each other to chase their respective dreams.
But what will success mean, and can they possibly achieve it together? It's this pillar of the story that lends it a very modern, melancholy bite.
Chazelle, 31, shows his love for cinema with references both sly and overt to classics like "Singin' In the Rain" and Jacques Demy's "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg." And then there's the nod to "Rebel Without a Cause," with a scene at LA's Griffith Observatory.
There, at a place built to watch the stars, the two dancing lovers actually lift up into them.
It's corny, sure, and gorgeous and romantic. As Sebastian says to his sister earlier in the film, "You say 'romantic' like it's a bad word!" In a musical, romantic is NEVER a bad word.
Some people resist musicals because in real life, people never break out into song; they just speak their feelings. To which musical lovers say: "Exactly! And this is why we need musicals."
Long live the musical. Bring enough Kleenex.
"La La Land," a Lionsgate release, is rated PG-13 by the Motion Picture Association of America for "some language." Running time: 128 minutes. Four stars out of four.
Review: Writer-Director Coralie Fargeat’s “The Substance”
In its first two hours, "The Substance" is a well-made, entertaining movie. Writer-director Coralie Fargeat treats audiences to a heavy dose of biting social commentary on ageism and sexism in Hollywood, with a spoonful of sugar- and sparkle-doused body horror.
But the film's deliciously unhinged, blood-soaked and inevitably polarizing third act is what makes it unforgettable.
What begins as a dread-inducing but still relatively palatable sci-fi flick spirals deeper into absurdism and violence, eventually erupting โ quite literally โ into a full-blown monster movie. Let the viewer decide who the monster is.
Fargeat โ who won best screenplay at this year's Cannes Film Festival โ has been vocal about her reverence for "The Fly" director David Cronenberg, and fans of the godfather of body horror will see his unmistakable influence. But "The Substance" is also wholly unique and benefits from Fargeat's perspective, which, according to the French filmmaker, has involved extensive grappling with her own relationship to her body and society's scrutiny.
"The Substance" tells the story of Elisabeth Sparkle, a famed aerobics instructor with a televised show, played by a powerfully vulnerable Demi Moore. Sparkle is fired on her 50th birthday by a ruthless executive โ a perfectly cast Dennis Quaid, who nails sleazy and gross.
Feeling rejected by a town that once loved her and despairing over her bygone star power, Sparkle learns from a handsome young nurse about a black-market drug that promises to create a "younger, more beautiful, more perfect" version of its user. Though she initially tosses the phone number in the trash, she soon fishes it out in a desperate panic and places an order.
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