Author: Lisa Roberts

There is nothing Lisa loves more than delving beneath the surface to catch a glimpse of the hidden mechanisms that bring the magic to the screen. She first studied film in a pioneering course, Rough Beasts are Slouching, directing with St Martins Youth Theatre and she has completed a postgraduate certificate in writing with Swinburne University.

I Used To Be Normal: A Boyband Fangirl Story

Rated: PGI Used To Be Normal: A Boyband Fangirl Story

Directed by: Jessica Leski

Produced by: Jessica Leski, Rita Walsh

Featuring: Elif Cam, Sadia, Dara Donelly, Susan Bower.

Designed as a glimpse into a teenage girl’s sparkly, heart-studded, secret diary, this engaging documentary opens with black and white footage of girls who have flocked en masse for the smallest glimpse of The Beatles during their 1964 world tour. Like some curious kind of behaviour that David Attenborough might explain in a nature program, this knot of screaming, crying, hair-tearing, swooning girls is a phenomenon that had begun to sweep the globe, leaving many a parent and those not caught up in the frenzy utterly bemused.

But. Who are these girls and what has become of them?

In this cross-continental exploration, these questions are addressed through the lives of four very different women, from Susan Bower an Australian television producer, one of the original fangirls captured in the archival footage of the Beatles tour, to Elif Cam, a schoolgirl living in Long Island, New York whose obsession with One Direction has paralleled the five years it has taken the filmmakers to produce their own labour of love.

According to Elif, when One Direction perform ‘It’s like they’re singing to me, “You’re beautiful”.’ And, what young girl could resist a really cute boy looking deeply into her eyes and whispering her all of her heart’s desires, even before she is really aware she has them? While, Dara the more technically-minded Australian brand strategist couldn’t resist the allure of, ‘Five guys in the rain dancing in slow motion’.

Analysing her own longstanding and unshakeable attachment, Dara sets out a chart on an office-grade whiteboard to examine ‘Boyband Basics’.  There’s: ‘The mysterious one, the cute one, the sensible dad/older brother, the sexy one—shirt off—and the forgotten one.’ And, there are definitely, ‘No girlfriends, no brothers and no beards.’

In some quarters, boybands are seen as manufactured, manipulative and relatively unskilled. Given that only one boy in the band might even be able to play the guitar, it can be social suicide for the girls to reveal their secret passion. But, that is precisely the allure. It’s about the perfect boy. And, in a boyband, there’s a boy to match the dreams of every girl.

For Elif, the girl on a video that went viral when she cried uncontrollably at the thought of seeing One Direction, ‘They’re not even like human beings. Nobody can be that perfect’. And, it seems that for all of the girls, the most perfect thing about the perfect boy is that he is unattainable.

At a time in their lives when girls are starting to feel the first flutterings of interest in boys, when their emotions are wayward with wild crushes galore, and at a time when real boys ‘are jerks’, boybands offer unconditional love. They sing of love and tantalise with hints of sex, but it is never overt. They are the boys who will never break your heart.

Fahrenheit 11/9

Rated: MFahrenheit 11/9

Directed by: Michael Moore

Written by: Michael Moore

Produced by: Carl Deal, Meghan O’Hara, Michael Moore

Starring: Michael Moore and a host of sympathisers and suspects.

No one is safe and nothing is sacred, at least nothing that the big end of town wants to sweep under the carpet when Michael Moore throws back the rug to expose the outrageous chicanery that gets them what they want.

With a Michael Moore documentary you can expect to be appalled by the issues at stake and riveted by the oblique angles from which they are viewed. In this instance, Moore’s thought provoking compilation of theatre, confrontation and shenanigans charts the alternative history of Donald Trump’s rise to the presidency, and beyond. If anyone in America could be described as Trump’s arch-nemesis, it would most likely be Moore. Where the one with extravagant comb-over and the unusually long necktie famously evades questions, his shaggy nemesis in the baseball cap is equally invested in finding the answers. Even if those findings might not be the ones you expect.

While I have been continually gobsmacked by the audacious commentary aimed at the Trump administration, so much has already been said and written that I had wondered whether I might be in line for a lengthy rehash. Not so. From the opening scenes, the little voice in my mind kept asking in a stunned whisper, ‘Can he really say that?’ And that was before one word had even been uttered. The choice of music implied something that words could not say (at least, not without being sued or locked up).

Just when I thought I knew everything there was to know about Trump’s ascendancy—social media, Russian interference, the ill-timed FBI investigation—there was one factor that we had all overlooked. According to Moore’s deep investigative research, Gwen Stefanie was responsible for the Trump phenomenon.

Even so, Trump’s Stefani inspired tilt for office was merely the prelude, with Moore zeroing in on Trump’s plan to run the country as a business. In 2010, Rick Snyder, former chairman of Gateway Computers, had already delivered a full-dress rehearsal in the state of Michigan when he was elected governor. Invoking a state of emergency, Snyder privatised the public services in the city of Flint. With capitalism and unbridled greed running amok, the result was a water crisis that has decimated the city’s economy and poisoned its citizens. As Moore notes, ‘No terrorist organisation has figured out how to poison an entire American city’.

Flint alone would be a resounding indictment on the state of things in America today, but Moore takes aim at a constellation of culprits. Democrats, Republicans, the United States Electoral College, even the general public are implicated. Moore spares no one when he asks:

How the #*!@*# did it happen?

America has long proclaimed itself to be the champion of democracy, but Moore’s wide-ranging think piece reveals an America sleepwalking toward the destruction of the American dream (not the one with the house and two cars), but the dream of a ‘one person one vote’ democracy. For many Americans it is still only an aspiration and whatever freedoms they have won are in imminent peril.

Westwood: Punk, Icon, Activist

Rated: MWestwood: Punk, Icon, Activist

Directed by: Lorna Tucker

Edited by: Paul Carlin

Produced by: Eleanor Emptage, Shirine Best, Nicole Stott, John Battsek

Starring: Vivivenne Westwood, Andreas Kronthaler, Kate Moss.

Throughout her long career, avant garde fashion designer and activist Vivienne Westwood has been a giant safety pin digging into the side of the British establishment.

From the first little backroom shop in the King’s Road that she shared with Malcolm McLaren selling records (him) and clothing (her), Westwood claims to have invented punk, with McLaren managing (or perhaps mismanaging) the Sex Pistols and Westwood responsible for the punk aesthetic.

She has often described herself as a woman on a mission and, in the 1970s, the mission was to confront the establishment through sex. Pronouncing England as the home of the flasher, Westwood designed a line of rubber wear for the office to sell from their shop now flagrantly rebranded SEX in huge, hot pink letters.

Her designs from that time onwards have become no less confrontational, from the 1976 Destroy tee shirt calling out the establishment as fascists to the 2003 show where she sent her male models down the runway wearing fake breasts over their polo necks. Believing that clothes are deeply emotional, Westwood creates clothing, ‘to face the world in a spectacular way’, as with supermodel Carla Bruni’s 1994 appearance on a Paris catwalk in a scanty faux fur thong. At last, a fitting riposte to the 1936 surrealist Object, the fur-lined teacup.

Despite the sensation her designs create, Westwood takes a very practical approach to design. As one of her assistants observes of Vivienne and partner Andreas Kronthaler’s collaboration, ‘They work with their hands, they work on the body, they have a rapport with the body’. Westwood has been making her own clothes from an early age, and her working class background probably goes some way to explaining the campaign of guerrilla warfare she has been waging against the establishment. Far from hiding torn edges and safety pins, Westwood features them as symbols of insubordination. She wants her clothes to ‘tell a story’, one spiked with mischief and defiance.

But there is an even more personal impetus underlying both Westwood’s designs and her activism. When she was nine, Westwood was transfixed and horrified by a painting of the Crucifixion. It was a seminal moment. Since then, it has become her mission, ‘To stop people doing terrible things to each other’. Wanting to change the world, she joined a Greenpeace expedition to the Arctic Circle. The environmental devastation she witnessed there left her traumatised. Over time, her mission has become ever more focussed, homing in on the financial establishment as, ‘The rotten financial system,’ and, ‘A hydra that is destroying us’.

Even so, this Designer of the Year (twice) who performs cartwheels on the catwalk has been struggling with a conundrum common to many underground artists. As the work gains recognition, it is at the same time being subsumed into the very establishment it is agitating against.

If fashion or popular culture interest you in any way this documentary is a must-see, and for the rest of us it’s a fascinating insight into a fiercely original spirit.

 

Night School

Rated: MNight School

Directed by: Malcolm D. Lee

Written by: Kevin Hart, Harry Ratchford, Joey Wells, Matt Kellard, Nicholas Stoller, John Hamburg

Produced by: Will Packer, Kevin Hart

Starring: Kevin Hart, Tiffany Haddish, Taran Killam, Romany Malco.

I arrived at the preview of Night School with my tub of popcorn expecting a big, bold American-style comedy and it was that, but it was also something more.

The movie opens with Teddy (Kevin Hart) sparring with his sister over his decision to quit high school rather than face yet another test. Teddy argues that the test is not relevant to African American students; he can’t see the point of, ‘calculating the average number of Manatees in California’.

At the time, leaving school did not seem like such a bad idea. A few years later and Teddy is selling barbeques so successfully that his boss offers to hand over the business to him when he retires. Teddy seems to have it all: a drop-dead-gorgeous girlfriend, a luxury sports car and a secure, well-paid future. That is, until he accidentally blows up Barbeque City.

Despite an unparalleled talent for hustling, Teddy is looking at a long term future on the side of a highway wearing a chicken suit unless he returns to school. Unluckily for Teddy, the boy he publicly humiliated when they were students (Taran Killam) now runs the school, striding down the corridors with a baseball bat and a horrible case of ‘black-talking’, and the woman teaching the night class (Tiffany Haddish) turns out to be the complete stranger who dissed him out at the traffic lights earlier on. Even the text book is terrifyingly huge, and definitely not the mere ‘leaflet’ Teddy was hoping for.

If this isn’t enough, he discovers that he has a cocktail of learning difficulties including: dyslexia, dyscalculia and a processing disorder. Not that it wins Teddy any sympathy with his smart and fiercely dedicated teacher. She quips that he is ‘clinically dumb’ before launching a unique hands on special-ed program designed to unencumber his ‘neural pathways’.

All of this might turn others to a life of crime (has turned one class member), but Teddy still has his beautiful fiancé, Lisa, to live up to. Believing that she is out of his league, he has convinced her that he’s working for his best friend as an investment adviser, but he must first qualify for his GED if he is to make this true.

Usually, when I see a movie for the first time I experience the score in a direct, visceral way, and it takes deliberate effort to tune in to the sound more consciously. In this instance I did manage to wrench myself out of the action and I was impressed not only by the cleverness of the soundtrack, but the unpredictable ways it enhanced the comedy.

It wasn’t until final scenes that I realised that the Night School had been made with a genuine sense of conviction, and with much stealth, guile and cunning I had been drawn into a view of education as more important than any obstacle, however enormous. Yet the achievement of this movie is that there was not the slightest feeling of being lectured to. Well, maybe a tiny bit in the final joke littered speech. By then the entire cast has experienced their own brand of growth. Even the principal has shed his ‘black talking’ sneer.

C’est La Vie

Rated: MC’est La Vie

Directed by: Olivier Nakache and Eric Toledano

Written by: Olivier Nakache and Eric Toledano

Produced by: Nicolas duval adassovsky, Yann Zenou, Laurent Zeitoun

Starring: Jean-Pierre Bacri, Jean-Paul Rouve, Eye Haidara, Benjamin Lavernhe,  Gilles Lellouche, Vincent Macaigne and Alban Ivanov.

What would you do if you were minutes away from serving main course to a wedding party of 200 guests and the food was ruined? While this would have to be any event planner’s worst nightmare, this is merely one of the catastrophes looming over the ‘sober, elegant, chic’ occasion that Pierre (Benjamin Lavernhe), the self-obsessed groom, has ordered for his special day.

C’est La Vie is a behind the scenes look at 24 hours in the life of wily, irascible wedding planner, Max Angeli (Jean-Pierre Bacri) and his unruly, uncooperative and inattentive staff as they attempt to orchestrate a 21st century wedding extravaganza in a 16th century château, complete with dodgy wiring.

If Max is to survive this reception with his reputation and his business intact, he will need to draw on 30 years of his of experience in the trade, but he has his own troubles too. His lover has insisted that he leave his wife and until she sees some action Josiane (Suzanne Clement) is brazenly pursuing one of the waiters. At the same time, Max is feeling so jaded that he is secretly negotiating the sale of his business. Or he would be, if only he could master the predictive text function on his phone. Unwittingly, Max has invited his buyer to, ‘come and lick me up’.

Much of the humour in this ensemble comedy derives from language wielded with the precision of a chef’s knife fileting the hapless creatures laid out on the cutting board; especially, the exquisitely barbed insults flying between the staff from the various departments—catering, music, photography, even lighting and special effects—as they each seem to vie to undermine the other. Filmed at the Château de Courances, the setting is breathtaking, while the subtle cadences of Avishai Cohen’s musical score add layers of texture to the slow burn of the script.

Contrary to the expectations set up by its publicity, this film does not follow the well-established Hollywood tradition where a series of disasters, each more cringe-making and improbable than the last, ramp up to a great, big, rousing finale.  While I heard several chuckles and a few belly laughs from the small audience during the pre-screening, the experience was more a smile in the dark than a roll about in the aisles kind of thing. Rather, this film plays with verisimilitude, relying on artful misdirection to produce something that is so deliciously absurd and quirky that it confounds expectation.

In a scene that does break with the sense of realism, two of the hopelessly distracted staff manage to lose the groom. Quite literally. And nobody, not even his bride, seems to mind. It is in this moment, when chaos threatens to ruin everything, the staff show that they have the single qualification that counts in their line of work. They know how to party. Under any circumstances.

As the bemused international crew observes, ‘The French, they’re really something else.’ And this comedy is quintessentially French, right down to its beautifully crafted, easy to read, subtitles.

The Spy Who Dumped Me

 

Rated: MA 15+The Spy Who Dumped Me

Directed by: Susanna Fogel

Written by: Susanna Fogel, David Iserson

Produced by: Brian Grazer, Erica Huggins, Guy Riedel

Starring: Kate McKinnon, Mila Kunis, Gillian Anderson, Justin Theroux, Sam Heughan, Hasan Minhaj.

 

Who do you trust when the person you thought you could trust, tells you to trust no-one? Not even the bartender who just served you a few hours ago or the naked man your best friend has brought home so she can teach him to, ‘use his passive aggressive masculinity for good rather than evil’.

The film opens in Vilnius, Lithuania with Audrey’s (Mila Kunis) boyfriend Drew (Justin Theroux) in a local market assembling a makeshift weapon with his woollen scarf and some eight balls, before he fights his way out, leaps from a tall building and speeds away on a conveniently located scooter. Audrey thinks he works in publicity, producing some kind of jazz and economics podcast that nobody listens to.

Back in Los Angeles it’s Audrey’s birthday and her uninhibited, attention-seeking best friend, Morgan (Kate McKinnon), is trying to cheer her up after Drew dumped her by text message. Not that dumping her was Drew’s real agenda.

From the moment Audrey takes over Drew’s mission to deliver his gold statuette to Verne in Vienna, she and Morgan find themselves on the run with nothing but their passports and the clothes they are wearing in a crazy chase across Europe with spies, assassins and double agents at every turn.

The Spy Who Dumped Me

The action is over the top and overwhelming, the script is dazzling, not a plot hole in sight, and the sound design ranges across the full palette from explosions and the ping of high-calibre bullets to the Czech version of Nancy Sinatra’s ‘These Boots are Made for Walkin’’, but the heart of the movie is the friendship between Morgan and Audrey. The innate trust they share is in complete contrast to the illusions and fabrications perpetrated by the spies all around them. Even the cheese fondue turns deadly when the spies in the ‘fancy café’ reveal themselves.

Despite lacking most of the basic qualifications required for a career in the international spying trade, Audrey is a terrible liar (she puts way too much detail into her stories) and Morgan cannot keep a secret from her mum (not even dick pics), the pair of accidental spies discover that they do have one of the skills that every spy must have; they have a natural talent for improvisation. A series of speed humps provide an effective way to remove that unwanted motorcycle assassin from the roof of their Uber and a craftily coordinated hugging style of mugging allows them to to lift the passports from two unsporting Australian backpackers when they won’t hand them over voluntarily.

But it is not until Drew’s counterpart in MI6 escorts the pair to headquarters that things begin to turn around. Against her best intentions, Audrey might be beginning to forgive the gorgeous secret agent (Sam Heughan) who introduced himself by kidnapping her. While Morgan is awe-struck from the moment she realises that she is in the presence of the Judy Dench of British Intelligence (Gillian Anderson), an austerely beautiful woman with the perfect sneer, who doesn’t need to sacrifice her femininity when she orders some of the most violent operatives in the world to do exactly as she tells them.

If your thing is wild action comedies where two unlikely women have it over them all, then you won’t want to miss them in the most impressive Scandinavian flick turn I have ever seen.

The Gospel According to André

Rated: PGThe Gospel According to André

Directed by: Kate Novack

Produced: Andrew Rossi & Josh Braun

Cinematography: Bryan Sarkinen

Original Music: Ian Hultquist & Sofia Hultquist

Starring: André Leon Talley, Sean Combs, Divine, Tom Ford, Whoopi Goldberg.

The scene is a Paris show for the international fashion elite. A model in a lavish fur coat removes it to reveal an equally lavish fur bolero as she attempts to catwalk through a crush of bodies in an overcrowded suite of rooms. This documentary opens a window onto a world of dress-ups, where haute couture is an instrument to uplift the soul and the task is to remake the world into a more inclusive and light-hearted place. At least, that is the mission for André Leon Talley.

A tall black man. ‘A pine tree of a guy in fedora hat’. Could a more unlikely candidate be welcomed into the highest echelons of the international fashion scene in the 1970s, than a man who more than once has described himself as a manatee (a large sea mammal with flippers)?

Whenever I watch a biopic, one particular question always intrigues me. How did they do it? And when that question is asked of such an unlikely subject as Talley, the answer is even more compelling.

The Gospel According to André

When he arrived there, New York was considered to be the centre of everything, and Talley found himself at the very epicentre when he worked for Andy Warhol at the Factory. Here, he met and became a lifelong friend of Karl Lagerfeld and, soon after, the legendary Diana Vreeland’s protégée. They met when he helped Mrs Vreeland set up one of her high fashion extravaganzas at the Metropolitan Museum. This, too, would be the beginning of an enduring friendship and eventually lead to a thirty year association with Vogue.

All this was a very long way from his early life. Talley was brought up by his grandmother in the Deep South, the heart of Jim Crow country. Not only did the Jim Crow laws define a particularly vicious type of segregation, but it also meant that lynchings occurred until as late as 1975. It is hard to imagine how frightened, disenfranchised and deeply angry Tally must have felt as thirteen-year-old taking a shortcut back from the newsagents when a car full of youths pulled up and they hurled rocks at him, all because he was a black person with the temerity to walk across the campus at Duke University.

Even so, those early years laid the groundwork for Talley’s future path in life. The Church as the bastion of southern culture was essentially a fashion show and introduced Talley to its unspoken language. He began with hats, since his beloved grandmother had one for every season and every occasion, but he soon learned to read with fluency and subtlety across the lexis of style: ‘two bracelets instead of one means you’re wealthy’.

André Leon Talley became so many things he wasn’t supposed to be. A long-time friend described him as, ‘A man with a pure cashmere heart.’ And he was ‘A man who achieved his dreams’, according to André.

For those who wish to take a peek from a fashion insider’s perspective as well as those who want to look closely into an unusual life and find out how he did it, I can recommend this as a sensitive portrait of the man and a captivating documentary of his times.

Disobedience

Rated: MA15+Disobedience

Directed by: Sebastián Lelio

Written by: Sebastián Lelio, Rebecca Lenkiewicz

Produced by: Frida Torresblanco, Ed Guiney and Rachel Weisz

Starring: Rachel Weizs,Rachel McAdams, Alessandro Nivola.

With Disobedience as the title, we know that we are about to enter forbidden territory, and for many of us including me, that is an irresistible destination; especially when the disobedience involves forbidden love.

While this is a story of love, delving into its yearnings, its confusions, its pain and its flashes of carnal delight, this movie is so much more than a love story.

Estranged from her Rabbi father, Ronit (Rachel Weizs) is heartsick when she learns of his death. Immediately walking out on her photographic career in Manhattan, Ronit flies back to the Jewish enclave in North London she fled so long ago. Once there, she is hesitantly welcomed into the home of her two former best friends Dovid (Alessandro Nivola) and Esti (Rachel McAdams), a devout pair who have since married, but the self-assured Ronit, with her free-flowing hair, New York chutzpah and extreme nicotine attachment, is still desperately bereft at her father’s disavowal of his only daughter.

With her own feelings torn and wondering whether she was loved, Ronit continues to rebel.

Even if this movie seems restrained by today’s salacious standards, there is an almost shocking sense of intimacy as the camera shifts in angle to take in some very private moments in the marriage of the ultra-orthodox Dovid and the dutiful Esti.

Looking down on her husband asleep after their lovemaking, Esti is confronted by an oblivious, hairy body tangled in the bed clothes; whereas Dovid, bursting into the bathroom, glimpses his wife as a misty, insubstantial spirit emerging from a cubist mirage amid the steam and the patterns created by their white shower curtain.

Disobedience

While the main story flows along with a satisfying emotional arc, this beautifully nuanced narrative is told in deep point of view, through looks and gestures as much as dialogue, with the depths of the story revealed through the intricately wrought mise en scène.

One of the first intimations of the sensuous undercurrents frothing and bubbling beneath the surface is a still life in the style of a Dutch old master painting, with a cantaloupe, lavishly encircled by ripe nectarines, cut open to expose the delicate flesh of its interior. While the camera lingers for barely a moment, this minor element is in rich counterpoint to the austere meal being stolidly consumed in the foreground.

Soon after, Dovid will ask the study group he leads, ‘Is it all about sensuality? I thought true love was about something higher.’ At this point his question is purely academic. Dovid believes he has found the answer, but he doesn’t even know question, yet.

In this layered drama, we are invited to experience an ancient code, to share in moments of exquisite beauty and the price that must be paid for inclusion: as one woman is cast as the good girl, the other as the bad (at least, in their own minds), and a husband learns about the agonising sacrifice he must make for the truth.

Are some relationships and some beliefs more legitimate than others? This movie looks intensely, engages passionately, but carefully refrains from judging.

Life of the Party

Rated: MLife of the Party

Director: Ben Falcone

Writers: Ben Falcone, Melissa McCarthy

Starring: Melissa McCarthy, Molly Gordon, Gillian Jacobs, Luke Benward, Debby Ryan

When I agreed to review Life of the Party, I experienced a moment of panic. What if there is nothing good to say about it, could I really pan my first movie?

A quick look at the other reviews on the net and the responses were decidedly mixed. A longer look at the trailer and I didn’t think I would be able to keep my inner snark under control either, but by the end of the movie I was left scratching my head. This movie should not have worked.

When she is callously dumped by her husband, Deanna (Melissa McCarthy) returns to university to complete the final year of her degree at the same college her daughter (Molly Gordon) is attending. For most of us, Maddie’s situation would be unthinkably excruciating but, in this instance, Maddie’s mother is adopted by her daughter’s inner circle and given full entrée into the party scene.

With only the briefest hesitation, Deanna, now known as Dee Dee or Dee Rock, embarks upon a wildly inappropriate and utterly delicious romance with one of the most gorgeous guys in school.

As a fish out of water tale, the storyline is far from unusual as a basis for comedy. Luckily the writers have twisted the dial on this premise, subtly but significantly playing with and delicately subverting all the usual clichés.

Contrary to my earlier fears, this movie was not designed as a morality tale. It is not about the struggle to be accepted and, despite the big close-ups trained on Deanna, the comedy does not revolve around the lead character’s journey of self-discovery as a mature age student. Rather, the humour turns on the well-meaning attempts by the supporting characters to help Deanna adjust to her new reality. Help meaning unfettered mischief and lashings of bad behaviour. With this help, Deanna not only achieves her independence, but her motley bunch of helpers also finds their own mojo.

As usual, the cool girls are the villains, but only minor ones. Nonetheless, there are some sweet moments of shadenfreude when Jennifer (Debby Ryan) is spurned in favour of her frumpy rival. The major villain of the piece is the grownup counterpart of the cool girls, the image-obsessed, home-wrecking, husband stealing realtor, and the payback for this particular villain is deviously delicious.

With a thoughtful screenplay, some of the most piquant humour is in the smaller details: Deanna landing a punch square in the centre of her wedding photo, Helen (Gillian Jacobs) snipping a hank of Jennifer’s hair during a lecture as payback for her bitchiness, and the bride holding forth on the groom’s ‘kerbside appeal’ in the middle of their wedding ceremony.

Life of the Party is a movie that shouldn’t be funny but somehow it is. If the rest of the audience were not laughing right along with me, I might have believed that I had suddenly lost all of my critical faculties. As it is, this fluffy haired comedy succeeds in what it sets out to do: turning ‘lemonade into the full lemon’.

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