The Kite Runner-- Tale of Lifelong Bond and Redemption

The Kite Runner is an emotionally-charged tale of love, friendship, and redemption that spans nearly two decades. Based on Khaleid Hosseini’s best-selling and award-winning novel, the story involves two boys who grow up together in Afghanistan in the early 1980s, just before the country is occupied by the former Soviet Union. Amir, the older boy, is the meek son of an aristocratic member of the Pashtun community. Hassan, Amir’s best friend, is a younger, more assured son of a servant of Hazaran ethnicity, which relegates him and his family to lower-class status in Afghan society. Amir, who feels his father’s disappointment in him, spends his time writing and reading stories to a wide-eyed Hassan, who looks up to him.

The early scenes between the boys are in subtitles, and they are among the most warm-hearted scenes that viewers will see in theaters this year. The authenticity in these scenes must be attributed to the earnest performances of Zekeria Ebrahimi and Ahmad Khan Mahmidzada, the young actors who portray Amir and Hassan as children. As a young Hassan Mahmidzada is particularly memorable for his stunning ability to convey emotions ranging from exuberance and exhilaration to pain and sadness.

Kite-flying is one of the boys’ favorite activities. The activity is so popular in Afghanistan that thousands watch from balconies and fill the streets to watch as children and their families hoist kites into the sky and watch them glide into the air. Amir and Hassan team up in a local kite-flying contest that challenges individuals to fly kites and to cut the strings of the opposing kites in mid-air before their strings are cut. The team with the last kite flying wins the contest and is instantly the recipient of near city-wide adulation.

The kite-flying scenes in the film are exquisitely shot and are well-staged. The images of the flying kites effectively symbolize freedom and the hope-filled possibilities for people who live in a culture that is seemingly oppressive and fraught with danger and conflict.

The dynamics of the relationship between Amir and Hassan dramatically change after the kite-flying contest when Hassan is raped by an upper class Pashtun boy. Amir is horrified as he watches the assault in silence. He cannot bring himself to intervene to save his friend from the assault and humiliation, confirming his father’s belief that he lacked the courage that his younger friend possesses. Amir’s inability to help his friend during such a traumatic event haunts him forever.

Political unrest and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan prompt Amir and his father to flee their home and to emigrate to the United States. Amir and his father settle in California, where he eventually falls in love and marries a young woman. The middle section of the film, involving Amir and his father’s settlement in the United States, is the least compelling in the film. The film misses an opportunity to show the father and son struggling to adapt to life in the States, which surely would have strengthened this section of the story. Although there is some light humor in the scenes involving Amir's early encounters with his future wife, their relationship is truncated in the film.

The dramatic tension in the film returns when Amir receives a telephone call from his father’s longtime confidante in Afghanistan, whom he hasn't seen since he and his father fled the country. The man urges Amir to return to his homeland, and his decision is difficult. He is a published author with a wife and life in the United States. But his father’s friend makes a startling admission that sets Amir on a dangerous mission that pits him face to face with his past and presents him with one last opportunity to restore honor to his family and to the friend he shamefully neglected almost twenty years ago.

The rape scene in the film has been the subject of much controversy. Paramount Vantage received some criticism for casting Afghan actors in the roles of the boys, in addition to their decision to include the rape in the film adaptation of the story, thus potentially endangering the young actors. Reportedly, the studio delayed the debut of the movie for six weeks out of concern that the young actors involved in the rape scene would not be allowed to return to their homes in Afghanistan. Hosseini and the film’s director, Marc Forster, have both gone on record to defend their decision to include the rape scene in the final cut of the film. In their defense, the scene is as tastefully executed as it possibly could be, and the studio, writer, and director made the correct decisions in leaving the pivotal scene in tact.

Accomplished screenwriter David Benioff and two-time Oscar nominee Marc Forster have teamed together to craft The Kite Runner as a poignant, understated, and bravely told story that maintains the integrity of its original source material. The two thirty-something-year-old creators have teamed together as a writer and director previously in Stay, and their collaboration here is an improvement over that smaller film. Although Forster and Benioff haven’t elevated the material in their film adaptation of Hosseini’s novel, they have created a film that translates the story’s themes of redemption, freedom, hope, love, and demonstrates the powerful bonds that are formed by lifelong relationships. The Afghanistan portions of The Kite Runner were filmed in Xinjang, Kashgar, Tashkuga, and the Pamir Mountains, and the images are striking. The characters in The Kite Runner are bound and limited by geography, culture, tradition, the past, and the political future, yet their journeys of self-discovery remind us of the age-old truth that “love has no boundaries.”

Grade: B+

Acting, Writing, and Directing Propel No Country into Oscar Contention

In the opening moments of No Country for Old Men, Ed Tom Bell, a jaded sheriff played by Tommy Lee Jones, describes his encounter with a young man sentenced to death. He speaks off-camera, so that his words can linger in the minds of viewers. Jones ends the well-delivered and richly-imagined monologue saying, "This ain't no country for old men." No Country for Old Men is a rousing return to form for enigmatic directors Joel and Ethan Cohen, who have been lauded for their ability to instill humor into the darkest of tales. Faithfully adapted from Cormac McCarthy’s western novel, the film tells the tale of Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin), a hunter who discovers a trail of dead bodies and a briefcase filled with $2 million of drug money. Anton Chigurh, a quiet hitman sporting a Prince Valiant haircut, uses a tracking device attached to the inside of the briefcase to pursue Moss and the money he has been hired to retrieve. Ed Tom Bell is mystified by the violent events that ensue after Moss finds the money and flees his hometown. Things become more complicated when the powerful businessman who hires Chigurh enlists the services of a cocky bounty hunter (Woody Harrelson) to find the money in case Chigurh can't be trusted to return it.

No Country for Old Men is far and away the best film the Cohen brothers have written and directed since Fargo, their Oscar-nominated work from 1996. While No Country for Old Men is not quite as brilliant as that earlier film, their work here is remarkable in its own right. Like Fargo and their earlier masterpiece, Blood Simple, the film is centered around a crime that is followed by events that are dark, sad, and at times strangely comic.

The film showcases three great performances by Josh Brolin, Javier Bardem, and Tommy Lee Jones, who portray characters whose morals and outlook on life could not be any more different. Moss, a tough strapped-for-cash Vietnam veteran, lives a simple life with a simple wife in a trailer in the middle of the desert. Bell is a man bewildered by the violence that disrupts the simplicity that has defined his town for years. And Anton is a memorable villain who lugs an oxygen tank around town and presses it against the foreheads of several innocent townspeople to dispense blows into his victims' heads that are no less deadly than gunshots to their heads. Chiguhr is adept at shooting a cattle gun, treating his own gunshot wounds, and making nearly every person he meets flip a coin to determine their fate. Anton, wonderfully played by a cast-against-type Jarvier Bardem, is an individual of otherworldly evil and menace.

Perhaps one of the most admirable things about No Country for Old Men is the way in which it presents characters who say and do things that intelligent audiences believe they would say and do. And much of the film’s humor rests in this truth. Set in the late 1970s and early 1980s, the story takes place during a time when most Americans had already begun to lose trust in many of the institutions on which the country was founded: the government, business, the law, and the military. Yet the residents of the small Texas towns featured in the film carry themselves without guile in a world where the human condition is deteriorating and where there are fewer and fewer good men. The Cohen brothers have some fun incorporating some of the quirks of the Texas townspeople, admiring their goodness, and subtly offering some commentary on the loss of such goodness and innocence in humanity.

No Country for Old Men will likely emerge as an Oscar contender in a not-so-great year for movies. The film benefits from the talents of cinematographer Roger Deakins, who paints a desolate Texas landscape as a backdrop for this tale of murder, betrayal, and evil; excellent supporting performances; and smart writing throughout. Defying convention, the film has an ambiguous ending, and there are two questions about plot points that may leave most viewers either buying the book or placing early orders for the DVD. Although there is a strong thriller component to the film, it effectively uses its characters and the dire circumstances they face to offer a compelling commentary on the power of evil, its disruption to the simplicity of life, and its ultimate devastation to the human condition.

Grade: A-

Violence, Profanity

Lions for Lambs -- Great Cast, Name Director, Good Movie?

Lions for Lambs is Robert Redford’s most overtly political film, and there is no pretense about the film’s intention to stake its terrain firmly on the left side of the political and ideological landscape. It not so subtlely critiques the Bush Administration’s policies on the Iraq War to raise questions about future American policy, challenges us to think about the decisions we make when we’re too young to know the right choice; and for a moment pretends to offer commentary on the age-old adage from Alexander Hamilton, “those who stand for nothing, fall for anything.”

The film centers on three scenes involving a liberal journalist’s interview with an ambitious Republican senator, an aging political science professor’s conversation with an underachieving and jaded student, and two idealistic young soldiers trapped on a mountain outside of Afghanistan.

Meryl Streep delivers the best performance in the film, portraying a journalist on the downside of her career. Her eyes, gestures, and posture reflect a woman who is beyond disbelief and whose disillusionment and mistrust of the U.S. government eventually compel her to carry such heavy sadness and frustration on every part of her being. Tom Cruise, looking a bit older and accomplished in a dark suit and power tie, is adequate but not quite Streep’s equal in their scenes. Cruise’s bloated persona and his wars with the media in recent years make us cringe and nod at his senator’s ambition and arrogance. Robert Redford is bland and benign as the all-knowing college professor determined to steer a student towards attending classes, studying, getting good grades, and clean living—all one needs to find happiness and success in this world. And as the American soldiers in the Iraq War, Derek Luke and Michael Pena are given such lightweight sketches for characters to play that regardless of their characters’ plight, we are virtually numb to any emotion their scenes are designed to elicit.

Although it is only 90 minutes long, the film feels at least one hour longer. Matthew Joe Carnahan’s dialogue is stilted and appears to be written to state the film’s core messages over and over again. The six main characters are so thinly conceived that the audience is robbed of the experience of learning characters’ motivations, watching them evolve, and then becoming emotionally involved with them and their actions—all the things that make going to the movies worth, well--- going to the movies. The actors, and by-default the characters they portray, become mere props for political protestations and proclamations about the Bush Administration, government, institutions, and of all things the American media. Each of the characters state their piece over and over again and never veer from their respective points of view.

One would have thought Redford would have treaded more carefully than to accuse the American media of backing the war in Iraq, yet he does so repeatedly, nearly suggesting that the failings of the U.S. policy in Iraq is as much a fault of the American media as the Bush Administration. This is the ultimate failing of the film. To my recollection, no journalist from any of the major American networks or newspapers with the possible exception of Fox News (and that might even be a stretch) ever sold the war to the American public as Redford so stridently contends. Lions for Lambs not only delivers the same notes at the wrong chords; it flat out delivers the wrong notes!

Lions for Lambs is clearly experimental filmmaking and should be recognized as such. But it lacks the necessary narrative thread to expound upon its themes to add credence to its challenging positions. The constraints of the script never allow the ideas articulated by its characters to become external. The film is bold in its conception yet flawed in its execution and its inability to transfer the power of its ideas to impactful images. At this point in Redford’s distinguished career, he’s earned the right to make such an experimental film, though. He’s the Sundance Kid who essentially founded the Sundance Film Festival, which in many ways redefined American cinema. In Lions for Lambs he’s violated his own principles, though, and created a film that deprives its audience and defies convention, all for the sake of creating its own truth.

Grade: C-

In Defense of Hollywood: A Bulletin to O'Reilly

The past several weeks Fox News commentator and talk radio host Bill O'Reilly has blasted producers and directors in Hollywood who were involved in the production and the theatrical release of several motion pictures that he believes are critical of the Iraq war. O'Reilly, whose show regularly finishes in the top spot in its time slot, has been most vehement in his opposition to In the Valley of Elah, Rendition, and Redacted. The recently maligned host (probably unfairly over misdirected charges of racism and insensitivity) argues that those associated with these films are unpatriotic and that they have committed a grave disservice to the country and American audiences, especially since the U.S. is still in the middle of a war. O'Reilly has marched one pundit and media scribe after another regardless of their political ideologies on to his show to debate this particular issue, and he has concluded all of the conversations by postulating that the production and release of these films is yet another example of Hollywood's wayward thinking and leftist proclivities.

But what O'Reilly and others who share his opinion on this matter fail to understand is that the American sentiment about the Iraq war isn't directly in line with the commentator or the President. Nearly every poll taken reveals that a sizeable percentage of Americans question our decision to enter into the war with Iraq. U.S. citizens' doubts about our reasons for entering the war persist even despite recent reports that they might be willing to exercise a bit more patience before calling for an immediate withdrawal of troops.

Perhaps more importantly, though, is that cinema is at its most potent when it as a reflection and interpretation of our culture, provokes audiences to think about motivations and actions that led to significant events in history and those that define who we are in contemporary life. The films that are currently being debated do exactly this. In the Valley of Elah and Redacted are based on actual incidents, and they were directed by accomplished directors. Paul Haggis who won two Oscars for writing and directing Crash, wrote and directed In the Valley of Elah, and veteran filmmaker Brian DePalma wrote and directed Redacted. At first glance the third film, Rendition, directed by Gavin Hood, appears to compel audiences to think carefully about the potential implications of government's misuse of power and the Patriot Act, which has been undeniably controversial since its introduction in 2002. Haggis brilliantly explored the country's multilayered struggles with racism in Crash, and DePalma challenged our ideas and convictions about the treatment of prisoners of war in his well-received war drama, Casualties of War. In other words, controversial topics are not uncommon ground for these two directors, so it shouldn't have come to anyone's surprise that they would venture to write and direct films on the Iraq war, which is undoubtedly the conundrum of the decade.

Despite what O'Reilly and conservative talk show hosts believe, the significance of this debate extends well beyond liberal and conservative ideology. In 1991 Oliver Stone dodged strident assaults from liberal and conservative journalists and politicians after the release of his film, JFK. Although the film was a stunning technical achievement in editing, the film's detractors objected to the idea that a filmmaker would propose his own conclusions to one of the most botched investigations in U.S. history.

Some have argued that there were not films criticizing the Vietnam War and other wars made while American troops were fighting them. This may well be true, but it doesn't mean that our country would not have allowed someone the freedom to write and direct a film that challenged audiences to reflect upon the implications and consequences of controversial wars while they were being fought. Hollywood is simply reacting to the public's overall disillusionment with the war in Iraq. In the Valley of Elah, despite its well-known cast, is an independent film. Its deliberate pace and somber and understated tone aren't likely to attract droves to theaters to see it, and Redacted has been debated so frequently in the last several weeks that a wide release for it in the near future remains seriously in doubt. Nevertheless, those who love good cinema and the creative individuals responsible for it, have the right to see these films, regardless of how small and erudite their audiences may be. There is no reason why there shouldn't be room enough to allow free market principles to be applied here.

O'Reilly has publicly stated his support of the war in Iraq from the outset, and it is completely unjust to criticize him for his steadfast support. Many books criticizing the Iraq war and the Bush Administration's strategies have been published since the start of the war, yet O'Reilly hasn't bombard his viewers with repeated attacks against the publishing industry at-large, which may be the single most compelling reason why his current argument can be dismissed so readily. His criticism of these three films, much of which are based on actual events and created to challenge American audiences to think about the consequences of war and the decisions behind it, is misguided, misappropriately applied to only one quarter, and teeters on a dangerously slippery slope toward censorship.

Foster and Howard Rise Above Ideologically-Flawed Script in The Brave One

In The Brave One Jodie Foster portrays New York City radio personality Erica Bain, who walks the streets of the city carrying a microphone and a recorder while commenting on the sights and sounds of what she refers to "as one of the safest big cities of America." One night she and her fiancee' are brutally attacked by a gang of thugs in a dark tunnel in one of the Big Apple's major parks. He fiancee' dies from the attack and she very nearly does.

The traumatic event changes her life forever and sets her on a course of vengeance. Mourning the loss of her fiancee,' Erica struggles to obtain the courage to leave her apartment and go out into the streets of New York. The film captures her apprehension effectively through some imaginative camera work and yet another compelling performance by Jodie Foster.

Upon her return to the streets she purchases a gun from a man in what is tantamount to a black market transaction, after she learns it will take her almost thirty days to legally register to own a gun. She then uses the gun to rid the streets of New York from the reckless criminals who are making her beloved city a distant memory for her and other innocent residents. On one of Erica's first nights returning to the streets, she witnesses a man shooting and killing his wife in a liquor store and then she is forced to kill the man in self-defense after he discovers she's there. From then on Erica walks the streets and sees other victims being terrorized and abused by thugs of all sorts and decides to "take matters into her own hands."

At the scene of one of her crimes Erica meets and befriends Detective Mercer, nicely played by Terrance Howard (Crash, Hustle and Flow). Mercer and his partner are hot on her trail, and Erica and Mercer become drawn to another. They are two lonely and wounded souls--her from the traumatic death of her fiancee' and he from a divorce from an attorney.

Eventually Bain returns to her radio show a changed woman. In one of the film's more memorable scenes she pauses for several minutes before commenting on how she thinks the city has changed. Tempted by the possibility of higher ratings, her producer allows viewers to begin calling in their opinions about the vigilante killings, which sends Bain into an emotional tailspin. These moments in the film reflect the often-times absurd reactions from listeners of talk radio, a questionable forum for addressing the underlying causes of any major societal problem, much less inner-city crime.

Foster, a two-time Oscar winner and Howard, an Oscar nominee, rise above the script by the father and son writing team of Roderick and Bruce Taylor and Cynthia Mort, the great scribe now doing terrific work on HBO's impressive drama, Tell Me You Love Me. There is legitimate chemistry between these two engaging stars, but the script lacks the dramatic punch that the stars deserve, and the pacing of the film's action is not quite as brisk as it should be. The film asks whether or not Erica, in her acts of vigilante justice, is becoming what she wants to destroy with each person she kills. Although she is distraught after several of the killings, the filmmakers can't seem to decide if they want to condemn Erica for her actions or those who ultimately compel her to do what she does.

The Brave One was directed by Neil Jordan (The Crying Game, Interview with the Vampire, and The End of the Affair), who has always managed to create the appropriate look to match the somber and solemn tone to his films, and his work here is no exception. Legendary cinematographer Philippe Rousselot's aerial shots of the dark, narrow and wide alleys of New York City remind us of the dangers that might exist. And the film makes great use of recording artist Sarah McLachlan's Answer during one of Erica's darkest moments.

The Brave One is competently produced, acted, and directed, but it as a whole and in particular its final scenes, presents vigilante justice as a solution to ease Erica's pain rather than a punishable crime. The filmmakers have titled the film, The Brave One. I only wish they would have been brave enough to challenge the prevailing ideological view and the winds of conservatism that are likely to hoist vigilante justice as a symbol of valor and courage.

Grade: B-

Rated R for intense violence, profanity, some sexuality

Funny, Irreverent Superbad Lets Boys be Boys

Superbad is the latest film from the team responsible for recent summer hits such as The Forty-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up. And believe it or not, it is raunchier and more raucous than either of those films, featuring a trio of sex-starved teenagers as its main characters.

Superbad takes place within the span of two days, with a loud high school party (no surprise here) as its centerpiece. It revolves around the desires, anxieties, and misadventures of Seth, Evan, and their freakishly nerdy friend Fogell portrayed by newcomer Christopher Mintz-Plasse. The boys are in their senior year of high school, and Evan and Fogell have decided to room together at Dartmouth. Their lower-achieving and more mischievous ring leader Seth is far less certain about his college plans and wastes no time dismissing anything that is not related to girls and hanging out.

Although it’s their senior year, these three have neither seen nor had much action with the female populace at their high school, and they boldly declare that they are changing this bulletin-board fact before the end of the school year. Lucky for them, they are invited to a party by two pretty girls, who lo and behold actually like them. In the one-tracked minds of the boys the party is the site of lots of booze and an opportunity to “get with some of the girls.” There’s a bit of a catch, though. The boys, newcomers to the “in-crowd,” have to bring the liquor of the girls’ choice, and of course, they are only too happy to oblige even though they are not old enough to buy it. In one of the film’s funniest bits, Fogell shows off his fake photo ID, which identifies him with the single name “McLovin” and naturally, several jokes about his name and the clothes he dons for the big party ensue.

Of course, not all of the jokes work. There is a brief gag about blood from a woman who is in the middle of her period dripping on to the pants of one of the boys that is more gross than funny. In another scene two police officers question an African American woman about a robbery, and in an awkward moment they hesitantly ask her the race of the perpetrator.

There are several memorable supporting characters, some of whom are funnier than others. Seth Rogen and Bill Hader portray two police officers who befriend Fogell and treat him to a fun-filled night in the squad car. The officers are dim-witted and destructive and get their kicks out of turning on their police car sirens before speeding through the city’s red lights. In addition, the film includes a band of pot-inhaling and red-eyed men in a smoke-filled room hell-bent on seeing and hearing Evan sing, and Jules and Becca, the girls whom Seth and Evan have their sights set on.

For the first two-thirds of its more than two-hour running time, Superbad is a trek down memory lane of past high school comedies that got major mileage out of fast-talking characters spewing sexually-explicit jokes that every teenage boy says or dreams of saying. Yet, there is an underlying truth in the script and the performances that prevents the film from deteriorating into just another sexually-driven and derivative comedy that has become such a common product of the Hollywood studio system. Michael Cera, slim, shy, and embodying wide-eyed innocence as Evan, is the perfect counterpart to Jonah Hill, who is loud and almost never at a loss for words. Hill’s Seth is rotund and a loquacious, sex-thinking machine on a mission to lose his virginity and to do what he can to see that his friends lose theirs as well. But in truth, Seth is Superbad’s most vulnerable character, the one who has the most to lose, and ultimately the heart and soul of the film. And he more than Evan or Fogel, two more likable characters, actually suffers from separation anxiety, one of the film’s themes. In one of the most poignant moments in this summer’s movies, Seth admits his true feelings for his friend Evan, who utters the same words of affection for his fellow mate. It’s a moment in stark contrast to the raunchy, uproarious scenes that dominate the first two-thirds of the film and one that sets it apart from most mainstream comedies about American teenagers.

In three films now Greg Mottola, Judd Apatow, Seth Rogen, and the rest of this new “it” team in Hollywood have celebrated and dissected American malehood. Surpassing the Farrelly brothers (There’s Something about Mary and Dumb and Dumber) and to somewhat lesser-extent Richard Linklater (Dazed and Confused), the team has produced comedies that combine knee-slapping hilarity with some insightful commentary on human behavior and the psyche of the American male. It took me two complete viewings to fully appreciate all that Superbad has to offer. Now I’m eagerly anticipating this talented production team’s next effort with the hope that it might be even more revelatory than this crowd-pleasing, sure-fire hit and that it challenge easily-amused American audiences to do more than let “boys be boys.”

Grade: B

(Rated R for strong sexual content, mature themes, strong profanity)

Hairspray-- Rip, Roaring Fun

Hairspray is a breezy, broad rendition of the 1988 classic by John Waters and the Tony-nominated Broadway production. Set in 1962 Baltimore, the musical production is the story of a pleasantly plump high schooler, Tracey Turnblad, who longs for a spot on the cheesily-named Corny Collins Show. Turnblad's insecurities about her weight and her subsequent place in her high school class are front and center along with the struggle of a group of gifted African American singers and dancers relegated to performing on Negro Day one day a week. The spirited musical production pits an overweight teenager and her overweight mother against a matriarch and her pampered daughter and an African American musical group against the racist society of the 1960s. Most of the fun in watching director Adam Shankman's adaptation is seeing how Tracey Turnblad and the African American group of musicians sing and dance their way to form an alliance that helps them overcome low self-esteem, prejudice, and racism to reach their potential as performers.

Tracey is smitten by one of the Corny Collins Show's leading young men, Link Larkin, who is the object of Amber von Tussle's affections. Amber (Brittany Snow) is the beautiful daughter of Velma von Tussle, an overheated baracuda of a mother, played to campy-effectiveness by Michelle Pfeiffer. Amber is everything that Tracey is not. She is blond and thin--the picture of 1960s, and for that matter, 2007-perfection. Newcomer Nikki Blonsky gives Tracey an oversized perkiness and ever-widening smile that make us cheer her every move and groove. At the last moment of her audition, Tracey is selected to join the chorus of dancers on the Corny Collins Show. Tracey's addition to the chorus prompts Velma to scheme to prevent Link and Tracey from dancing together and becoming an item. And in a better-than-average subplot, Tracey's friend, Penny Pingleton (Amanda Binds) falls for Seaweed, a member of the African American musical group, much to the chagrin of her mother.

Queen Latifah portrays Motormouth Maybelle, the leader of the African American singers restricted to performing one day of the week. Despite her natural energy, it is somewhat disappointing that the charismatic actress wasn't given a little more to do in the film. Her performance is competent, but the script by Leslie Dixon fails to provide her with a single defining moment in the film.

Pfeiffer is masterful. She dresses in a variety of fancy apparel and get-ups and takes command of her scenes, looking sullen and sultry all at once. Embodying venom and villainy, Pfeiffer should have had at least one musical number that would have allowed her to put all that pent-up angst into memorable words and music.

But John Travolta's cross-dressing turn as Edna Turnblad will be what audiences are most likely to remember. Casting Travolta in the famous role previously played by the late Divine was something of a risk for Shankman and for the actor himself. Undergoing five hours of make-up each day paid off for Travolta, for he is a comedic delight here. In what may be deemed a career-saving performance, Travolta's Turnblad portrays an overly protective mother who is a sight with loads of emotion. She is the picture of matronly devotion, and yet we know there is untapped potential and something that will surely be unleashed by the film's end. In full-throttle Travolta's Turnblad leaps past her husband, played by the always-interesting Christopher Walken, dances, jumps, and gyrates in sheer delight of her freedom to look the way she wants in front of whoever she wants.

Aided by several carefully choreographed dance routines, Hairspray evolves into a celebration of transformation and liberation for Tracey and the African Americans she befriends. Hairspray may be a story about an overweight white teenager's pursuit of justice and love for herself and her African American soulmates, but the film's music, heart, and energy are enough sources of liberation and transformation for an America that may have lost the meaning of both.

Grade: B+