La La Land [Review by CLGJr]

The opening number of “La La Land” is technically the Technicolor rendition of “Another Day of Sun,” the only ebullience ever captured on a rush hour clogged Los Angeles freeway. The single, swooping take is truly stunning. But it’s a classic bait and switch orchestrated by writer-director Damien Chazelle. The real prologue is the final eleven minutes of his previous effort, the astonishing “Whiplash,” also my choice for Best Picture in 2015. Watch them. You will see a wunderkind (Chazelle as Miles Teller) drawing blood from a punishing encomium to jazz and earning the approval of the critical class (the Fourth Estate as J.K. Simmons). The best way to show your gratitude—and stave off the sophomore slump—might be to glorify the hand that feeds you. “La La Land” is that monument to moviedom and, in the process, the most thoroughly entertaining film you will see in 2016.

Like Haus, I hesitate to categorize “La La Land” as a musical when a relatively meager six songs pepper the storyline. It’s also not a love letter to Hollywood. Chazelle has sent his coy mistress an impassioned ode to her most graceful period. He knows that the Boulevard breaks countless dreams, but he spins disillusionment into the stuff of movie magic. This time Emma Stone and those Bette Davis eyes stand in for the travails of artistic rejection. Her Mia leads a semi-charmed kind of life. When not sharing a cavernous apartment with three other aspiring starlets, she slings lattes at a studio lot coffeehouse. Who cares if today’s audition tanked when you can drown your sorrows in another poolside party and your closet is filled with every color on the pastel palette?

This would not be a Chazelle joint, however, without genuflection to the most American art form of all. Jazz shares cinema’s spotlight via the often insufferable but ultimately endearing Sebastian (Ryan Gosling). Sebastian prefers the most vintage threads–can ya dig–and harangues everyone about the desecration of Coltrane and Parker’s legacy. His extended paso doble with Mia scans as standard romantic fare. But these characters represent much more. Every step ball change and coquettish glance between the actors offers a glimpse into Chazelle’s bifurcated persona. How can a man profess love to the art of improvisation and the artificiality of film sets? How does he satisfy the commercial demands of the monoculture and maintain authenticity? Simple. Cast this generation’s closest heirs to Bogie and Bacall and let them charm the audience through your opus of creative conflict.

Sebastian and Mia meet cute and intersect even more cutely in the first act. After their eventual coupling, quests for greatness give way to acceptance of the second-best. Mia tears down her Ingrid Bergman bedroom mural and stages a one-woman play. Sebastian tinkles false ivories in a pop-inflected jazz group helmed by erstwhile partner Keith (John Legend). Starry-eyed bliss dissolves into caustic critique. Unlike Haus, I found the central story a bit slight and trite. But one can forgive Chazelle when the dynamism between Stone and Gosling threatens to burst through the Cinemascope frame. Even the most fervently musical-averse moviegoer should take a deep breath and succumb to “La La Land”’s delights.

But, really, this formula shouldn’t succeed as grandly as it does. Chazelle’s flights of fancy could easily have reduced the film to a protracted 90s-era Gap ad. The glue on his Icarian wings was conjured by an impeccable costume department and fastened by a sterling production design team. The lead actors also deserve ample credit. Gosling glides through his lines effortlessly, although it’s dispiriting to see him as little more than a “Hey, Girl” meme come alive. Stone, on the other hand, continues making viable claims to the throne of America’s (Relatable) Sweetheart. She absconds every scene with just a smirk, proving that she is the only reliable utility player on the Hollywood roster. None of this would matter, though, without Justin Hurwitz. Leone’s Spaghetti Westerns would have been limp but for Morricone. Spielberg would be shark chum without Williams. Remove Hurwitz’s score from “La La Land,” and you’re left with a mere film husk. Look no farther than the show stopping lock on Best Original Song, “Audition (The Fools Who Dream).” Hurwitz is shooting for “The Man That Got Away” or “Moon River” territory here and just might have reached it.

More than any other calling card in his repertoire, mastery of the finale is Chazelle’s finest. Between this film’s concluding number and the aforementioned closer to “Whiplash,” we are invited to appreciate endings as marvels on par with centerpieces. The closing ten minutes are pure razzle-dazzle concentrate with a deeply emotional core. To what future story will this serve as foreword? I cannot wait to find out.

CLGJr Verdict: Like the great jazz standards of yore, “La La Land” rests on a classic melody but is surrounded by contemporary solos of startling beauty. Will you or won’t you fall in love with this film? The answer is as inevitable as the romantic sparks that shimmer across the screen.    

See what another third thinks: Haus’s review. 

La La Land opened everywhere Sunday December 25.

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