Mame never achieves the heights it should, but it's not nearly as terrible as some other reviews would have you believe. It does stumble while telling its story primarily because of the time jumps the audience has to figure out through small (and not so small) visual queues. There's also the matter of key points of
the story being left out, such as Patrick and Mame reconciling in the third act. Lucille Ball feels like she's channeling Gloria Swanson from Sunset Boulevard, she fails to make the character her own; instead, Mame is a pastiche of this and that with no true "self." I'm not as much a stickler for singing voices as some, though it is painfully obvious when certain actors are being dubbed. The production, for all its lavishness, falls flat without a lick of energy in it. Plots are introduced and casually dismissed. The Depression, for instance, which wipes out Mame's fortune, is mentioned almost in passing. Does she cry or despair over it? Nope. She keeps on singing. What makes this woman tick? Where does she get her limitless reservoir of energy and good nature from? What makes her tick? We don't know and I doubt anyone connected to the film knows, either, sadly.
March 23, 2011
