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Friday 5 December 2008

Super trouper

Mamma Mia
PG, Nationwide

The three possible dads? They are Pierce Brosnan, Stellan Skarsgård and Colin Firth. Heavens, I’d hate it if Colin Firth turned out to be my dad. All that sexual fantasising for all this time; just how creepy would that be? It’s Brosnan, though, who is really the romantic lead and his performance is actually sweetly touching. In fact, when he sings he tries so hard to sing you can actually see all the vocal lessons he’s had in the set and tension of his jaw. It’s strangely moving, this triumph of effort over talent. And Lady Meryl of all that is Streep; can she sing? That’s what everyone has been asking, like it even matters. It’s Meryl Streep; it doesn’t matter. (Actually, she can sing well enough: Postcards from the Edge; hello? Anyone at home?) But you don’t hire Ms Streep to sing. You hire her because although she’s not all that great at not taking herself seriously, and can’t romp and camp her way through with as much delicious and joyful abandon as Julie Walters (who plays Donna’s old friend, Rosie), she can take a song like ‘Winner Takes It All’ and give it much more depth and gravitas than it has ever, or will ever, deserve. She can also do beautiful without even being pretty. And she does that thing with her face — is it some kind of twitch of the lip? — that always makes her look as if she’s on the edge of some kind of delirium, and which is always just mesmerising somehow.

But joyful abandon is the thing, I think, and the key. Mamma Mia (What a Slag, Pre-Dungarees!) has been made with the most delicious, joyful abandon and all it asks is that you joyfully and deliciously abandon yourself to it and don’t make too many observations along the lines of: how clever of Sophie to know the exact addresses of her three possible dads after all these years! You have to buy into its spirit and, oh, the joy of the big numbers, like ‘Dancing Queen’, when the whole island ends up on the beach, including the little old Greek ladies, or Julie Walter’s pursuit of Stellan Skarsgård, pleading with him to ‘Take A Chance On Me’. Lovely. Such fun. In fact, Julie Walters performs as if she never knew there was so much fun to be had (with clothes on or off; I am still struggling to remember).

OK, it’s a busy film, perhaps too busy, and there is a lot of hugging, perhaps too much hugging, and Sophie is quite wet, but it’s also a beautifully realised piece of cinema which has no agenda beyond pure, full-on, toe-tapping entertainment. Go and enjoy, although not after midnight, should you fear missing out on a gentlemen caller. (Do you fear that, Bubbles? ‘I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do.’)

More articles from: Deborah Ross | this section

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