In this dumpster fire of a year—2020, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out—it’s almost a miracle that we’ve received something as celebratory as Ryan Murphy’s Netflix film adaptation of 2018’s The Prom. A musical valentine to Broadway when theaters are dark (and will be for many months) and a celebration of inclusion when our country is bitterly divided over “issues” like ballots and masks, The Prom is love and glitter and rainbows. Literal rainbows: Principal Hawkins (Keegan-Michael Key), the handsome high school honcho in Edgewater, Ind., has color-coded his bookshelves like something out of the Home Edit.
“Note to self/ Don’t be gay in Indiana,” sings the show’s heroine, Emma (played by smashing newcomer Jo Ellen Pellman), a lesbian who just wants to go to prom with her girlfriend, the closeted Alyssa (Summer: The Donna Summer Musical Tony nominee Ariana DeBose). But the closed-minded PTA, led by Alyssa’s ultra-conservative mom (Kerry Washington), would rather cancel the event entirely than allow a same-sex couple to slow-dance. Naturally, the kerfuffle turns into a Twitter trend, and a pair of narcissistic Broadway actors, Dee Dee Allen (Meryl Streep) and Barry Glickman (James Corden)—smarting from the venomous reviews of their Eleanor! The Eleanor Roosevelt Musical—jump on it, hoping a successful social crusade will burnish their New York Times–tarnished images. Along with beleaguered publicist Sheldon (Kevin Chamberlin), leggy chorine Angie (Nicole Kidman), and Juilliard-trained actor Trent (Andrew Rannells), they hop a bus to Indiana: “We’re going down to where the necks are red/ And lack of dentistry thrives/ Why sing and dance/ When you can take a stance/ And know you’re truly changing lives?” they croon.
[Read Steven Suskin’s ★★★★☆ review here.]
The film hews pretty closely to the stage version, with a couple of exceptions—for better and worse. A lengthy added scene between Barry and Dee Dee that eventually leads to a confrontation and reunion between Barry and his Midwestern mom (Tracey Ullman) seems entirely superfluous; to quote Dee Dee’s big entrance number (“It’s Not About Me”), “it’s Emma’s story, dammit!” However, a brief appearance by Emma’s grandmother/guardian (the wonderful Mary Kay Place), a straight-talking gal with a penchant for boozy lemonade, is entirely welcome.
Putting big names in roles originated by beloved Broadway veterans has caused a great deal of consternation in theater circles. But Kidman is a hoot as the hoofer Angie; it’s a shame she and her “crazy antelope legs” don’t have more to do. And Streep is in full-on fabulous Dancing Queen diva mode as Dee Dee. Corden’s casting, however, is less successful. With Oscar winners Streep and Kidman on board, does he really add that much marquee value? Couldn’t you, at that point, stick with Broadway’s original Barry, Brooks Ashmanskas, a terrific charmer who could easily pull off lines like “I’m as gay as a bucket of wigs”? Or if you really need star power, can’t you call Nathan Lane, who played F. Lee Bailey in Murphy’s O.J. Simpson-themed American Crime Story?
Chad Beguelin and Matthew Sklar’s Tony-nominated score—which, I’ll just say it, didn’t get the love it deserved during the show’s 300-plus-performance Broadway run—sounds fantastic: lush harmonies, rich orchestrations, and some dynamite voices (Pellman will bring you to tears during her confessional ballad “Unruly Heart”). I defy you to listen to the toe-tapping “Tonight Belongs to You,” which shifts mid-song into a dance-ready megamix, and not start jumping around your apartment.
Six seasons of Glee have served Murphy well—he knows that every song counts, and how to elevate even the smallest musical moments. Here, he turns “We Look to You,” a lovely but very understated song, from a simple soliloquy by Principal Hawkins (a marvelous Key) into a rapturous ode to the transformative power of theater: The scene cuts back and forth from Applebee’s—or “Apples and Bees,” as Dee Dee endearingly dubs it—to Broadway, where Dee Dee is performing to packed house that includes an awe-struck Principal Hawkins.
Completists won’t want to miss the two new songs over the end credits: “Simply Love,” an unremarkable ballad for Corden; and “Wear Your Crown,” a radio-ready, synth-heavy girl-power pop anthem. Listen closely and you’ll hear a few bars of Meryl Streep rapping.
The Prom streams on Netflix beginning Dec. 11.
