April 11, 2001 | Not content to merely
recycle yet another slice of '70s pop-culture kitsch, the makers of Josie and the Pussycats have
accomplished nothing short of alchemy. Drawing from the basic ingredients
of a trifling TV carton show that, truth be told, is much better remembered
than actually viewed, writer-directors Deborah Kaplan and Harry Elfont
( Can't Hardly Wait ) have concocted something sensationally
exuberant, imaginatively crafted and intoxicatingly clever. Silly and
sophisticated, ironic and effervescent, their lively live-action film
is a candy-colored swirl of comic-book adventure, girl-power high jinks
and prickly satirical barbs.
Taking their lead from the animated series,
one of the lesser efforts in the Hanna-Barbera canon, and the Archie
Comics magazine that spawned it, Kaplan and Elfont introduce their
three leads – plucky singer-guitarist
Josie McCoy (Rachael Leigh Cook), ditzy-blonde drummer Melody Valentine
(Tara Reid) and levelheaded bassist Valerie Brown (Rosario Dawson) – as
the hard-rocking members of a girl-group. In this new and improved version,
however, the Pussycats are members of an unknown garage band, not successful
bubblegum pop stars who moonlight as crimebusters while on tour. Instead
of battling criminal masterminds who want to rule the world, they face
the more serious challenge of remaining true to themselves, and to each
other, while ensnared in the star-making machinery.
In the world according to Kaplan and Elfont, pre-fab pop stars are manufactured
and sold to masses of pliable, trend-conscious teens, while shadowy government-corporate
co-conspirators manipulate those masses to maintain social order and,
more important, stoke a booming economy. (The latter plot wrinkle recalls
Peter Watkins' Privilege , an unusually prescient 1967 drama.)
Early on, when Josie introduces DuJour, a fave-rave boy band
that's a spot-on burlesque of ‘N Sync, the filmmakers bare their satirical
claws. From there, it's a quick hop to DuJour's private plane, an aircraft
that's top-heavy with product-placements. (Prominent visual plugs for
name-brand merchandise serve as a deliciously nasty running gag throughout
the movie.) Unfortunately, DuJour doesn't remain in the air very long:
Their flight is sabotaged by manager Wyatt Frame (Alan Cumming) after
the band members raise questions about subliminal messages added to the
mix of their CDs.
Driven to find new nobodies who can be transformed
into pop-music icons, Frame fortuitously arrives in Riverdale, U.S.A. – yes, that's right,
the hometown of Archie and Jughead -- where Josie and the Pussycats are
barely scratching by. Frame promises to make stars of the young women,
so they sign a contract with Mega Records and fly to New York. Also along
for the ride: Alan M. (Gabriel Mann), a dreamy-looking folksinger who's
like catnip for Josie; Alexander Cabot (Paulo Costanzo), the group's
none-too-bright original manager; and Alexandra Cabot (Missi Pyle), Alexander's
sister, a sour-tempered vixen who also has the hots for Alan M. There's
actually no good reason for Alexandra to be on board. But, as she explains, “I'm
here because I was in the comic book.” So there.
In hardly any time at all –- less than a week, actually –- Josie and the
Pussycats are chart-topping superstars with millions of frantic fans,
oodles of commercial endorsements and a cover-story profile in Rolling
Stone. But there's a dark side to success. Fiona (Parker Posey), the
vainglorious CEO of Mega Records, uses the Pussycats' CDs – along with
recordings by other groups in her employ -- to slip subliminal hard-sell
messages into the brains of teen fans. It's only the latest in her long
line of devious mind games. (How does she keep anyone from spilling the
beans about her chicanery? “Ever wonder why so many rock bands die in
plane crashes?”) But she's eager to up the ante, to manipulate millions
of minds during a blockbuster concert by Josie and the Pussycats.
Kaplan and Elfont cram so many inside jokes, knowing allusions and on-target
parodies into Josie and the Pussycats that a second viewing
may be mandatory for anyone who wants to savor all of the gags. The funniest
bits involve efforts to control trends among teens by implanting perceptions
through subliminal messages. (“Gatorade is the new Snapple!” “Heath Ledger
is the new Matt Damon!” And my favorite: “ Can't Hardy Wait was
an under-rated movie.”) No less a notable than Mr. Moviefone is embroiled
in the stealthy brainwashing. And MTV's Carson Daly, played – omigosh!
-- by Carson Daly himself, reveals his true colors as a ruthless co-conspirator
and potential assassin.
Cook is a nifty Josie, Reid is a funny dumb
bunny and Dawson hits all the right notes. The supporting players are
a mixed bag -- Cumming goes just far enough over the top; Posey goes
a little too far – but the overall
level of acting is on the right side of cartoonish.
But wait, there's more: Thanks in part to
input from famed record producer Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds, who's
credited as an executive producer, Josie
and the Pussycats has a soundtrack of original songs that are irresistibly
upbeat and spiked with insidiously effective hooks. (Go ahead, just try
to forget the punkish prom-queenly “Three Small Words” after you hear
it.) All of which means, of course, that the movie will boost CD sales,
which in turn will maintain high-profile visibility for the movie, which
is turn will generate consumer interest in VHS and DVD issues. And that,
too, is part of the joke: Josie is, frankly and unashamedly,
a textbook example of the kind of product sold by the system that it
satirically skewers. Which just goes to show you: A good satire spares
nothing, not even itself.