Previously, on Anger in a Man Suit...

Monday, 6 August 2018

A mystery wrapped in a riddle, hidden in a conundrum, sprinkled liberally with enigma...

I would like to point out from the very beginning here that I had zero intention of ever watching today's movie, nor in fact did I ever think for a moment that I would inflict such a tragedy upon myself. Much in the same way that I ended up watching Grimsby, I found myself a guest in someone's home and at the whim of their cinematic choices unable to prevent the terrors that were unfolding in front of me. Despite what our title pun might imply, it wasn't a thriller or well crafted whodunit, but it did leave me with a whole host of questions that I fear will never be answered. I will also admit that I am more than slightly biased in that I have an unending hatred of musicals which includes most Disney movies but with the exception of South Park. For the love of all that is unholy, I quite unintentionally ended up being afflicted by The Greatest Showman.

Let's get this out of the way first and foremost: of course I hated it. It's nothing but horrendous pleb-dazzle, neatly packaged and marketed to inspire warm fuzzy feelings and sell sing-along soundtrack CDs. You have my deepest sympathies if you found yourself roused into shelling out folding money for said collection of assuredly wholesome yet utterly vacuous set of ditties because it probably means you've suffered some sort of head trauma. Considering this is a musical, it's pretty devoid of memorable tunes. They all sound just like the rest of the other horrible radio-friendly, parent-appeasing, vomit-inducing pop toss: in one ear and directly out of the other. Say what you will about the genre, I can honestly say I've never seen West Side Story and I don't recall watching The Sound of Music in full, but I recognise the tunes in a heartbeat; even South Park, being the knowing piss-take that it was, had me humming the tunes the moment I left the screening. The drivel they've pumped out here is so sanitised and dull it may as well be used to sedate unruly prisoners or insomniacs.

The music is of course only half of the misery, because believe it or not, there is a plot somewhere inbetween the warblings. It's a very loose biopic of PT Barnum, arguably the world's most famous ringmaster and exponent of exploiting people with congenital defects for the betterment of his own bank balance. If you believe the hype, you might walk away thinking that he was America' 's first equal rights campaigner, championing the outcast and downtrodden and empowering them to become all they could be despite society being innately distrustful of and violent towards them. In real life, Barnum was a man who happily sewed a fish tail to monkey and called it a mermaid and who taught a four year old with dwarfism to impersonate famous political figures but claimed he was 11 so people wouldn't throw a fit. Strangely though, the actually interesting parts of his life are conspicuously missing; his debunking of psychics and mediums as charlatans, his legitimisation of theatre, his runs as senator. All of this glossed over for the sake of another wistful love story between two dewy eyed muppets with a desperate urge to burst into song at the drop of a hat. Or the random insertion of sexual scandal and intrigue into his relationship with Jenny Lind when in real life she dropped him because he was astute enough to write their contract in such a fashion that he was absolutely rinsing her to the tune of $14,000,000 in adjusted currency.

Aside from all that, I find it unbelievable nowadays when I see ropey FX shots in movies of this size. Granted, this is not fantasy or Sci Fi blockbuster, but it was one of the bigger Summer draws and was clearly a big investment. It ranges from the inexplicable to the ludicrous, but my biggest problem is with the smallest person in screen. Tom Thumb is the cinematic representation of the afore-mentioned little person Barnum took advantage of. For some reason though, rather than hire an actor the correct height and stature they've very obviously digitally shortened the actor's legs. Let that sink in for a second. A movie where the central theme appears to be about being proud of who you are no matter how beardy your lady face is, and they've digitally shortened an actor, rather than hire an actual little person. Not even shrunk him like in Lord of the Rings, just his legs. Imagine deciding to go through all the complexity and time doing all that animation rather than simply hire someone who fits the bill. The elephants look pretty crappy in most shots too, not least when he's riding one through the streets of New York and you can tell he's sat on a large chunk of plastic in front of a wall of green fabric. Are we so politically correct now that Hugh Jackman isn't allowed to ride an actual elephant anymore? Maybe they over-spent on the CGI legs or something.

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