Charlie’s Angels is a heavenly paradise for inexcusably camp charades. Adapting classic television series into a feature film was becoming a common trend in the early part of this century. But maintaining the aesthetic appeal of its source material is often blurred with the requirement of targeting mass mainstream audiences. Would viewers of the original Charlie’s Angels watch a film continuation? Most likely not. So the legendary (and I use that adjective lightly...) McG decided to go full Hollywood, embracing action spy thrillers that came before, and produced one of the campiest guilty pleasures of all time.
Can I describe the plot? Absolutely not. It’s thinner that Diaz’ lip fillers and needless botox. Three “Angels” who privately work for a millionaire are assigned a task in investigating technology giant Red Star. Stuff happens, a predictable plot twist unravels and the booming soundtrack of The Prodigy and Fat Boy Slim illuminate my ears.
Let me start by saying I love Charlie’s Angels. I love it! It’s a film I hold very close to my heart, and a crucial element to my childhood. Probably a reasoning for my raging homosexuality, let’s be honest. I mean Barrymore, Diaz and Liu kicking a “creepy thin man” repeatedly wearing tight leather costumes in ‘Matrix’-stylised slow motion whilst working together as a cohesive unit of female empowerment!? Just lay me to rest, now! Give me a slice of that angel cake and let me never lose that heavenly flavour.
Yet, the amateur critic inside me just cannot classify this film as “good”. Why? Well, because it’s not. And it’s that ever-growing conflict between biased favouritism and legitimate critiquing that has me torn inside. Firstly, the plot is a mess. To the point where the story is a secondary product to the action set pieces and humorous dance sequences. When talented actors, such as Rockwell, are crucial aspects to this afterthought, it unfortunately wastes their efforts. The frantic editing prevents a natural flow of events, including the extravagant action, that anchors these angels. They are unable to spread their wings and fly.
A dire shame considering the undeniable chemistry between the lead actresses, each harnessing a unique personality that allows their characters to connect as a team. Diaz is the ditzy dance queen, shaking her tush on Soul Train. Barrymore is the rebellious punk, sticking her middle finger up to everyone. Liu is the intellectual well-mannered lady, riding horses and piloting space rockets. They each add enough humour to come together seamlessly. Essentially, I live for them. The dialogue is cheesy and contagious, if ridiculously vacuous in subject matter. And the constant use of the same songs, namely “Heaven” and “Smack My B**** Up!”, lacked variety. Despite my internal love for The Prodigy and Fat Boy Slim.
As far as guilty pleasures go, Charlie’s Angels is up there for me. It’s poorly directed and woefully written, but I cannot deny my adoration for this campy beast. Unfortunately it doesn’t surpass the ultimate guilty pleasure ‘Lara Croft: Tomb Raider’, even after all these years...
"Sabrina" (Kate Duncan) was always my favourite when I was growing up, so I was really disappointed that they didn't recast her character from amongst these three ladies who had a go at resurrecting the bad-ass antics at the "Townsend Detective Agency". At least "Charlie" (John Forsythe) added a bit of continuity, but otherwise this really is a pale imitation of the television series. "Natalie" (Cameron Diaz), "Dylan" (Drew Barrymore) and "Alex" (Lucy Liu) pick up the mantle and guided by "Bosley" (Bill Murray) find themselves embroiled in the world of corporate espionage and high-tech larceny. It's the geeky "Eric" (Sam Rothwell) who has asked them to investigate the nefarious activities of his rival "Roger" (Tim Curry) after his unique voice recognition software has been pinched. It's only after they make some progress that they return to a wrecked house and realise that this is perhaps a cunning distraction from the criminal's real objective: "Charlie" himself! Of course, they want to rally round him but how? They couldn't pick him out of an ID parade. As things hot up, the ladies have to use all of their wits, guile and a fair degree of ninja skills to get to the bottom of the scheming before their boss becomes more chum than "Charlie". As a throw way adventure film this works fine. The writing is largely irrelevant and the focus is entirely on the gymnastic activities of three women who are quite clearly enjoying themselves and, of course, there's the always to be relied upon ham that is Tim Curry. Murray is wasted here, though, and Rockwell only really does enough as his character is all too predictably padded out. There are an array of familiar telly faces to chivvy it along and it's got spawn of a sequel written all over it. You'll probably never remember it, but if it serves to get you to fish out some of the 1970s television series then that might be it's only lasting legacy - they were much more fun.
