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Boston,
late autumn 1981—and the buzz of Back Bay is
the out-of-town, pre-Broadway tryout of
Michael Bennett’s new musical Dreamgirls.
Something about a wildly talented singer and
her show-stopping number at the end of Act
One which brings down the house. So we
secure two seats in the front mezzanine of
the Shubert Theatre—and right from the
start, from the opening cowbell, we’re
spellbound. And when that much-ballyhooed
number happens, when Jennifer Holliday
breaks our hearts at the end of the first
act, we’re stunned in our seats—but only
momentarily, before we race downstairs to
the pay phones: to call New York and lord it
over our friends in the business.
Two months later, on the 20th of December
1981, and the soon-to-be brilliant Bill
Condon is seated in the last row of the
Imperial Theatre for the opening night of
Dreamgirls on Broadway—and as he says, he’s
nothing short of “galvanized.”
Flash forward twenty-five years, to the 15th
of December 2006, where the sold-out crowd
at the Ziegfeld Theatre in New York for the
now-totally-brilliant Bill Condon’s
cinematic treatment of that galvanizing
Broadway musical greets the familiar cowbell
with a kind of cathartic cheer that’s been
years in the making. At long last,
Dreamgirls has made it to film.
Once upon a time, Michael Bennett’s
masterwork was going to be a project for
Whitney. But then came the pipe—and about
half a dozen other divas, all of who came
and went. Those of us in the Dreamgirls cult
had to wait—and wait—for years to pass. One
memorable summer there were t-shirts all
over Fire Island and the Village with the
ubiquitous Dreamgirls graphic of three pairs
of shapely legs in stilettos (with
microphones dangling like dildos)—replaced
by three pairs of male legs in jeans and
sneakers, and the word Dreamboys.
And another reason we had to wait is because
Dreamgirls, the musical, was born the same
year that the film’s stars were born. In
other words, we had to wait for Beyoncé
Knowles to grow up. And we had to wait to be
galvanized again by a singer named Jennifer,
only this time with the surname of Hudson,
not Holliday.
Which is not to imply that Beyoncé is the
lesser presence onscreen—and particularly
once the second act of Condon’s film
commences, whereupon Knowles becomes Deena,
aka Diana Ross, no longer merely Diane, and
now and forever after known as the
formidable Miss Ross (who once famously said
about the show based on her life, “My life
is not a fucking musical.” That’s right,
Miss Ross—not the way you’ve been living
it…)
Thanks to brilliant art direction, as well
as costumes and make-up that evoke the
glamour of Bob Mackie and the Dionysian
world of Studio 54, Knowles’s performance
perfectly captures the manufactured beauty
that connotes the early Seventies and its
association with mindless hedonism. To watch
this section of the film is to better
understand the triumph of style over
substance—and its preeminence in today’s
visually obsessed world.
But it’s Ms. Hudson who provides heart and
soul, and ballast, to Condon’s beautifully
realized expansion of Dreamgirls. Looking
like the young Aretha Franklin, Hudson sings
with an almost-effortless ease. There’s a
natural quality about her performances in
the latter half of the film—no strain on her
face, she’s singing without having to sell
(an irony best appreciated by those addicted
to the television show from which she was
unceremoniously booted).
And there’s also Eddie Murphy, about whom so
many in the Dreamgirls cult were afraid—of
what he might do to the part originated by
Tony Award-winning Cleavant Derricks, Jr.
Not to fear—Murphy’s depiction of James
Thunder Early is thoughtfully nuanced,
without any of the Murphy bug-eyed persona.
And Jamie Foxx does a mean Berry Gordy—er,
Curtis Taylor. And similarly, there’s
beautiful work done by Sharon Leal and Danny
Glover and Hinton Battle—all names connected
to the New York stage, as well as a cameo by
the original Lorell, Ms. Loretta Devine,
whose appearance onscreen received a
well-deserved cheer from the adoring
first-night Ziegfeld audience.
Best of all, as if fueled by the memory of
Michael Bennett’s genius at understanding
showmanship and style, pizzazz and
substance, Condon’s film captures the thrill
of live performance. With his previous work
as screenwriter for Chicago, and
writer/director for Gods and Monsters and
Kinsey, Condon displayed a natural affinity
for the beauty often present in atypical
familial relationships—and particularly as
evinced in subcultures such as academia and
show business. Working with a cast
performing at the peak of their abilities,
Condon, in Dreamgirls, celebrates the
concept of family—albeit a family far more
fabulous, even when flawed, than those which
fuel our fantasies.
At times, more visceral than too many
offerings on the Great White Way, Dreamgirls
is a testament to how show business
propagates dreams, and vice versa—and all
the drama inherent therein. No question
about it, Michael Bennett would be on his
feet—as are audiences at the Ziegfeld, and
all around the country, proving once again
that good things come to those who wait.
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