Tuesday, November 23, 2010


I should probably mention, I have not, and will not, see this film.  But, just like any other pundit (or professional film critic) I need no professional qualifications to make a decision.

Burlesque is apparently a movie about Burlesque dancers, or theater, or something.  It isn't really germane to this review.  From the few commercials I have seen, this movie does the unthinkable:  it still plays on the idea of Cher as a sex symbol (for heterosexuals.  She's apparently a major deity to the pillow biter crowd.)  What is pretty creepy about this is that Cher is sixty four years old.  Okay, most of her is 64, with various bits of silicone etc. being far younger, and less likely to decay.  Cher was born in 1946, just like Laura Bush.  Now, Mrs. Bush is a very attractive woman, but not what springs to, um, mind when I think of "sex symbol." 

Sure, 64 isn't elderly.  It really isn't even old.  But in perspective, Cher is older than transistors.She is older than microwave ovens.  She predates aluminum foil.  (Really!)  Not to mention tubeless tires, Sylvester and Tweety, Scooters, Roswell aliens, Kitty Litter, Howdy Doody (who also had less plastic), Reddi-Whip (speaking of imitation dairy) , UHT Pasteurization, The World Health Organization, The polaroid land camera, self defrosting refrigerators, the 'Peanuts' comic strip, and S & H Green stamps.  My point is, she's older than most people's memory, and almost as old as our genetic memory... not sexy.  I dug through the archives here in the bunker and have found some of the most shocking photos of Cher you may ever see.

Below is a pictue of Cher's first birthday.  Please forgive the nudity, I couldn't find any fig leaves.

Next, a picture of Cher just prior to her marriage to Sonny--Watch out for that tree--Bono.

Finally, an artist's rendering of what Cher would look like without an Army of plastic surgeons keeping her put together:

Okay, enough bagging on Ms. Plastique.

There is an even bigger reason--far bigger than Cher's nose--why Burlesque won't be in my netflix queue: it's a musical.  There are simply no good musicals which do not involve Fred Astaire, Danny Kaye, Bing Crosby, Bob Hope, Doris Day, Dorothy Lamour, Gene Kelly, Kate Smith and Carmen Miranda.  The musicals of the 1940s and 1950s are the gold standards, especially the ones featuring the music of Irving Berlin.  No musical made today could possibly compare.  Mostly, I think, because they require such a HUGE WILLFUL SUSPENSION OF DISBELIEF.  Never in my life has anyone suddenly burst into a song, with accompanying chorus, and choreographed dance routine, and supporting dancers.  Certainly not in High School (listen up, Gleeks and High School Musical fans.)  But in those gold-er years of Hollywood, the numbers seemed to really flow from the story in such a way as to make it believable that someone could sing, and dance, in the rain.  (And that, jazz-hands shimmy-shimmy ass-wrigglers, was dancing.  Gene Kelly, with no props but an umbrella, his hat, tap shoes, and lots and lots of rain.  And he made a scene which lasts to this day as an icon to the genre.)

All that is well and good, but Men don't watch modern musicals at the movies.  We go to watch films like Inglorious Basterds, Big Trouble, Dirty Harry, and Blade Runner.  Broadway Musicals are acceptable, providing you a) take a date, and b) the musical is called Spamalot!

In summation, the only people who the movie Burlesque will attract, are these kind:


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