The Cinema of the Four

Mamma Mia!

Somewhere in the dispatch cases and large boxes that line my lumber -room is a recording of some antiquity, involving Swedish musicians mysteriously repeating an Italian phrase. Like all things that one consigns to the lumber-room, it was not a matter of current concern, one not given a thought for quite some time. True, one hears the occasional rumor of events in New York or Chicago that cause one to think that the business is not yet a cold case, but still . . . .

The Saturday in question, my sitting room had been a very busy place. Mrs. Hudson III had been so good as to supply quiches, sausages, and hot cocoa for the large number of clients that had, unexpected to Watson III, appeared on our doorstep that morning. The consultation lasted until the afternoon, at which time I was able to direct most of them to a three-dimensional exploration of the Earth’s core, which proved to be a most satisfying solution for all involved. When they had departed, only two clients remained, and Watson and I found ourselves accompanying them to our local cineplex to look into another matter:
“Mamma Mia!”

“Mamma Mia!” is one of that new breed of musicals that seeks to wrap a basic plot around as many songs from a given old composer as possible. Never mind that the words to the songs may not fit exactly with the situation at hand, the hope seems to be that nostalgia will bring forgiveness on the part of the audience. “Mamma Mia!” dredges up the music of Swedish “supergroup” ABBA and lets it be performed by such unlikely candidates as Pierce Brosnan and Meryl Streep, among others.

While I’ve often heard it said that Broadway’s target market is a certain class of older female, “Mamma Mia!” leaves one with little doubt. It’s heroines seem to consist mainly of randy, dancing middle-aged women, wit h a young lady of marrying age serving as plot device and target for maternal instincts. Lest you paint me as a hopeless cynic, however, let me add this: while “Mamma Mia!” treads dangerously close to “so bad it’s funny” territory, it somehow romps around that result, making one muse about life in a world where singing and dancing are the norm. The pace is snappy enough, and even the most ridiculous of ABBA’s silly pop tunes seems to slide effortlessly into place. It’s goofy, yes, but fun is a very goofy thing, and there is fun to be had here.