Dreamygirls

I finally got around to seeing the movie Dreamgirls on DVD last night.

All I can say is: Fabulous. The songs, the singing, the costumes, the design, the delicious divaliciousness of the dueling divas: Fabulous.

But while I was enthralled for every one of the movie's 130 minutes, my partner sat next to me stone-faced, semi-miserable, and clearly thinking Please Lord, please don't let them start singing again. The boredom came off him in almost visible waves and at one point, midway through, when he got up to go the bathroom, I was surprised he even came back.

But my partner is a serious-minded kind of guy. He's not impressed by how amazing Beyonce looks in her shimmering, clinging gown in the movie's finale and he's not moved when she sings Listen with the fierceness of a woman on fire. He watches Jennifer Hudson's Oscar-winning performance and thinks "Eh, she's OK," and not "Oh my g-d, not since Barbra Streisand's seminal work in Funny Girl has there been a more auspicious musical debut." When the Dreamgirls perform the title song in front of a nightclub audience, and the camera swirls around them as the house lights dim and the flickering candles on the dining room tables make it look as if they're singing in a field of stars, he's thinking "is this song ever going to end" and not "this is magical."

So, if you're a theater queen like I am, and love a good musical, Dreamgirls is to die. If, on the other hand, you're looking for a compelling storyline and people who don't break into song when they're supposed to be speaking, feel free to give it a pass.