EVITA begins with the announcement in a movie theatre of Eva Peron's death and is quickly followed by a most sublime scene of Argentinian sorrow, that of couples dancing a lifeless tango set to their secret grief. The sight impresses, as does the rest of EVITA's visuals. Unfortunately, EVITA doesn't go much further than the surface. With its emphasis on the illustration of celebrity, as opposed to an explanation, using displays of grandeur and admiring masses of humanity, the mythology of Eva will remain an anonymous one after watching EVITA, I'm afraid. Then again, one should probably not assign such weighty baggage to a movie based on a Broadway musical.
The musical is the source of most of EVITA's weaknesses. It alludes, but does not convince, on Eva's allure, likely because this Eva is a sanitized version. Madonna's own fearlessness and determination could have conveniently filled this rather glaring void, but she keeps herself in check - oddly the same reason why her Eva convinces - and regrettably holds too much back, revealing only flashes of her perverse appeal. Madonna gives her best performance yet, acting very capably and singing at her best, but this Evita comes short of undeniable appeal and charisma.
The musical assigns Eva's determination and her championi-ng of the lower class descamisados to her own illegitimacy and consequent exclusion from her middle class father. Her ticket to Buenos Aires, the South American Big Apple, comes from a teenage liaison with a marginal celebrity, and thus begins a succession of upwardly mobile trysts that eventually lands her Juan Peron. Jonathan Pryce's Juan plays the necessary cipher to Evita's myth and little else, a man so emasculated by the musical one is left wondering how he managed to rise to the top of the military ranks. Nevertheless, Pryce plays the thankless role with note-perfect grace.
Much more macho is Antonio Banderas as the omnipresent Che, our narrative middle man and Brechtian commentator who goes through at least as many costume changes as Madonna. Banderas' range of voice and facial expressions are limited, all knitted brow and curled lip, but he sings and swaggers with malevolent gusto as he peppers sarcastic asides on Evita's life. In the end Che also succumbs, unexplainably, to her absent appeal, almost dutifully, as if being a witness to her presence was all it took to be a follower. Perhaps that is how it was, but EVITA leaves me unconvinced.
In spite of its faults, Alan Parker will impress with the movie he has made. Expect to be entertained. EVITA describes itself well with the following line: "She didn't say much, but she said it loud." It is lush and grand and the expert attention to details obvious. The music is entertaining and appropriately overproduced to complement Parker's accompanying visual spectacles. In spite of the overproduction, the lyrics come across clearly, move the film quickly and, since threadbare on fact, are undemanding and should be unproblematic for those unfamiliar with EVITA. Together, the visuals and the engaging music make EVITA easily entertaining.
Parker isn't blameless, however. I grant that the lack of substance may have forced his hand, necessitating his use of glorious explosions, banner headlines and sudden riots to illustrate Argentina's problems. However, his choice of montage is questionable when a single scene would have been more appropriate to the accompanying song and more effective. "You Must Love Me," EVITA's one new song, is the most obvious example here. In the preceding scene, Juan has just informed Eva that she is dying, and their exchange, sung live with no music, is among the most effective scenes in EVITA, a stark contrast of barebones drama against the constant exhibition. This would have packed even more emotional punch had Madonna then continued to sing "You Must Love Me," but instead Parker plays the song as background to another montage of an obviously ill Eva surrounded by worried caretakers, the by now too familiar device of people reacting to an illusive Eva. The song urges us to love her, but Parker here wastes his easiest opportunity to make us care. With such little effort, you are left indifferrent, neither loving nor hating her.
If anything, EVITA confirms the existence of that dubious sect of the cult of celebrity that requires its icons to have lived splendidly and that they leave a beautiful corpse. It will earn few converts. EVITA entertains and awes with all its fuss but you may leave the movie theatre wondering why the fuss happened in the first place.
By : Froilan Vispo
Source: rec.art.movies.reviews newsgroup
Rating: 2
Now I understand why Argentineans wanted Madonna to go home during the filming of EVITA!
What the fuss is all about, I have no idea, because EVITA is just another bad movie starring one of our worst actresses, Madonna. The catch is, this time she gets to sing sing sing for 2 1/2 hours -- sing until she can sing no more -- sing until your ears bleed.
EVITA has had a long and sordid past as a motion picture project, and it's easy to see why. The fact that EVITA makes a mockery of Argentina's most beloved personage *and* the filmmakers wanted to shoot there is almost beside the point. There's the problem that movie musicals have tended to be huge flops over the last 40 years; the problem of Madonna's inability to act; the problem that Eva Peron was basically an egomaniac that died 40 years ago and that no one in America really cares about anymore. And when co-screenwriter Oliver Stone gets involved... yikes! They might as well have made a musical called OSWALD!
But they didn't. Instead, EVITA rumbles through the plot points in Eva Peron's life like a freight train. From stargazing child to slutty gold-digger to talentless actress to the wife of the President, it's no wonder why Madonna fought so hard for this part -- it's straight out of her life (except for the President part... so far)! No acting required! *And* she gets to sing the whole time!
And what's with all this singing, anyway? Yes, I know it's from Andrew Lloyd Webber (who, after seeing "Cats," I believe is seriously disturbed), and as a traditional musical, EVITA might have had a prayer. But electric guitars and synthesizers? Discordant, headache-inducing chants? A capella, sing-song dialogue between characters? Sheesh, EVITA is more like THE WHO'S TOMMY than SINGIN' IN THE RAIN. (It's no surprise that director Alan Parker also created PINK FLOYD'S THE WALL.) I half-expected Madonna to start rolling around in baked beans a la Ann-Margret!
No such luck. Instead we have to listen to the likes of Antonio Banderas's singing narrator, which sounds a lot like he has his cajones in a vise. Or the very British Jonathan Pryce as Juan Peron (!), singing about how he ran the British out of Argentina. The hilarity of these two performing is *almost* as much fun as the real treat of EVITA: trying to see how many ways Madonna can cover up her blossoming pregnancy. How many arms, hats, and flower bouquets can she hold across her waist? A lot.
In all fairness, Banderas is a diamond in the rough here, in a part of comic relief that is desperately needed among the Very Serious performances. Also, a few of the songs are tolerable, even memorable, even if they rarely make sense. But, in the end, I have to pan EVITA, if for no other reason than it's just plain goofy. And some parting words for Madonna, in a lyrical fashion she may be able to finally understand:
