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At first, Mariah Carey seems to have so little to share in terms of personality, but if one takes a second look, we can see that she keeps it well guarded beneath her Mrs. Potato-Head exterior. At one point, she tells us that she absolutely cannot show us the room in which she keeps Marilyn Monroe’s piano, which she reportedly bought for $600,000. Did Marilyn Monroe actually play the piano? Or did she just sit on it? How does she know it’s Marilyn Monroe’s piano? Perhaps these two figures in pop culture share a similar fate. Let us pray.

Carey also shows us her “fan room,” in which she keeps all the books of Mariah Carey that Mariah Carey fans/stalkers/criminals compile because they love Mariah Carey so damn much. She likes to come in here when she feels a bit low because it lifts her spirits. So, basically, when she finds a smudge on her bathroom mirror the size of a gnat and starts to feel a little trigger-happy with her Ultra-Caliber 38-Special Suicide Gun, she takes a moment to step inside her “fan room” to look at pictures of herself. My advice to her would be to take a moment and picture all these fans as though they share the same traits as noted serial killer Buffalo Bill from “Silence Of The Lambs.” I can’t help but feel they do.

Speaking of “lambs,” that’s the pet name she gives to all her fans. This tidbit adds an element of stark, raving creepiness as she leads us through the corridors of All That Is Mariah, as though secretly leading us to the discotheque slaughterhouse. We should be so lucky.

So, what led to this downward spiral? How did Mariah Carey become such an interesting case study of Perpetual Loony-dom? Why does Trent Reznor suddenly feel so warm, cozy and normal? Her movie “Glitter” attempts to answer that question, but it fails miserably. This movie tells the story of a woman who becomes famous for performing songs that all resemble Appolonia’s “Sex Shooter” from that Prince movie. The End.

Okay, now that I got the plot elements out of the way, let’s get to the good stuff. Just how bad is “Glitter?” So bad, you won’t even know you watched it. Director Vondie Curtis Hall seems pretty confident that you have no interest in why Carey’s life would make an interesting movie. We know damn well she has nothing interesting to say. She never has before. So, Hall wisps us through the story as painlessly as possible, using swish-pans of New York as scene transitions. Each scene lasts about 25 seconds and without even one memorable line of dialogue to mull over. Listen, Aspiring Scribes, if you’re going to write a bad movie, please study the dialogue of “Pearl Harbor.” Your bad movie won’t be worth anything unless we get at least one “The rise and fall of our Empire is at stake.” (Although Randall Wallace probably spelled it steak. Have fun with it.)

As for Mariah’s acting, well, let’s just say her facial expressions resemble that of a Stretch Armstrong doll. You can pull it, stretch it, yank it and twist it, but it will always come back looking as though you never touched it. I’m pretty sure the masterminds at Digital Domain used some CG techniques to get her face to shape-shift in scenes that required emotion. Of course, it would be hard to forge your way through any scene when your director has “Vondie” for a first name.

But, and I mean this with all sincerity, she does NOT represent the worst of this movie. No, that distinction goes to her male co-star Max Beesley. Wow, just saying that name makes me want to send a collection of contaminated Furbees to the nearest concentration camp for mass mutilation. He plays Carey’s boyfriend/manager, but he really wants to direct (film scores, that is). His character has only one problem: The Shaggs had more talent. Plus, with his boyish, yet greasy, good looks and homoerotic 80’s leather attire, he looks like a porno Luke Skywalker. And when he talks, he sounds as though he took speech lessons from Mark Wahlberg and Vanilla Ice. He really represents the worst of humanity, whether or not he ever did see MTV’s “Cribs.”

On the DVD cover box of “Glitter,” noted quote-whore extraordinaire Kevin Thomas of the LA Times writes, “Glitter fits Mariah Carey like one of her skin-tight gowns.” I agree, Mr. Thomas. It’s thin, meaningless, hard to shake off and leaves the spectator gasping at the amount of money spent on making a person thoroughly bland and un-interesting. Take the gown off and you’re left with a naked, talent-less loony.

Critics hate to admit it, but we actually love this kind of movie. The yearly Rock-Star-Goes-Hollywood has always been a sort of Rite of Passage for us Bad-film lovers. “Glitter” has all the elements of a cheese-ball camp classic. That doesn’t make it good, God no! Even those who made “Xanadu” a cult hit will probably shun this turd monkey. But don’t be surprised if you find this movie on VH-1 as part of a movie rock star marathon, sandwiched appropriately between the Saga of MeatLoaf and the Turmoil’s of Def Leppard. It’s that bad.

But you’ll probably enjoy it if you’re the sort of person who watches “Cribs” from the point of view of a psychological profiler looking for signs of madness. “Glitter” will give you the surface. “Cribs” will give you the depth.

link directly to this review at http://www.efilmcritic.com/review.php?movie=5530&reviewer=233
originally posted: 01/19/02 01:45:35
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