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Film
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Connie and Carla
Although similar in spirit to the film named by the AFI as the funniest comedy of all time, this drag queen farce ultimately comes across as Some Like It Lukewarm.
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
By Anthony D'Alessandro
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With jokes as stale as a piece of baklava left out in the Mediter~ranean sun, Nia Vardalos follow-up comedy Connie and Carla arrives approxi~mately two years after her 2002 box office anomaly My Big Fat Greek Wedding. And once again, Vardalos is bylined on the script and above the title.
With $241 million at the domestic box office, Wedding seemed more like a business school case study in how to milk millions of dollars out of the elderly with a mediocre comedy rather than an exercise in cutting-edge independent comedy. This time around, the actress’s big fat vehicle is at the hands of a big fat studio, Universal and financier Spyglass, so there’s little grievance here to platform few guffaws into a theatrical phenomenon.
Layered with a bulk of Broadway show tunes sung wonderfully by Connie (Vardalos) and Carla (Toni Collette), it’s clear Vardalos’ sense of humor once again lies with the geriatric demo who embraced Wedding.
Yet, the conundrum with Connie and Carla resides in its dumbed down send-up of drag queen life and its questionable alternative niche appeal. Let’s just say that if I was a transvestite, I think I’d be offended and put off by this film. In a day and age when it’s okay to be out, gay humor possesses such a punch and snap that the bar has been set high by such television shows like Will & Grace or Six Feet Under.
Overall, Connie and Carla lacks the anarchistic zeal of 1995’s The Birdcage, which triumphed in its extreme blend of queer and straight characters, or the humanity of The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert. If there’s a sub-genre of cross-gender films, count Connie and Carla out.
Connie and Carla have been singing like humming birds since elementary school when they put the lunchroom to sleep. Yet despite their brassy talent, they’re still putting off audiences in their adulthood at the Chicago airport lounge, where they invest plenty of costumes and blocking in their cabaret numbers such as “Papa Can You Hear Me?” from Yentl and “Memory” from Cats.
Bad luck befalls the duo when they witness the murder of their bar room boss Frank (Michael Roberds) by drug kingpin Rudy (Robert John Burke) and Russian flunky Tibor (Boris McGiver). The girls flee town, dropping their emotionally unsupportive boyfriends Al (Nick Sandow) and Mikey (Dash Mihok), and assuring their mothers that they’re not on the lam because they’re prostitutes.
On the road, the girls decide that Los Angeles is the best place for them to hide, not only for their aspiring careers as actresses but also due to the city’s lack of a dinner theater scene. Unbeknownst to the girls, there’s a bag of Rudy’s cocaine in their car, which Carla busts open all over the interior. Ha ha ha.
Upon arriving in West Hollywood, where the girls find the guys oh so hot, the two settle into a short-lived job at a high-end spa, where they saran wrap a woman’s leg with clay. Luck be the ladies, when the duo stumble into a West Hollywood drag queen club where its somber owner Stanley (played by Vardalos' hubby Ian Gomez) is holding auditions for the room’s next big musical act.
Connie and Carla decide to go for it, adorning themselves with big wigs and a mudslide of make-up, and they wind up being a huge draw thanks to their Broadway act and sheer ability to sing songs, not lip synch them.
For the sake of their act and their heads, which are currently being hunted down by Tibor in every dinner theater outpost around the country, Connie and Carla play out their lives in drag. It’s here that the film hangs itself on being a one-note joke: women dressing up as women. The mere concept isn’t funny and the range of jokes that could heighten it from here quickly hit a glass ceiling. Let’s just say it’s funnier when the opposite sex falls down in heels.
| The girls befriend the other posse of drag queens who live in their building, led by Robert (Stephen Spinella), and even let them in on their stage action as back-up singers. Connie becomes smitten with Robert’s estranged straight-laced brother Jeff (David Duchovny), who is mending ties with his sibling.
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This provides an uneven romantic subplot whereby a drag queen Connie begins to court a guy who thinks she’s a guy. While out for a drink, Connie steals a kiss with Jeff, who pushes away out of extreme discomfort. Who can blame him?
Meanwhile, a running gag is that Tibor, in his trek to find Connie and Carla, keeps getting sidetracked at theaters that are performing the musical Mame. Back in Chicago, boss Rudy makes more headway in discovering the girls’ location while overhearing a conversation between Connie and Carla’s ex-boyfriends, whom he quickly summons to track the girls down.
| There doesn’t seem to be much here that comedy director Michael Lembeck could save; it's a lopsided script laced with flat-footed humor and lazy characterization. If it weren’t for Vardalos’ Connie falling in love with Duchovny, it would be hard to distinguish Connie from Carla. The two girls are so similar in whininess and screams that there’s hardly any conflict for the duo to bounce against one another.
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The film’s only saving grace is its musical numbers, which resonate in great harmony, thanks to the singing power of Vardalos and Collette, the latter in her first comedic role since Muriel’s Wedding. Collette’s dramatic and musical prowess brings a little bit more esteem to the project. Meanwhile, a brief chuckle is scored when Carla realizes in the middle of song that she needs to sing like a man and quickly takes on a guy's voice.
It’s clear that Lembeck and Vardalos have invested more time in the campiness of the musical numbers than the comedy set pieces. Vardalos and Collette shine so much during such numbers like “Don’t Rain on My Parade” and “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” that one wants to edit these scenes out into a different comedy.
| Playing against his former X Files genre stereotype, Duchovny’s deadpan style doesn’t prime the chemistry with Vardalos' Connie, his method being more suitable to an absurdist comedy or thriller. The rest of the repertoire does their best, especially the soulful Spinella, but the script’s gangster and gay stereotypes tie them down.
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Even though Vardalos shows her range as a musical actress, the box office and critical truth of Connie and Carla should serve as a lesson that death is easier than a smart comedy script in Hollywood. The Greek chorus is chanting that Vardalos stick to acting.
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