OnScreen Review: “Everybody’s Talking About Jamie”
I take no pleasure in reporting that the British musical-comedy "Everybody's Talking About Jamie" is stale, uninspired dreck. What makes it harder is that this isn’t an artless cash grab. Jonathan Butterell's film is so well-intentioned in its desire to inspire and entertain. It wears its big-hearted message of acceptance on its sequined sleeve. But meaning well isn't the same as doing good. In the end, "Jamie" is the kind of shoddily made, pointless, feel-good rubbish that gives musicals a bad name. Save your time and donate to The Trevor Project instead.
Apparently, the musical of the same name is a big hit in the UK. I'll give it the benefit of the doubt as it might be a fun fluffball on stage. On screen, it's a leaden, ill-conceived…well…drag.
The titular character is Jamie New, a teenager from Sheffield, England. Judging from the movie, Sheffield is one of those quaint English towns where observing the status quo is paramount. The film even starts with Jamie's teacher, Miss Hedge (Sharon Horgan), telling her students to aim low and not dream about being pop singers or movie stars. "Having realistic expectations about your future career is what will help you get a real job," the inspiring educator says. Sheffield, then, is the kind of place dreams go to die. Imagine my surprise when, on a quick Google search, I learned it's a city with a population bigger than Miami.
Jamie (Max Harwood) is not like the other boys. He likes make-up and high heels rather than soccer. Jamie aims to be a drag queen. While his absentee dad wants nothing to do with him, his Mum (Sarah Lancashire) is quite supportive. She even buys him a pair of sparkly stilettos for his birthday. Twenty-four minutes into the film, Jamie decides to go to prom in drag. From that moment on, you know exactly what will follow.
Or maybe that's not true. Even the most novice filmgoers could predict the big moments – Jamie learning the art of drag from a former queen (Richard E. Grant), Jamie facing discrimination before ultimately winning everyone over at The Big Dance – but even I was surprised by what a strange, conflictless route screenwriter Tom MacRae took to get there. Sure, Jamie faces opposition from a one-dimensional bully, an old-fashioned school administration, and his traditional dad (who oddly gets less than ten minutes of screen time in this bloated two-hour-long picture), but none of the conflict sticks. Scene after scene, MacRae sets up obstacles for Jamie to overcome but has him summersault over them minutes later, learning nothing in the process. The kids at school largely don't care if Jamie does drag – there's even a popular drag bar and a drag clothing store in town. What would be a typical screenplay's climax happens with an hour of run-time to go. If you told me the outline was written by a bot that had been programmed to watch "Drag Race," "Glee" and '90s after-school specials, I'd buy it.
Perhaps "Jamie" would work with a modicum of success if the viewer had recently woken up from a three-decade-long coma. For a movie ostensibly all about being original, there is not a single new idea here. "Billy Elliot" did it better. "The Birdcage" did it better. Hell, "Connie and Carla" did it better. Every positive aspect of "Jamie" has been done with more laughs, more heart, and more skill by other movies. The writers surely knew "Kinky Boots" existed, right? I'm not the biggest fan of that musical either, but it plays like "West Side Story" next to this pallid Kidz Bop knock-off.
There are glimmers of a much better film. Butterell, a theater director making his big-screen debut, has a good command of the camera. Some of the earlier production numbers are inventive and fun. But, like the plot, his creativity peters out midway through. Harwood does a fine job, as does this entire cast. He clearly goes to the Ben Platt School For 20-Something High School Students but that's low on my list of complaints. As a series of well-performed music videos, "Jamie" would get a shrugging pass.
What's most egregious is not the cliches or the film's insistent lightness. It isn't Dan Gillespie Sells' dreadfully bland pop score or MacRae's clunky lyrics (while it is true that Pasek & Paul have written the same song a half-dozen times, at least "Waving Through A Window" is a thrilling melody and "Words Fail" is a well-realized musical monologue, none of which can be said for any of "Jamie's" songs). It isn't the inconsistent, superficial characters. It's that "Jamie" doesn't deliver the message it wants to.
It's not interested in teaching about drag and what draws someone to it. I learned more about that from the Try Guys than this narrative that purports there's nothing more to the (very challenging) art of drag than putting on heels and marching on stage. There's a song where Richard E. Kelly flashes back to his days as a drag queen in the '80s. We see the men who risked their lives to live authentically and then died, many anonymously, from AIDs. It's well-filmed lip-service so neutered it comes across distasteful. They deserve better. "Jamie" doesn't want to delve into what it's like being a queer kid in a conservative community (in the way Eric's storyline is expertly handled on "Sex Education"). It doesn't want to explore why men in his life feel threatened by Jamie's femininity. It doesn't want to understand how his best friend Pritti (Lauren Patel, one of the film's best assets) feels othered as the school's lone Muslim (or why wanting to be a doctor makes her stand out). Although it's a common practice, in reality, the fact that Butterell films Pritti without her hijab at home feels weirdly invasive and unthought-out. For every point awarded for diversity, there are two negative points for execution.
No, it's all about Jamie's quest to stand out, which would be fine if he was interesting or even likable. I applaud his self-confidence and authenticity, but for large swaths of the film, Jamie is a selfish git whose only aim is to be noticed. He makes his mom take extra shifts at work to pay for his drag outfit and then later blames her for "living her life through him." He cares more about his make-up than helping his friend get into college. He insults the bullies who insult him. He doesn't try to learn about how drag was used as a weapon of inclusion or work hard at learning this venerated art form. Richard E. Kelly gives him the drag name Mimi Me, which I think is meant to be a joke but feels more insightfully cruel than anything his real bully says. For a plot about a teenager's journey to self-actualization, Jamie does very little work to make anything happen. Until a hairpin emotional pirouette in the last 15 minutes, he's insufferable; a Slytherin in a slip.
"Everybody's Talking About Jamie" desperately wants to be a feel-good declaration for the youths who don't fit in. A superb goal. But it's performative and weak; a tightrope walk one foot over a bed of pillows. It's one of those cotton candy burritos; fake-colored sugar stuffed with processed sugar rolled up to resemble something nutritious and delicious. It's a movie that aims to be anti-bullying and then made me write this thousand-word diatribe. Shame on me for taking the bait. Shame on it for not trying harder.
“Everybody’s Talking About Jamie” is streaming now on Amazon Prime.
Rating: ½ out of 5 stars