"Chicago" (2002)

“We couldn’t have done it without you!” Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly, killers who beat the rap and become show-business celebrities, in “Chicago”.

Not every movie needs to have urgent significance.  Give me a highly polished, energetic film of skill and cinematic integrity, and it’s enough for me just to be entertained by it.  That’s especially true at a time when the world is suffocating us with stress at every turn.

I watched “Chicago”, Rob Marshall’s musical adaptation of Bob Fosse’s 1975 Broadway classic, to be entertained.  I wanted once again to enjoy the movie’s gloss, its movement, its cleverness, its high-powered music and its intricate crosscutting.

And then, something that was always buried within the material seeped to the surface with more clarity, making “Chicago” more relevant today than ever.  Its cynicism, which for me used to be just an intellectual idea, suddenly brought into high relief an unfortunate by-product of the coronavirus, and hit me at gut level.

“Chicago” is a lively and brutally sardonic musical satire, set in the crime-ridden, corrupt Jazz Age of the 1920s.  Renee Zellweger is Roxie Hart, sentenced to Death Row for the murder of her lover. There, the star-struck show-biz wannabe meets her idol, Velma Kelly (Oscar-winner Catherine Zeta-Jones), a stage-musical sensation also on The Row for murder. While awaiting trial at Cook County Jail, they are supervised by the crooked matron known as Mama (Queen Latifah), and eventually become rivals as they vie for the attention of slick, on-the-take lawyer Billy Flynn (Richard Gere).

Most of the musical numbers take place in Roxie Hart’s imagination, in set-pieces staged within the jail.  They are beautifully precise, colorfully glitzy and elaborate, and make wry comments about the characters and their stories in contrast to the drab, gray world of the prison.  Rob Marshall directs with muscle, keeping the tone light and peppy, even mocking, as it flaunts graft and dishonesty and the way the press and the public eat it up. The pacing is quick, the performances strong. 

Marshall’s choreography is a clear tribute to the slinky, feline style of Bob Fosse.  Occasionally, though, he overdoes the cutting, especially in the opening number, “All That Jazz”.  Marshall intercuts effectively between Jones’ number and Zellweger’s crime scene, but edits his dancers’ intricate moves so much that we don’t get the full pleasure of the dance: it comes at us in pieces. (Compare this to Fosse’s screen versions of “Cabaret” and “Sweet Charity”: he teases us with long takes, and cuts with significance, before editing more quickly to build excitement.)

In the world of the film, everyone is corrupt.  Everyone lies, and it’s all just entertainment.  You can bribe your way out of anything, and the public will make you a hero. The press is an unwitting accomplice, spinning the narrative and creating a sensation, just to sell more papers.  The innocent who cannot pay for protection in the name of justice are simply allowed to die.  As Gere’s Billy Flynn says glibly, “That’s Chicago”.

Most of the characters have one big number that reveals their story, mostly with a heavy shade of irony. Queen Latifah’s Mama is an amusingly monstrous yet surprisingly nimble chorus girl, feathered and sequined, promising to be good to you if you return the favor (“When You’re Good to Mama”).  Catherine Zeta-Jones’ Velma performs the “Cell Block Tango” with other murderesses who convince us that their crimes were justified (“he had it coming”); while one, a meek European ballerina, can say only one English phrase in a vain attempt to save herself: “Not Guilty”.  Zellweger’s Roxie has several moments in the spotlight; my favorite is the quietly jazzy “Roxie”, accompanied by tuxedoed chorus boys, performed in a highly reflective stage. 

Roxie’s husband Amos (a somewhat miscast John C. Reily, who was everywhere in the early 2000s), a milquetoast who is powerless and invisible, has a nice moment as a sad clown (“Mister Cellophane”).  And Billy Flynn sings about doing what he does “for love”, while clearly doing nothing without a payoff (“All I Care About”).

The highlight is “We Both Reached for The Gun”, performed as a demented ventriloquist-and-marionette puppet show.  Flynn is the Master Puppeteer, controlling Roxie’s every move and response to questions from the press, whose strings Flynn also pulls.  Flynn lies for Roxie and  enhances her story to gain sympathy for her; and the press (Christine Baranski and crew) calls it “understandable”, turning her into a pathetic victim and a celebrity.  As a metaphor for the way the media have lost their way, spinning stories and accepting outright lies to appease their base, this scene in “Chicago” is both highly entertaining and infuriatingly relevant.

And then there’s “Razzle Dazzle”.

As Roxie’s trial approaches, she tells Flynn that she is afraid.  He tells her not to worry, that all of it-- the trials, the whole world-- is a three-ring circus. It’s all show business.

As the number unfolds, the song seems to have become the guiding principle of those at the highest levels of our government. We have come to a dangerous moment in our culture of celebrity, in which our leadership conducts business as if it were a pro-wrestling match, and a significant number of people love it:

“Give ‘em an act with lots of flash in it 

And the reaction will be passionate”

The lyrics kept reminding me that the ones on whom we rely for guidance and encouragement, in this time of crisis, see the pandemic as little more than an excuse to grab the spotlight, rally supporters, or campaign for office.  I won’t mention any names.

“Razzle dazzle ‘em

And they’ll never catch wise”

The daily health briefings during April, filled with misinformation, hubris, and insults, were dutifully covered by the press as though they were a daytime serial.

“How can they hear the truth above the roar?

Razzle dazzle ‘em and they’ll beg you for more.”

A carefully detailed government report about safely opening the country was shelved, and hidden from the public.   There is no trusted guidance or encouragement. There are only nasty diatribes at critics, and dangerous advice about unproven treatments, while most of us do our best to avoid a disaster.

“Long as you keep ‘em way off balance, How can they spot you’ve got no talents?

“…What if your hinges all are rusting?  What if you are in fact disgusting?”

The coronavirus seems to be hitting hardest in disadvantaged, minority communities; and among the neediest, like the elderly, the disenfranchised, and those with compromised health conditions.  Why would anyone push to prevent millions of fellow countrymen from having health insurance, especially in a time of such dire and widespread health concern?

“Though you are stiffer than a girder, They’ll let you get away with murder

Razzle dazzle ‘em, and they’ll make you a star”.

Good art, even popular art, speaks to us in more ways than might have been intended.  While “Razzle Dazzle” was probably meant as a charmingly cynical swipe at show business, it has suddenly become an unavoidable criticism against our leadership and our culture in the midst of a crisis. 

In the end, “Chicago” is a wildly entertaining film, one of the best movie musicals since the 1970s.  It is beautifully crafted and photographed, lovingly detailed, well-directed, tuneful and exciting. It won a Best Picture Oscar in 2002 over some strong competition (“The Pianist”, “The Hours”).  Above all, it is enjoyable simply  as a skillful work of musical cinema .  It also has some  sly commentary built into its very fabric, which gives its entertainment value a vital edge.