Worthlesque

I was hoping that in the wake of the 10^th anniversary of 9/11 – as we came together as a nation, and honored those who lost their lives – that some of that solidarity and goodwill would rub off on me, allowing me to go at least a week without being a jerk.

Then I made the mistake of watching Burlesque.

Why, you ask, would I choose to watch a movie starring Christina Aguilera when I’m trying to be a positive person? I cannot defend this decision. I can’t. Apparently Glitter taught me nothing.

What I can say is that my viewing experience started off positively enough. In fact, my first impression – meaning, the first 30 seconds – was that Christina wasn’t such a bad actress. This just goes to show how very wrong first impressions can be. Ms. Aguilera has less charisma than a head of lettuce; I’m talking iceberg lettuce, not even arugula or something interesting. And, although she obviously has an amazing vocal range, I find her voice to be a bit like nails on a chalkboard – only less pleasing to the ear. I literally spent the majority of the movie waiting for her to go away, which was unfortunate, considering she was the lead.

And please don’t even get me started on her “acting” (if you can call it that). She truly has less acting ability than she does charisma. She spent the greater part of the film staring off into space wistfully, and lowering her eyes bashfully. The good news is, if you fast-forward through most of Christina’s singing and acting, it’s a much shorter movie. 

You're as cold as ice...berg lettuce

But here’s what really got me. Forget the fact that a girl from Iowa has a New York accent. Forget the fact that Cher and Kristen Bell were supposed to be BFFs despite a 30-year age difference. I can even get past (eventually) the fact that Burlesque’s writers tried to convince us that Ali (Aguilera) was a likeable person – a total falsehood – by not having every person she came across punch her in the face. What I can’t forget, nor forgive, however, is what happened during Suckstina’s audition scene.

There sat Cher, with Stanley Tucci by her side in all his bald-headed glory, looking for a replacement dancer. They watched dancer after dancer leap across the stage. I’m talking chassés, grand jetés, pirouttes. These girls were bringing it. But none of them was good enough. Not one. Cher and Stan were about to throw in the towel when, wait, here came their lovably headstrong waitress to save the day! She busted out a few hair flips and some jazz hands and, surprise surprise, got the job.

And that was the best scene in the movie.

Burlesque had absolutely no redeeming qualities, no big payoff at the end. In fact, it left me totally cold; sitting there wondering what kind of voodoo magic the filmmakers had to do to fit both Cher and Christina’s giant diva attitudes and unparalleled narcissism on-screen at the same time.