The Producers
Written by Mel Brooks and Thomas Meehan
Directed by Susan Stroman
Universal
2005
Rating:


Since "Chicago" supposedly resurrected the movie musical in 2002, there has been no shortage of affirmation that Rob Marshall's bit of razzle dazzle was nothing more than a fluke. Last year's "Phantom of the Opera" featured surprisingly restrained direction from the usually overindulgent Joel Schumacher, preventing it from being a proper pop tragedy, while Chris Columbus' pedestrian "Rent" made plain the shortcomings of the material.

"The Producers" seemed to be at an advantage, having been an Academy Award-winning film from the peerless Mel Brooks in addition to being the recipient of more Tony Awards than any Broadway show in history.

The film instead feels like the copy of a copy, with the soul and greatness that were once so evident in both previous incarnations escaping somewhere along the way during its journey back to the screen.

Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick reprise their stage roles as, respectively, shyster Broadway producer Max Bialystock and blanket-carrying accountant Leo Bloom. While auditing Max's books, Leo discovers that a dishonest producer could make more money with a flop than a hit by overselling shares in a musical that couldn't possibly make any money. Max, being such a dishonest producer, convinces Leo to join him in such a scheme and together they find the piece de resistance of bad taste, the Nazi homage "Springtime for Hitler," written by Franz Liebkind (Will Ferrell). Max and Leo believe they've secured a Broadway travesty once they hire crossdressing director Roger De Bris (Gary Beach), who brings his mantra of "keep it gay!" to the musical.

Little do Max and Leo know that the Age of Irony is upon them and something this bad has to be good.

"The Producers" mildly succeeds because brilliant Brooks moments occasionally shine through the cracks of a venture that's otherwise marble in its blandness. When Leo sings that he wants to be a producer, it combines the best of Brooks' original and the musical, taking the Busby Berkley dreams of the play to the glorious splash in Central Park's Bethesda fountain, just like in the 1968 original.

However, Brooks' jokes, especially his depiction of lisping and prancing gay men, have started to groan with age when they haven't become outright offensive. It doesn't help that, under Susan Stroman's direction, the actors still behave as if they're in a theater. Lane and Broderick deliver performances that were funny for their broadness when seen in a playhouse, but are positively over-broad when seen in a moviehouse. Belting lines to the cheap seats, flop sweat practically drips from the screen.

Stroman, meanwhile, shoots her film as if she had placed her camera in the audience at the St. James Theater. Practically devoid of cinematic grammar, the film is largely comprised of medium shots that have all the photographic value of sitcom direction.

When Max screams, "Where did we go right?!" in despair, it's easy to wonder the same thing about this version of "The Producers."

Posted Thursday, January 12, 2006

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