Hey, everyone. “Moriarty” here.

I love the original John Waters version of HAIRSPRAY.

I love it because it shouldn’t exist. Before that film, Waters was as fringe as fringe could be, and his films managed to be both funny and repulsive, sometimes in the same scene. I thought of him as one of those guys who was perfectly happy working outside the mainstream, resolutely vile. And I expected he would continue to make movies that were nearly impossible to release for as long as he worked.

That’s why it seemed like such a shock when HAIRSPRAY was released. Not only was it rated PG, but it was positively sunshiney. Sure, there was Divine playing a central role in the film, and sure, it was set in Baltimore, but it just didn’t seem like it was possible that the same guy who talked his cast into the various perversions of PINK FLAMINGOS could make something as sweet and even uplifting as the story of Tracy Turnblad and her quest to integrate THE CORNY COLLINS SHOW while proving herself to be the best dancer in town.

It didn’t surprise me that they turned the film into a Broadway musical. The film is, after all, all about dancing already, and there’s a bright plastic colorful quality to the movie that seems perfect for musical theater. I have to admit, though, I wasn’t interested in seeing the new version. I can understand why they did it, but I love the original so much that I didn’t want to sit through someone else’s riff on it.

Then they announced the inevitable film version, and as soon as they said Adam Shankman was directing, I pretty much counted the film out entirely. I think I’ve been very clear about my feelings for his work so far. BRINGING DOWN THE HOUSE is a loathsome, stupid, ugly-spirited piece of shit, and every dollar it made at the box-office is one more reason the terrorists hate us. He’s that rare combination of visual ineptitude and dramatic inertia. THE WEDDING PLANNER. A WALK TO REMEMBER. THE PACIFIER. CHEAPER BY THE freakin’ DOZEN 2. That’s his filmography so far. He’s got godawful taste, and so far, there hasn’t been a single moment in anything he’s directed that I’ve enjoyed on any level.

In fact, the only good thing I can say about him as a filmmaker is that he’s not Shawn Levy.

And Leslie Dixon adapting the script didn’t inspire much more confidence in me. OUTRAGEOUS FORTUNE. OVERBOARD. LOOK WHO’S TALKING NOW. PAY IT FORWARD. The FREAKY FRIDAY remake. She’s not a particularly bad writer, but I don’t really think of her as someone who really delivers, either. In general, the creative team put me off, and the first few images I saw of John Travolta in the fat suit just seemed bizarre. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to the film as a result. I wasn’t determined to hate it... I guess I was just indifferent.

But HAIRSPRAY has a few tricks up its sleeve that I wasn’t expecting, and as a result, I’m surprised to be recommending it. The first and most important thing the film has going for it is Marc Shaiman. Tracy Turnblad and her mother Edna could have only come out of the imagination of John Waters, more of his gutter Sirk goddesses, but Marc Shaiman and his co-songwriter Scott Wittman give them (and the rest of the cast) voice with hilarious precision. This is a big, no-apologies song score musical, and Shaiman loves this stuff. He eats and breathes musical comedy. Shaiman’s the reason the music in the SOUTH PARK movie is so impeccably funny, at least as responsible as Trey Parker. Here, Shaiman’s composed at least six numbers that kill, and there are a few other gems in there that really depend on how they’re performed. That’s an impressive percentage of showstoppers for any one show, and I think Shaiman manages it because he’s so steeped in the musical/comedy tradition. His ‘60s pop sounds more like real ‘60s pop than the songs in DREAMGIRLS did. That show was about Motown, but it didn’t really sound like Motown. It sounded like Broadway. Here, Shaiman writes in fluent pop, so he manages to really make it feel authentic. The songs manage to satirize Broadway and pop conventions while also being very good examples of both, no easy feat. The opening number, “Good Morning Baltimore” is a perfect example. It’s a slightly, lovingly skewed take on the sort of numbers that Disney loved so much during the ‘90s, like Belle’s song at the start of BEAUTY & THE BEAST. It works as an introduction to Tracy (Nikki Blonsky) and her impossible optimism. But it also lampoons this kind of sunny opening number in a way that tells the audience “Don’t take this completely seriously. We don’t.”

This is something inherently artificial about having people sing and dance an entire movie, and I think when I hear someone say they don’t like the genre, it’s just a rejection of that particular flavor of artifice. Musicals aren’t any less real than, say, a superhero movie or ALIENS or any less stylized than SUSPIRIA or HARD BOILED. And this film at least makes sense as a musical since so much of the movie hinges on the idea that the characters are singing and dancing on TV. It makes it much easier to swallow, I’d suspect, for many audiences, audiences that might not otherwise enjoy this sort of thing. This is like LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS or even GREASE in terms of cross-over potential. It’s a film that encourages you to join the party, that practically dares you to try and sit still.

The film is also helped enormously (no pun intended) by the casting of Nikki Blonsky. You have got to buy believe that Tracy is the equal of any other dancer her age in Baltimore, and you have to believe that Link (Zac Efron) could fall in love with her, and you have to believe that relentlessly sunny disposition. Waters struck gold in his original movie when he found Ricki Lake, and by all accounts, Marissa Jaret Winokur ripped it up on Broadway. Blonsky had some big shoes (again, no pun intended, I swear to God) to fill, and she fits the role perfectly. She’s a little ball of energy with a gigantic Broadway voice, and she seems to be having so much fun that you just sort of join in. She’s impossible to resist. I’ve never seen HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL, but I know that’s where Zac Efron made his first impression on audiences. He’s well-cast as Link here, and he gives good Elvis when he’s called upon to do so. Amanda Bynes isn’t much of a singer, but she’s a cute Penny Pingleton, and she does decent work overall. She’s sort of blown off the screen by Elijah Kelley, though, who plays Seaweed, the black kid who she falls in love with. If they announced a musical tomorrow that starred Elijah Kelley, I’d put it on my list of “films I can’t wait to see,” because this kid is amazing. I don’t know anything about him beyond what I saw here, but he’s got amazing charisma. He’s easily the best dancer in the young cast, and his big song, “Run And Tell That,” is one of the highlights of the movie. Another guy who does fantastic work here is James Marsden, who makes Corny Collins into more fun than he has any right being. Marsden doesn’t play it smarmy, which would be the easy choice, and he continues to strike me as profoundly underrated.

The adult cast is a little more of a mixed bag. Michelle Pfeiffer’s got a tough job playing Velma Von Tussle. She’s a good villain, and she seems game for anything, but she is hindered by the worst song in the movie (“Miss Baltimore Crabs”), and it almost seems like she did something to piss off cinematographer Bojan Bazelli. I spent an afternoon sitting beside her last year on the STARDUST set, and she’s still a beautiful woman close-up. I’m not sure you’d know it based on how she looks here. I know that ever since “Weapon Of Choice,” it’s been cool to watch Christopher Walken dance, and I’m a fan of him when he’s somewhat self-aware of himself as a joke. But I didn’t really buy him as Wilbur Turnblad, Tracy’s dad. He’s got a few numbers, and neither of them worked for me. That’s a shame, since one of them was reportedly a major part of the Broadway production’s success, the duet he does with Edna called “You’re Timeless To Me.” It sort of stops the film cold, I thought, and I think the main problem is that there’s no chemistry between Walken and Travolta.

Which is not to say that I dislike Travolta’s work. Because I don’t. I think Travolta is oddly compelling in the movie. The makeup is strange, the accent is all over the place, but he’s always been magic when he dances, and somehow, his oddball choices add up to an affecting portrait of a woman struggling to grown comfortable in her own skin. Travolta doesn’t have much chemistry with Walken, but he clicks with Blonsky in a big way, and their biggest number, “Welcome To the ‘60s,” is grand fun. Same thing with “Can’t Stop The Beat,” the song that closes the film.

Other actors like Queen Latifah, Brittany Snow, Allison Janney, Jerry Stiller, and Paul Dooley all do what they were hired to do, but there’s only so many great moments in a film like this. One of the best, the song “Without Love,” belongs to the kids, and there’s a real sweet silliness to it. Overall, this is not a consequential film. The anti-segregation message certainly has its heart in the right place, but it’s hardly breaking new ground. The film is admirably color-blind, but that’s not the point. Really, it’s just an excuse for some great music, some great dancing, and this great party atmosphere for a few hours.

I still don’t think Shankman knows what to do with a camera, and considering his background as a choreographer, I expected him to be better at shooting the dance sequences. Still, he doesn’t get in the movie’s way, and it ultimately doesn’t matter that he’s sort of inept. The material overcomes that. I’ll always prefer the Waters original, but I’m pleased to see that this is a respectful riff, that rare remake that honors rather than undermines.

I’ve been sort of scarce this week here at Ain’t It Cool because I’ve been moving into my new house. Moving’s bad enough, but when you’re buying for the first time, there are a million things that come up that you don’t expect, expenses and logistics and giants pains in the ass. I managed to steal away for a few cool things, though, and I’ll have more on that in the days ahead.

Drew McWeeny, Los Angeles