Misunderstood Masterpieces: Glitter

Posted by Will Helm on 11.25.2003

…or, Introducing our New Mascots: Sloppy & Floppy

I don’t know why I do it to myself sometimes. “What?” I bet you’re wondering. Well, I’ll tell you. I don’t know why I subject myself to watching films featuring singers attempting to act. I mean, I’ve done UHF, but I actually enjoyed that, so it doesn’t count, and I’ve done Queen of the Damned . . . but none of the problems there can be blamed on Aaliyah. OK, maybe it’s not so bad to have singers and musicians in films. Oh . . . wait. There’s still the matter of Crossroads. That film still puts me in fits of hysterics because it’s so laughably bad. But, as bad as it is, it still doesn’t come close to the painfulness that is Mariah Carey’s 2001 offering Glitter.

Remember when we first saw Mariah Carey? She was a thin, modest, and not-terribly-unattractive gospel/R&B singer with a disturbingly wide vocal range. She was talented, albeit a little over-hyped due to said range . . . and the rumor that her voice, when amplified to a certain volume and at a certain pitch, can open garage doors. OK, maybe the second bit of information isn’t pertinent, but I still think it’s a great story. Anyway, after moving her music more towards the R&B style (and shedding more clothing in her videos), Ms. Carey (if you’re nasty . . . oh, wait, wrong singer) maneuvered herself into becoming one of the highest-selling female vocalists of all time, if not the most. Of course, marrying Tommy Mottola (in a move not without precedent), then head of Sony Recording, may have helped as well. After a few supposedly contentious years of marriage, Ms. Carey broke off from her high-powered husband and went on her own. In the intervening years, she had a few torrential relationships, most notably with New York Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter. It was after the breakup of this relationship that Ms. Carey developed a new, more voluptuous look, complete with a massive pair of . . .

. . . Rabbits. Well, they look sloppy and floppy, don’t they? Oh, and another thing: in the real world, generally, attractive, curvy women are referred to as “voluptuous.” Not so in porn. “Voluptuous” is just a code word for “large (and usually fake) breasted”; the term for what we call “voluptuous” is actually “plumper.” Sad but true, folks. Tangential asides aside, Mariah Carey sported a new look, a wild new attitude, and a new record and movie deal. Things seemed to be developing quite well for the diva, although her mental state and her talent appeared to devolve. Case in point, the album was so badly received that the record label (Virgin, I believe) bought back the rest of her contract just to be rid of her! And, sadly, the movie to come out of the deal was Glitter. Join me, won’t you, as we dissect just what happened here.

Ah, somewhere in the history of America an angry woman starts singing onstage in a smoky, dingy bar. You can tell that she’s a true soul singer as she has the uncanny ability to shift from sexy to pained with little effort. Let’s try to see Chingy do that. Meanwhile, I wonder if I may have rented Pretty Baby by mistake, as there’s a young girl sitting at the bar drinking a nice, healthy glass of milk. I hope she’s not lactose intolerant. That’s almost as bad as the heartbreak of psoriasis. Anyway, it seems that the little girl is not a young prostitute looking for a first trick with Ned Beatty (at least I think he was in that), but just merely the daughter of the woman singing on stage. Isn’t that sweet? And her mom, in a loving, touching moment, calls her up to join her on stage. Sadly, the daughter isn’t that good. Simon Cowell would so be pissed at her right about now. And I mean “pissed” in the American way, not the British. But then Randy would say “dog” and everything would be alright. Anyway, the mother and daughter sing about being turned loose . . . over and over and over and over and over again.

After the duet in the club, singer-lady and her daughter take part in a ritual I like to call “shoehorning an explanation onto something that really doesn’t matter in the course of the plot anyway”; in other words, wannabe Billie Holliday hits up a white guy for child support just to explain to the densest of viewers why a black woman can have a blonde daughter. Later that evening, or some other evening, singer-lady, who we’ll call Lillian Frank (Valarie Pettiford), just to know her better, falls asleep while smoking and burns the house down. Oops. Although it’s nice to see that not only is the movie a drama, it’s also a public service announcement. “Don’t smoke & sleep, kids; beds burn better. A message paid for by Ikea and Philip Morris.” After the conflagration, a foster worker comes along to take the daughter, Billie (Isabel Gomes) off to some foster home. At the home, Billie meets up with Louise (Lindsey Pickering), the sensitive black girl, and Roxy (Courtnie Beceiro), the sassy Latina. Not only do we learn not to have a cigarette while unconscious, but we also learn about tolerance . . . all in the span of about five minutes! Thank you, movie! Oh, and it’s at this point that the credits finally end.

Fast forward an indeterminate number of years, to 1983, where, in some unknown New York club, Billie (Carey), Louise (Da Brat), and Roxy (Tia Texada) dance their hearts out to bad club music while wearing leopard-print outfits for no discernible reason. Just because they’re somewhat attractive and have rhythm (and possibly due to Billie’s big rabbits), über-producer Timothy Walker (Terrence Howard) offers the trio a gig as backup singers. While Louise and Roxy are interested in the deal, Billie, serving as the voice of the group, foolishly refuses the engagement. So selfish! But it’s all because she hates her mother, so we’ll feel sorry for her. She comes from a “broken home.” You know something? Roxy and Louise came from broken homes too and they seem just fine, so why do you have to be so self-absorbed, little missy? The world is waiting for an answer now.

Anyway, after some prodding by her two friends, Billie acquiesces and the three associates take on a job of providing backing vocals for a terribly untalented singer/HOT CHICK named Sylk (Padma Lakshmi). The cameraman does a warp-speed pan to Timothy, who, recording whiz that he is, realizes that Billie is the real talent of the four and, in a move common in the world of dance music, links Billie’s vocals with Sylk’s supple lips. Ahem . . . sorry. Just “lips.” There we go. I really give credit to this movie, though; after a slow first five minutes, it really moves! Hopefully it doesn’t slow down the pace later on.

Later, in another random club, a dorky white DJ chats with his Rasta buddy. The DJ is none other than legendary record-spinner (or so we’re lead to believe) Julian “Dice” Black (Max Beesley), who appears to be the love child of Dominic West and (fittingly) Andrew “Dice” Clay. Hickory dickory dock . . . he sucks. On stage, Sylk and her I.S.B.’s (Insignificant Backup Singers) perform, with Sylk using Billie’s voice. Hmm . . . that reminds me of another, better movie. Oh . . . yeah: Singin’ in the Rain. At least the filmmakers had the decency to rip off GOOD movies. After the performance, we learn that Sylk has a bit of an attitude problem, but her I.S.B.’s are lovably sassy. It’s also at this point that Dice, observant cat that he is, figures out that Billie is the true talent all along. Dice attempts to explain his findings to Billie (who is already aware of the deal), but she doesn’t comprehend is unintelligible slang. Perhaps it’s all of the dirty nursery rhymes.

Back on the dance floor, Dice does a bit of stand-up (OK, not really) and then plays pass-the-mic. A few people take it old school and rip off the Sugar Hill Gang, while onlookers dressed in garb that may be from the ‘70s, ‘80s, ‘90s, or even present day look on. After all the tomfoolery, Dice calls out Billie for a moment to shine while the director utilizes cheesy camera tricks to try to impress us. It’s not helping, Vondie Curtis-Hall, so stop trying. In the first minute out of fifteen, Billie sings in that way that only Mariah Carey can (squeaking in key) while Louise and Roxy, the Insignificant Backup Singers, dance. After the mini-performance, Dice, clumsy oaf that he is, tries to hit on Billie under the guise of becoming her manager and producer. Oddly enough, it works! We know that it does because, suddenly, fireworks shoot out of Billie’s forehead. Oh, wait . . . it’s just an ill-timed dissolve. Nevermind.

Just a minor quibble: why is it that quite a few movies nowadays have to be written in mumbled slang? Is this a cheap ploy to seem hip and edgy? I’m just wondering as Glitter is no exception.

Back in the movie world, the Diceman strong-arms Timothy for the rights to Sylk’s insignificant backup singers. Timothy, of course, agrees, but it’ll cost Dice $100,000. Remember this for future reference. Now that he has the contracts of Billie and her minimally talented soul sisters, we move to the recording studio, where we find out that Dice is just a poor-man’s Morris Day. Oh, and that Billie and her girls are already supposedly doing gigs. This film moves so damned quickly! I really really hope it keeps up the pace; at this rate it’ll be over in 45 minutes. In an unintentional irony, as Billie slowly becomes more popular, Roxy and Louise become progressively more insignificant. It’s odd how things like that work out. First all three were insignificant; now, just two. Go figure. At some club, Billie and Dice get offered a record deal, but Dice, control freak that he is, rejects it as he wants something a little higher profile. We’ll delve deeper into Dice’s psychoses a little later.

As for now, the director uses more dizzying camera tricks as the 1983 versions of Phil and Ronnie Spector go to another club. Dice takes advantage of his amazing wealth of clout and gets Billie’s latest single played by the resident DJ, who looks like a cross between Grace Jones and Mi'Shell N’Degeocello. Of course, the extras in the crowd go crazy as soon as the first notes leap from the speakers, but that’s only because they’re paid to do that. Seemingly instantly, Billie and Dice get an interview with a record executive. The next day, at the office, Dice exhibits the classic signs of a co-dependent and then he and all of the executives celebrate a tight tank top-clad Billie’s signing by drinking champagne and staring at her rabbits. Meanwhile, executives at other record companies quickly scour the city for sound-alike vocalists. That is how the business works, you know.

Later, to celebrate a little more intimately, Billie and Dice go on a “business” date. Uh-huh. We all know what’s going on here. It’s like the Diana Ross story. For those not in the know, please allow me to elaborate. Miss Ross, as most know, was a member of the Motown trio The Supremes and is, arguably, the most famous alumna of that group. There’s a reason why she’s so famous, though. She started a relationship with label owner Barry Gordy, screwing over her band-mate and nemesis Mary Wilson, who was better looking, more talented, and supposed to be the focus of the group. Behold the awesome power of vagina. Anyway, lending credence to that analogy, Roxy and Louise, the Insignificant Backup Singers, stay home. It’s too bad, too, because they’re really nice girls and perhaps the only likable characters in the film.

At the restaurant, Billie melts under the dorky white-bread gaze of Dice. Even though he’s a dim-witted tool, he’s bright enough to know that the escargot they’re eating is “like a French delicacy.” See, I would have thought it WAS certainly a French delicacy, but obviously Dice is in the mood for some similes. Either that, or he’s an idiot. Take your pick, fair reader. After the meal, Dice invites Billie over to his apartment; she’s apprehensive, because she’s just not that kind of girl. Remember this for, oh, about two minutes from now. Up in Dice’s pad, Billie calls an old picture of Dice “cute” and then Dice namedrops Quincy Jones as if they’re close personal friends or something. Methinks Quincy would have NO clue who this putz is. Just a hunch. After bragging about his imagined celebrity connections, Dice fools around with a marimba and then he and Billie make out in slow motion. Damn they’re skanks. After the coitus, Billie says that “she doesn’t do this.” I’m SO sure. I think two minutes to get into the main character’s pants is a new cinematic record, don’t you? Oh, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that Billie wears granny panties. Look close enough; you’ll see. The happy couple do the usual after-sex chat, and then the Chrysler building appears out of nowhere. Freud would be proud.

Back in the studio, Dice channels what he thinks is Quincy Jones and plays pretentious producer. Too bad he’s still more on the Phil Spector tip, but Dice’s Wall of Sound is only about a foot high and made of twigs. The Big Bad Wolf will be around soon enough . . . just you wait. On the way back from the aforementioned studio, Dice and Billie hear her song playing on the radio in a taxi, which they instantly stop, selfishly blocking traffic. They call up the I.S.B.’s, who rightly freak out, and then the local high school for the performing arts lets out and a bunch of girls in leotards start dancing on car hoods while the bald guy from ER gets all sensitive with his acoustic guitar. Oh, wait . . . that’s Fame, not Glitter. Nevermind. At least it would’ve been great if Billie started writhing on the taxi like a Tawny Kitaen in heat. But, then again, if she did that, her rabbits could come loose and kill an onlooker.

Speaking of rabbits, later that week, month, and/or year, Billie squeaks in her underwear at a video shoot while some French director obsesses over her assets. Perhaps Dice can ask him if escargot is a delicacy or not. Just a thought. While Billie whines about something, the head record executive and the video director conspire to get rid of the I.S.B.’s. After turning them loose (Lillian would be proud), some effeminate guy “unveils” Billie’s rabbits yet again. Don’t worry, kids; she’s only wearing a pewter bikini. The rabbits are not in full view. If they were, ye may go blind. Minutes later, out of the deepest, darkest pits of style come Kelly the publicist (Ann Magnuson) and her assistant, Fake Andy Dick. I don’t think they ever mentioned his name, so I’m giving him one. Even though she now has an entourage, Billie is despondent over the loss of her friends, the I.S.B.’s. She does put in an effort at the reworked video shoot, though, as the French director once again focuses on her little pets while hunky dancers fondle them. This overt show of powerful masculinity makes Dice the co-dependent jealous, leading him to kidnap Billie from the set.

Here’s Dice’s greatest fault in a nutshell: he has the uncanny knack of screwing up every opportunity Billie has with his antics. And yet, by the end, we’re supposed to feel sorry for him. Just wait and see.

Later, a now reconciliatory Billie attempts to patch things up with her friends by doing what any superficial rising superstar would do: going shopping! Ah, money can buy anything, including an apology. Meanwhile, Dice’s mental issues grow, as he now believes that Billie’s publicity team are slutting her up and he’s not happy about it. Doesn’t he know that’s how the business works? Silly man. After his tantrum, Dice has a little chat with Timothy over things like common sense and the $100,000 that Dice owes him. It seems that Dice has no intentions of paying back Timothy; why is it that I think he’s asking for trouble? Sometime in the future after that, Billie rewards Dice for being a prick by buying him a fancy Yamaha keyboard which she probably got off of QVC. You can buy it right now for $49.95! It’s Today's Special Value! Ahem. Sorry about that. This show of affection/dependency leads Dice to clumsily ask Billie to move in with him. At least, that’s what we’re to assume just like Billie did. Dice could have been asking her anything, but she instantly seems to think that he’s inviting her to live with him. Selfish selfish selfish.

After the move-in, Billie reminisces while going through her boxes of random stuff. She bores Dice with her overly melodramatic dreams of selling out Madison Square Garden and other such nonsense. I do sense foreshadowing, though. Billie then longingly scribbles some ramblings in her diary and then uses those notes to compose a song. We might be tempted to think that it’s all just sweet and touching, but I think we all know what’s really going on: she’s planning on writing her own songs so she can cut Dice out of the deal and solely hold publishing rights. That’s where the real money is, you know. The next day, Billie goes to the social services office to look for her mother, who, it seems, moved out of Jackson Heights 10 years prior. Billie freaks out for no discernible reason. I wonder if she knows Julie James?

Back in the studio again, the record execs pressure Billie and Dice to rush their follow-up album, leading Dice to promise a big crossover hit. I guess that Billie will have a duet with an artist from a totally unrelated genre, killing the appeal of both artists in the process. It’s just a hunch. Sadly, after the executives test out some of the new material, probably in focus groups made up of matronly elderly nuns, they say that everything sounds the same on the new album. Gee, I thought that’s what they always wanted! I always believed that the music industry wanted an artist to sound exactly the same no matter what, with no development of sound or anything, until that artist was no longer commercially viable and could be dropped for a new and edgier flavor of the month. I guess I was wrong. Go figure. After Dice protests their opinions, the record company, in a move that surprises no one, fire the psychotic and plan on bringing in some new producers to improve Billie’s sound.

Now free of her controlling boyfriend, Billie gets a high profile gig at some random music awards show while Dice orders around his friends under the guise of attempting to write new music. He’s such a nice guy. At the awards rehearsal, Billie waits in the wings while Rafael (Eric Benét, the ex-Halle Berry) plunks away at a piano onstage. After the awards are over, some random lady with a microphone interviews Billie and Dice, but the open-shirted and obviously strung out Dice blows her off, choosing to rush to the afterparty. In a very surprising move, the I.S.B.’s actually leave their apartment and join Billie and Dice at the party. I would’ve thought that Billie had cut them loose from her entourage by now. I guess it’s just so that they can write a tell-all book after Billie becomes a huge star.

At the party, Billie’s new producer puts Dice in his place, much to the drunken loon's chagrin. Later, Rafael offers Billie a collaborative effort, or he could be hitting on her, or he could be proposing a threesome when Dice gets all “Alpha male” and plays the jealousy card yet again. Although, just to impress the slightly more talented Rafael, Dice namedrops Quincy get again. So he knows Jack Klugman? That’s awesome! The increasingly inebriated Dice gets yet more jealous and seems to comment on Billie’s wardrobe, which generally highlights her rabbits, more often than not. Ah, isn’t emotional abuse so romantic? During the limo ride back from the party, the I.S.B.’s get sassy with the drunk and belligerent Dice, who kicks Roxy and Louise out of the back seat. Billie, forced to make a choice between her lifelong friends and her abusive partner, does what nearly any woman in that position would do and chooses Dice. And then she cries. At the apartment, Dice sobers up and gets all apologetic, with all the usual “I’m sorry, baby” and “it’ll never happen again, baby” and so on while we marvel at the beauty that is a co-dependent relationship.

Out on the street, Billie sees a crazy homeless woman and thinks about her mother. Because those two things go together hand-in-hand. Yeah. In the apartment, she doesn’t find Dice, but finds Timothy instead, who came a-calling to chat with Dice about a little debt of $100,000. It seems that he’s still not being paid, so he obtusely threatens Billie, saying that he’s not afraid to “hurt her.” Of course, he probably can’t hurt her as badly as Dice already has, but that’s beside the point. When Dice finds out about Timothy’s ill-fated debt collection, he promptly tracks down the producer and goes medieval on him. This leads to Dice’s arrest, which conveniently occurs just before Billie is to perform to a nation-wide audience on some television program or another. Billie skips out on the show to bail out her boyfriend, who she finally unceremoniously dumps. I bet she goes back to him instead of directly to the psychiatrist. It’s just a hunch.

Afterwards, a very apologetic Billie returns to her only true friends, the I.S.B.’s, who are unbelievably forgiving. Elsewhere, Dice plays soulfully on his keyboard, composing some terrible background music that keeps playing after he moves his hands away. Maybe it was the “Demo” all along. Later, the record execs set up a duet with none other than Rafael, who must be music’s self-fulfilling prophet. Either that, or he’s just a meaningless plot device. My vote’s for the latter, as he does nothing with Billie other than grunt in tune with her and declare their musical offering “fresh.” Good to know. Although I wonder if, in 1983, “fresh” actually meant “bad,” and by “bad” I don’t mean “good.” I mean “bad.”

In yet another fulfilled prophecy, Billie miraculously sells out Madison Square Garden. Vince McMahon, Sr., would be proud. Elsewhere, Dice is sad, but then Billie calls him and hangs up on his answering machine. Dice writes a song about it. It’s called “Bitches Be Crazy.” Or not. Simultaneously, Billie writes a song about the very same subject with the very same melody and I wonder if they share a telepathic connection. Later, Billie and the I.S.B.’s muddle through rehearsal and then Billie freaks out for no good reason. My guess is she’s missing her abusive lover. I’m supported in this theory by the film itself, as Dice and Billie fade in and out of one another, which, I suppose, artistically signifies their longing. Either that, or the director was like, “Hey, I just learned this neat trick in school . . . let’s try it here!” The next day or so, Billie returns to Dice’s apartment, but finds not her lover but a ticket for her concert and the sheet music he wrote for her. She reads it and then kisses it? And, of course, just after she leaves, Dice shows up, as it always happens that way. He sees the lip-print and gets all sentimental. Aww . . . maybe there is a future for them after all. Just wait and see.

That evening, Dice leaves his apartment to go to Billie’s concert, but he encounters Timothy stepping out of his car. Instead of, you know, running from the angry man who he beat up and owes $100,000, Dice walks towards Timothy and gets himself shot in the chest for his troubles. Hahahahahahahahaha! Whew. Excuse me. Hahahahahahahahaha! Ahem. Please allow me to compose myself. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Sorry about that. Anyway, at the big concert, Billie is AWOL, but walks in just in time to see the news flash regarding her abusive, manipulative, and controlling ex-boyfriend’s murder. Fittingly, her brain instantly melts. But, as Queen once said, the show must go on and a distraught Billie complies. She opens the concert with a goofy eulogy, even though no one in the audience knows that Dice is dead, and makes sure to tell everyone not to take anyone for granted because you don’t know when they’ll be gone. Um . . . wasn’t it Dice that was taking Billie for granted? Just wondering. Billie then opens the concert with a weepy ballad, which would normally kill the crowd, but the crowd got comped tickets, so they’ll cheer no matter what. Ah, I think it’s time for some credits . . .

But no! It seems there’s yet one more plotline left unresolved! Damn you, movie! You see, Dice sent Billie a card and a rose . . . from beyond the grave. In the accompanying letter, we find out, as well as Billie, that her mother is now clean and sober and living in Maryland. So what does Billie do? Take the limousine directly to Maryland, of course! After a night of riding in the comfy back seat, Billie awakens to find the car pulling up in front of what seems to be a small plantation in rural Maryland. Her mother instinctively comes out of the house right on schedule and she seems to have aged remarkably well. In fact, she actually looks younger at the end than she did in the beginning of the movie. See, kids: quitting the junk will make you look 20 years younger. That’s just a little tip from me to you. Oh, and then the movie ends.

You know something? If it weren’t for Dice getting killed, this wouldn’t have been so bad. Dice would’ve seen the error of his abusive ways (in idealistic movie world) and he and Billie would reconcile and live happily ever after. Schlocky and trite, yes, but still not bad. Instead, Dice had to die just so that the film wouldn’t be terribly predictable. Of course, he did have it coming. He was abusive, controlling, he reneged on his deal with Timothy, who he subsequently pummeled. Not a very nice guy by a long shot. But you still get the feeling he died for no reason other than to surprise the audience. Sadly, it didn’t make Glitter any more surprising; it just made it as bad as everyone expected. Now excuse me while I channel Elmer Fudd and go rabbit hunting.