Glitter film review

Back in the 1980s, authors Michael and Harry Medved penned a glorious tribute to the long-forgotten celluloid disasters that Hollywood had spent millions on, only to discover that they had clearly misread public opinion. The Golden Turkey Awards were partly responsible for resurrecting the cult career of B-movie director Ed Wood, as well as celebrating some of the more esoteric areas in movie embarrassment: categories included Most Embarrassing Movie Debut (Paul Newman in The Silver Chalice), Worst Performance by a Popular Singer (Tony Bennett in The Oscar), Worst Casting (John Wayne as Genghis Khan in The Conqueror) and a life achievement award to Raquel Welch as the worst actress of all time (surely a bit harsh). Now, twenty years after the brothers first published their book, it may need to be reissued with an update, for Ms Carey truly does her best to compete with some of the greatest ever movie debacles. Indeed she even puts in a close challenge to Attack of the Mushroom People for Worst Vegetable Movie. This execrable attempt to chart the progress of a young woman's assault on the American music business fails in every single department: an inept screenplay by newcomer Cheryl West, plodding direction by Vondie Curtis Hall (who must have sold his soul to the devil to have a medium success with 1997's Gridlocked only to find that repayment was due earlier than expected) and a truly atrocious accent from one Max Beesley in the role of Carey's boyfriend, a hip NYC dj with a secret penchant for writing tawdry jazz tunes. It can only be surmised that the role of Carey's boyfriend was laughed out of Hollywood before turning up on Beesley's doorstep.

The story, or at least whatever is meant to slimly resemble a story, is as formulaic as they come. A young Billy (Carey) lives life in the shadow of her hard-drinking songstress mother who inadvertently burns down their house after a binge. Taken into care, she befriends two fellow foster kids and they grow up into a trio of backing singers for early 80s pop acts. Of course it is only a matter of time before Billy is spotted and pushed as a solo artist by boyfriend Beesley and soon she is climbing up the charts with a strangely saccharine version of Robert Palmer's 'I Didn't Mean to Turn You On' (Carey's bubblegum version is entitled 'I Didn%u2019t Mean to Lead You On'). Without any real explanation by the director, we are meant to believe that Billy is suddenly the biggest thing in pop, but neither the budget nor the script allow for any of this to be plausible. From here on, the film is a mediocre love story focussing on whether Carey's and Beesley's relationship can survive her fame.

None of the above can match our diva however. Despite having the lead role in the film, it dawns on you after about twenty minutes that Carey is given very little to say or do. Instead she is shielded by the other actors and spends the ninety minutes trying her best to not look like a deer caught in the headlights. Unfortunately she fails, and her monotone delivery and consistently quizzical look (even when she is trying to 'emote') soon evoke laughter from the audience rather than empathy.

For the mischievous cinemagoer, who might enjoy some sado-masochistic pleasure at seeing such dross, there is much to enjoy in Glitter. It is destined to have its place in Hollywood history, but for all the wrong reasons. It also looks like being a strong candidate at this year's awards: but at the Golden Raspberries, not the Golden Globes. J-Lo has nothing to worry about.