Dancing Through La La Land
This review first appeared in Philly Weekly on January 5, 2017.
It begins with a traffic jam, a sticky ribbon of car horns and radios on a Los Angeles freeway. As the cacophony of daily Southern California frustration picks up, edging to a boil, a tanned beauty in a sunshine dress pops out the car door and bursts into song. The score, Justin Hurwitz’s “Another Day of Sun,” is of love sacrificed for dreams of fame and fortune; it foreshadows the tale to come. Before we know it, a serious song-and-dance number is happening amid commuters leaping atop a sea of standstill cars in maybe the best movie-musical performance this century. Here, we’re introduced to the strivers packed into contemporary Los Angeles, each one driving through the traffic alone, hoping, desperately, that their ten-second performance just might catch the eye of someone who can make them a star.
Up for grabs are roles in Damien Chazelle’s La La Land, LA’s antiquated nickname from a by-gone era of unprompted dance and straightforward romance, and each would-be performer seems to outdo the last. Of course, we never see any of these talented commuters again, but, among them, we do find our leads – a Prius-driving Emma Stone as struggling actress Mia and Ryan Gosling as the frustrated piano-playing traditionalist Sebastian. They flip each other off on the freeway as Sebastian swerves past Mia, and so begins the combative romance that follows.
As fate would have it, Mia is lead to Sebastian’s piano again and again as the purist prodigy plays gigs featuring Christmas tunes and 80s covers. The relentless clichés that formulate the exasperated artist’s creative hell of making ends meet keep him focused on pursuing his life-long dream of opening up a jazz club. That is, until he meets Mia. The small-town girl who put it all on the line to pursue her dream of playwriting and acting, Mia is trapped as a barista in the Warner Brother’s studio lot, running from audition to abysmal audition, just praying for a call-back. Unlike Seb, Mia has lost sight of her childish dreams and would now take any role offered to her, from vampire sitcoms to OC knockoffs.
It isn’t until the two find each other that her passion is re-discovered, and the tension between careerist reality and purist dreaming is moved to the forefront. The chase-your-dream dogma is, as the title suggests, fantastical in nature but also antique in the way Chazelle unpacks it. Whether the old school jazz or the 50s pin-ups, nostalgia permeates every corner of La La Land, but, as Seb so eloquently clarifies – “Why do you say ‘romantic’ like it’s a dirty word?” – it’s not wilted as much as gutsy, offering insight that sometimes the old ways are the best ways, that we can change with the times without compromising who we are.
If a musical is composed of singing, acting, and dancing, then Sebastian is the musician and Mia is the actress, while their budding relationship is the dance that unfolds. We see this in the places our protagonists gain strength – Sebastian, from his music and Mia from the mirror, but, most of all, we revel in the rhythm of the dance found in almost every pivotal moment of their relationship. It is not until Mia takes off her bright blue heels to put on a more comfortable pair of tap shoes, which, low-and-behold match with Sebastian’s, that the two fall hopelessly in love with each other. From Griffith Observatory, where Mia flies over the moon, to an emotional tumble into the River Seine, the depth of their relationship is explored through dance that is, at first, combative, later, synchronic, and, ultimately, heart-wrenching. Unlike many recent movie-musicals, the song and dance of La La Land, although not necessarily remarkable, adds a layer of richness that places it squarely among the best films of the year.
Relatable by reminding us of our half-forgotten dreams and repressed passions, Chazelle follows Whiplash with another homerun bound to appeal to a broader audience than the critics and Academy voters who championed Whiplash. And if not, Chazelle certainly doesn’t care. A facetious exchange between the leads emphasizes this point – “It feels really nostalgic… Are people going to like it?” Mia asks Seb before her play opens. “Fuck ‘em,” Seb replies – her play, and Chazelle’s movie, doesn’t need permission. Ultimately, the only person who matters is the dreamer herself.