Hairspray

Hairspray is in every way the antithesis of Grease, and the reason is not solely because it’s named after a different hair product.

Randy Kleiser’s 1978 smash Grease is justly remembered primarily for its songs (“Summer Lovin’”, “Greased Lightnin’”, etc), which are infectiously toe-tapping and performed with exuberance. But what makes the film detestable is its plot, which casts a gleefully nostalgic eye over issues that would be considered downright serious to real-life teenagers. Most offensive is the plight of Sandy (Olivia Newton-John), who’s so smitten with cowardly greaser Danny (John Travolta) that she transforms her sweet, moral persona into that of a scantily-clad drag-smoking slut. Only then does Danny openly accept her as his girl. No wonder I wanted to shoot their flying car down with a bazooka. The film couldn’t have sent a worse message to its young audience.

Ten years later, John Waters directed the campy comedy Hairspray, set three years after Grease, and featuring a plump yet plucky protagonist determined to be accepted for who she is. The film was turned into a hit Broadway musical, which is now brought to the big screen by director/choreographer Adam Shankman, the same man responsible for Bringing Down the House (2003), The Pacifier (2005), and Cheaper By the Dozen 2 (2005). There is no reason why this film shouldn’t reek of mediocrity. And yet, the film’s message is so powerful, its music so jubilant, and its performances so wonderful that it actually manages to be the most uplifting cinematic musical of the decade.

Hairspray counters Grease’s conforming anthem “that’s the way it should be” with the giddy proclamation “you can’t stop the beat.” It’s the beat of conviction, of tolerance, of change that rumbles through the town of Baltimore in 1962. While the characters in Grease obsessively plastered their hair with the titular faddish goop, this film’s heroine Tracy Turnblad simply shrugs when her hairdo deflates, while uttering, “it was just a sign of my conformity to the Man.” Hairspray is a celebration of those who dare to preserve their self-identity within a society hell-bent on suppressing it. It’s no mystery why this material attracted the talent of two gay directors (Waters and Shankman).

Homosexuality is not technically dealt with in Hairspray, though the character of Tracy’s mother Edna has been traditionally played by a man, thus allowing for a dance involving the male married couple as they sing, “You’re timeless to me.” In this year’s single most stunning bit of casting, John Travolta—the immortal image of masculinity in Grease—plays Edna, not as a drag act, not as a fat joke, but as a real 60’s-era housewife, reportedly modeled after his own mother, in a performance as remarkably grounded and touching as it is uproariously funny. His dance with husband Wilbur (the incomparable Christopher Walken) is one of the film’s several melodic tour-de-forces—it manages to be hilarious, poignant, and genuinely moving all at once.

Though Hairspray is enormously fun entertainment—thankfully not taking itself a fraction as seriously as last year’s self-important Dreamgirls—it’s themes of racism, segregation, and prejudice are treated seriously, without any of Grease’s careless froth. When record shop owner Mouthmouth Maybelle (played by Queen Latifah, matching her Oscar-nominated work in Chicago) sings “I Know Where I’ve Been” during a civil rights march, the moment reverberates with a power that has nothing to do with cuddly nostalgia or cheery escapism.

Unpopular kids like Tracy (newcomer Nikki Blonsky), and her friend Penny (Amanda Bynes) find acceptance with the school’s black population, most of which seems to be concealed within the classroom used for detention. Tracy’s dreams of appearing on a local musical variety show, featuring teen idol Link (played by High School Musical’s teen idol Zac Efron), are thwarted by racist station manager Velma von Tussle (a perfectly wicked Michelle Pfeiffer). The rest of the plot is better experienced than described.

Nothing in Shankman’s career—not even the sole bright spot of A Walk to Remember (2001)—could have prepared audiences for the energy, wit, and exhilaration he delivers here. Casting a teenage unknown in the lead role proves to be a stroke of genius—Blonsky’s wide-eyed excitement is pure and palpable every moment she’s onscreen. The strength of her spirit alone makes the film work, though she’s supported by an impeccable ensemble.

Catching Penny’s innocently lustful gaze is Seaweed J. Stubbs, played by the electrifying Elijah Kelly, who blows fellow hunk Efron out of the water. The sizzling intensity of his portrayal more than justifies Penny’s classic line, “I’ve tasted chocolate and I’m never going back.” Bynes has never been more adorable, while Allison Janney (as Penny’s fiercely conservative mother) has never been funnier. The film is jam-packed with laughs, including jokes that are so small and subtle you could miss them by merely blinking—such as when the eternally straight-faced Janney is seen rigidly reading a book entitled “Laughs and Giggles.”

Sure, Hairspray is broad and over-the-top at times, but that’s the nature of the genre it’s bringing back to life. It’s a throwback to the golden age of musicals, which didn’t feel self-conscious about letting their characters spontaneously break into song. It’s a joyous, uninhibited technique, and it’s great to see back on the big screen, in such a clear-eyed, buoyant, and lovely film. Hairspray is now officially the word.

Rating: ****1/2 (out of *****)