Hairspray

Anyway, I went to see Hairspray yesterday night. I was a bit iffy on it because I wasn't sure about John Travolta. I don't mean all the boycott-the-film-'cause-Scientology-is-anti-gay stuff. I tend to agree with Travolta's point that he's playing a woman, not a gay man, even if he is in a role traditionally filled by a gay man. Now, obviously, I think that Scientology is totally insane. And I find the rumors about Travolta having an autistic son who doesn't receive the proper treatment due to Scientology downright disturbing. The reason I wasn't sure about him though was more that I found it hard to picture him doing the same role as Harvey Fierstein (I've never seen the original movie with Divine). But as it turns out, he was really good. Not camp, which is certainly a change, but believable and likeable as a damaged woman. I'm not sure if it makes sense to be believable in a movie where none of the other characters are, but there you have it.

The movie as a whole is just a lot of fun. Infectious, really. Which is an ever so appealing word for what's mostly a good thing. It's the sort of movie--and musical for that matter--that I always think I should find obnoxious: flashy, good-hearted, naive. But I really enjoyed this one, and figure it's just good escapism. And Michelle Pfeiffer makes a very good evil bitch.

In other news, it's rather difficult to type with a cat sitting on your chest, head-butting your hands and rubbing her little wet nose all over you. She's purring like a little engine though so I feel too guilty to move her. Such a sucker.