Warning: This review contains SPOILERS.

​One by one, Disney’s given live-action makeovers to their classic films, and 1992’s Aladdin is the latest to get that treatment. Each adaptation announcement stirs up excitement from audiences, but there’s also an anxiety and skepticism that expectations won’t be met. When it comes to remakes, viewers tend to look for three things: 1) nostalgia, 2) improved story-telling, and 3) application of today’s technology and/or cultural atmosphere. The 2019 edition of Aladdin (directed by Guy Ritchie; screenplay by Ritchie and John August) fulfills all three criteria a medium amount. That said, you’ll likely leave the theater content, but it’s equally likely there’ll be an undercurrent of disappointment.
 
Not that you’ll need this plot summary, but just for good measure: Aladdin (Mena Massoud) is an impoverished young man, whose life turns around when he finds a mystical lamp that inhabits a Genie (Will Smith). He’s allotted three wishes. He hopes to woo his city’s (the fictitious Arabian Agrabah’s) Princess Jasmine (Naomi Scott), who has her own problems. She’s regularly monitored by palace guards, and is being made to marry to retain her sovereign status. Meanwhile Jafar (Marwan Kenzari), her father’s right hand man, is secretly determined to reign.
 
Misguided casting is often the first thing to threaten a recreation project. In this case, the characterizations of the fictional alter egos were the trouble. Many Disney tales include talking animal friends with splashy personalities. They carry the humor and compliment their human companions. They’re usually positioned peripherally, but they’re essential. In Aladdin, these pet pals were the petulant and mischievous monkey Abu, and the devious and obnoxiously loud parrot Iago. Part of the thrill of a live-action rendering is seeing fantasy elements (like a mouthy monkey) become tangible. Ritchie squandered the opportunity for this. He and his team heavily focused on aesthetic realism, sucking the pizzazz out of Abu and Iago. There was a similar effect in 2017's Beauty & The Beast (you can read my review here).
 
Royal vizier Jafar is an antagonist in name only. His presentation is entirely too subtle, having none of the menacing or magnetic qualities of his cartoon predecessor. When I was younger, I had nightmares about Jafar for years. Kids now are more liable to be scared of Santa Claus than Kenzari’s copy. The character’s allure lies within his shady wit. He does things like deliberately mispronounce Aladdin’s name, and use the guy’s signature song (i.e. “Prince Ali”) to expose and humiliate him. You wonder if Kenzari's’s incarnation is even capable of making a chicken joke. 

​Album Review.
Likes: A No No, The Distance, Portrait
Dislikes: One Mo' Gen
Overall: An atypical MC album; passively executed with lukewarm appeal
 
In the 2010’s, it’s been relatively easy to identify quality or top-tier albums in pop and R&B. They are few and far between, as the proverbial bar has lowered over the years. The sound production is frequently skimpy, wearyingly redundant, and without musicality. Lyrics are egregiously mindless, tacky and casual. Cohesion and consistency are almost nonexistent. The talent is so underdeveloped and ill-fostered, they don’t have the skills to compensate for the other shortcomings. In the end, all you have are records that consist of filler and "cute for the moment" tunes with no enduring power.

​An artist of Mariah Carey’s caliber and experience has enough tools in the box to avoid such potholes. Her writing has always been clever and/or poetic, and required a dictionary (she rarely receives proper credit for this). Her sensibilities with vocal and musical composition keep her work effortlessly timeless and irresistible. That said, it’s confounding that Carey’s newest album Caution fits snugly with post-2010 mediocrity. Romantic desire and lust (with a pinch of disgruntlement) are primary subjects, but the slipshod track order constipates the flow of the content and sound. It prevents a feel for theme, especially one worthy of the LP’s provocative title.
 
Additionally, the most marketable numbers (A.K.A. the promotional singles) are all pushed to the front. This brings attention to the palatability and sustainability issues. Though some songs have mood, attractive traits and $20.00 words, their monotony and/or $0.02 phrasing are overtaking. For example, “Giving Me Life” (featuring Slick Rick and Blood Orange) is noticeably sullen, has an ominous transition, and a curious voice-over from the 1983 film Trading Places. Despite that intrigue, it drones on. You may not make it through to its sixth minute. Otiose F-bombs further diminish cuts already suffering from some hum-drum (ex. “With You”). “Portrait” is a conceptual and stylistic misfit against the other tracks. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was meant for a different project. Its presence is welcomed, however, as it best represents Carey’s pen prowess. Co-writers include Bibi Bourelly, Charles Hinshaw and Priscilla Renea. Some who also functioned as producers are Nineteen85, DJ Mustard, Timbaland and The Stereotypes.  
 
8/10 times, a Mariah Carey record will provide selections to delight in for years to come: evocative singles, songs you wish were singles, and those that will be the center of “most underrated” debates. Caution unfortunately falls in that 2/10 ratio. The half hearted and shambolic execution put it there.

If my memory serves me correctly, TV Guide and/or People magazine used to have a feature series called "The Best Show You're Not Watching." Of course, it was to draw attention to exceptional programs that somehow went under the public's radar. If those plugs existed today, primetime drama Nashville would certainly fit the profile. It had critical acclaim, prestigious award nominations and successful off-shooting music/tours, but it was beleaguered by lukewarm ratings and various production obstacles. Premiering in 2012, its highest overall ranking by 2016 was 54. After consecutive years "on the bubble," it was cancelled by its originating network, ABC. It's evidently niche, but fervent "Nashie" fandom pounded the digital pavement with #BringBackNashville, until the fitting CMT came to the rescue with a pick-up. It still wasn't all quiet on the western front, though. Leading lady Connie Britton would get out of Dodge, and CMT eventually opted to axe the serial in a move from scripted broadcasts (sorry for the cheesy western sayings; I couldn't help myself). When Nashville's sixth and final season concludes this month, it will likely be to little hoorah. It's anyone's guess if it will be mentioned years from now. Maybe when Hayden Panettiere (its other prima donna) does a string of blockbusters, or Lennon Stella becomes a household name (if you don't know her yet, you will), it will finally get the interest it deserved. People can print their first "Shows We Should've Watched" piece. For now, it's up to the Nashies and I to light the candles and bid our show proper adieu.
 
I remember the pilot trailer like it was yesterday: seasoned country diva Rayna Jaymes (Britton) has to play industry chess to keep from being put to pasture by the latest "it" girl, Juliette Barnes (Panettiere). Political scandal, and messy familial and romantic entanglements are around the corner. The music nerd, soap-opera lover and Panettiere fan-girl in me was sold; you didn't have to tell me twice to tune in. The press swore it was a parallel to Reba McEntire and Taylor Swift; that still makes me laugh hysterically. They weren't going off anything but the stars' hair color. The vehicle was a better version of Empire (2015), before there was such a thing (ironically, Empire supporting actress Kaitlin Doubleday would join the cast in season five).The narratives were more evenly paced, grounded and detailed, including the business commentary (I especially appreciated the annotations on sexism). As for the weekly soundtrack? Oh my goodness, it was infinitely superior (beneath my commentary is a list of my favorite songs). First-rate production and thoughtful lyricism prevented it from sounding 'made for television.' The pulse of "Music City" authentically beat through, as the content was crafted by local talent (it was sung by the cast). With storytelling being country's supreme trait, the songs exquisitely accented the layered plot lines and characters. Let's delve into all of it, shall we?
 
The Characters
Of Nashville's fictional figures, Juliette, Deacon Claybourne (Charles Esten) and Avery Barkley (Jonathan Jackson) are my top three loves.
Juliette is completely intoxicating, with her sass, irrepressibility and how much of a living train-wreck she can be. Dissecting the complexities of her psyche can become an obsessive compulsion. She's a great example of what meets the eye isn't always the whole story. On the surface, she's a destructive narcissist, but it's not that simple. Having to survive successive traumas (ex. a manipulative mother who struggled with substance abuse, sexually predatory record executives) she developed a self-loathing and maladaptive preservation skills. She doesn't know how to identify or treat something of value (ex. her career, her caring husband) because she's hardly had that. Between her history and many nagging naysayers, you want to see her win (especially because her gloating victory laps are a thing of beauty). Roles like this can be difficult to write for. The question of how to evolve them without making them a 'bore' gets raised. A natural, built-in transition was available for Juliette, but the writers still strangely lost her in seasons five and six. She had post-partum depression, went to rehab, was inadvertently involved in her manager's death (i.e. Jeff Fordham) and was in a plane crash by the end of season four. Recovering from these events (ex. therapy, healing, PTSD, relapse) to come out a better person would've lasted to now. Instead, they had her accusing people of man-stealing, snatching songs from teenagers and accidentally joining a cult. Further, her background was unnecessarily revised to incorporate her mother, Jolene, allowing someone to rape her for money. This nullified the resolve brought by Jolene's sacrificial suicide, after she murdered Juliette's extortionist. The main 'JB' scenario I hated during the ABC run was her sleeping with Jeff. He did everything he could to control/destroy her career, and said she was "trailer trash covered in rhinestones." She'd fight someone like him tooth and nail. She'd never let him in her pants; it wasn't true to the character.

Deacon was the other tortured soul on canvas. He too sprouted from a hard knock life, and inherited his abusive father's battle with the bottle. It hindered his career and "love for the ages" relationship with Rayna for many years. Often, alcoholics are diabolized in media and their afflictions are depicted as choice-based. Much like the persona of Jack Pearson on NBC's This is Us, the portrayal of Deacon Claybourne humanized the addict. It showed crapulence for the ruling illness it is, and how it has a life of its own. To do this, clear division was made between Deacon and his demons. Inherently, he's a gentle and benevolent spirit you can't help but be enamored with. When alcoholism pulls him out of body, he's frigid and tempestuous. The tangibility of his duality is substantially in credit to Esten. His elegant, intricate and arresting work takes you inside each of his alter-ego's emotions. Him shedding a single tear will leave you bawling on the floor. I particularly enjoyed his channeling through his eyes and voice. Those piercing baby blues can be steely, just as easily as they can make you feel overcome with serenity. His vocal cadence is sonorous in a moment of decisiveness or seduction. It's swinging in a congenial exchange, hoarse and howling at a breaking point. Esten's performances are so gripping, you wonder where he's been this whole time. I tell ya', he's Hollywood's best kept secret.

Album Review.
Likes: Maria, Sick of Sittin', Twice, Unless It's with You
Dislikes: Accelerate
Overall: Veers from intriguing to mediocre, but hints at future artistic revitalization

​These days, the average artist drops a new album every two years. This doesn't leave much room for creative growth and contemplation, especially if one is touring and promoting the entire period between. The general end result is an array of rushed and undercooked projects that won't have a lasting impact. In that respect, Christina Aguilera is one of many acts who benefitted from starting a career in the late 1990's and early 2000's. Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, it was standard for releases to be 3-4 years apart. The one occasion Aguilera deviated from this, the easily forgettable Lotus (2012) came. Now, after exceeding her usual interval by almost double, she's returned with Liberation. However, it doesn't sound like a lengthy hiatus made much of a difference this turn. When you listen to it, you may ask, "This is all after six years?"
 
Liberation's packaging and opening numbers make promises it can't keep. A bare-faced, wet-haired Aguilera dons the cover. The lead track is a brief, but breathtaking piano and strings instrumental. Our star chanteuse calls, "Where are you? Are you there? Remember?," as a baby laughs in the background. This segues into "Searching for Maria," an interlude where Aguilera wistfully sings the eponymous tune from The Sound of Music (a favorite of hers). Her voice echoes through to "Maria," which samples the ever-haunting 1972 Michael Jackson song of the same title. Jackson's distressed pleas to a love lost lay the stage for her to discuss losing herself. The repeat mentions of Maria are a reference to her middle name; it's how she chooses to represent her once unsullied spirit. She bewails "How was I supposed to know that it would cost my soul? And how am I supposed to face this lonely life I've created?...Was too young to know the difference...I believe my own lies...I'm facing the mirror...Why don't I see her? I just need to see ya', Maria...Don't you keep on runnin' from me." It's a very compelling first six minutes. You're prepared and eager to learn more about her feelings of displacement. Are they personally or professionally based, or both? What is she 'liberating' herself from? Will the album's conclusion be a cliffhanger, or will it reveal that she found Maria? None of these questions are answered to a significant extent. None. It's like being all packed up and ready to go to Disneyland, but your dad never arrives to pick you up.
 
The rock/soul, Woodstock-ish "Sick of Sittin'" implies her exasperation with an industry driven by money versus art, but the active word here is "implies." What it puts forth would be sufficient if its allusions were expounded on in future songs, but alas, they are not. Next is "Dreamers," a prelude to the single "Fall in Line" with Demi Lovato. Little girls tell what they want to be when they grow up, and assert a resolute position of strength. The duet insists to young ones they don't have to live within rigid, gender-biased paradigms. Though it has a valuable message, it isn't distinctly personal. It's also not very enthralling, despite it being dispensed by two powerhouses known for their emotive performances. 

​Album Review.
Dislikes: FOH
Overall: The sleepy, monotonous production drags the whole project down
 
I wish I could say the most disappointing thing about Toni Braxton's newest release (and first on Def Jam Recordings), Sex & Cigarettes, is that it's a very short, 8-track EP. Rather, I say with regret that I stand relieved at its brevity. It's damning liability is its narcoleptic music. Bare-bone arrangements that rely on acoustic guitars, strings and/or piano have their purpose. They're soothing and are a welcomed alternative to heavy rhythms, effects and other production clutter. The minimalism often helps in playing up emotion and creating the perception of intimacy. However, a little adornment is still needed to prevent a 'bare-bones' piece from being a snooze. There are no musical upsurges, noteworthy vocal moments or particularly etching lyrics to awaken the compositions on Braxton's album. They all plateau by the end of the first chorus. I was reminded of every TV scene I've viewed where a police officer yelled "Move on; there's nothing to see here!" On the production team are several individuals Braxton has collaborated with before, including Paul Boutin (ex. The Heat, engineering), Antonio Dixon (ex. Love, Marriage & Divorce, songwriting) and Kenneth 'Babyface' Edmonds (ex. producing and/or writing on every Toni album except Pulse).
 
Though it's unlikely people will be quoting or tattooing lyrics from Braxton's octet, the material is respectable. This excludes the childishly and regressively worded "FOH," the text message acronym for 'f*ck out of here.' Man, do I miss the days where I could get through an album without hearing a song that's phrased like a street or online conversation. I also miss the days of the ever-regal diva who saved the F-bombs for the house (the expletive is also unnecessarily used on "Sex and Cigarettes"). The other thing the content has going for it is that it's conceptually consistent. All the romance-related regret and misery might've been prickling, if the production wasn't so dry. Daryl Simmons, Stuart Crichton, Patrick "J.Que" Smith and singer Colbie Calliat are among those who co-wrote with Braxton. Simmons is a long-time Babyface collaborator whose robust R&B resume includes work with Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, TLC, Destiny's Child and Boyz II Men. Crichton and Smith have credits with Kylie Minogue, Delta Goodrem, Britney Spears and Jennifer Lopez.
 
The most interesting thing about the EP is that the title track's subject matter isn't what you'd expect it to be. It's actually about a no-good cheater who's been coming to bed smelling like sex and cigarettes. It was smart to name the record after that song, because I'm sure it sparked some curiosity. Sadly, it's probable inquiring parties will quickly move on, because "there's nothing to see here."

Album Review.
Likes: Higher, Higher, Morning Light, Say Something, The Hard Stuff
Dislikes: Man of the Woods, Supplies
Overall:  At best, it's mundane. At worst, it's southern farce that's almost insulting.
 
The debut promotional video for Justin Timberlake's fourth LP, Man of the Woods, shows him out and about in the elements. There are shots of snow, sun covered crops, desert landscapes, babbling brooks and crackling fires. In the voice-over, you hear buzz words like "wild West" and "earthy." JT proclaims that this "personal" record is the one most inspired by his Tennessee roots, in addition to his wife and child. The artwork has a split portrait of him before a winter forest; his apparel is part suit, part flannel/jeans. This is all to impress upon the listener that what they're about to hear will be rustic, raw and unveiling in an insightful and endearing way. In actuality, it's such a shallow, contrived and caricatured performance of 'down-home authenticity,' that it's off-putting and distancing.
 
Timberlake's birth state is the home of the blues (Memphis), bluegrass (Bristol) and country (Nashville). Yet, he fails so miserably to effectively employ their tools, it's as if he only has third-hand familiarity with them. Being an R&B/pop artist who hails from Memphis, you'd think blues would be the go-to framework for this album. Ain't a whiff of B.B. King anywhere. Barely any bluegrass either. Mechanisms of country are used in a sparse and decorative manner. This nearly nullifies the compliment that the genre is smoothly integrated with Timberlake's signature sound. "The Hard Stuff" and "Say Something" with Chris Stapleton is as 'Music City' as it gets. Making things worse, Timberlake uses woefully stereotypical (if not corny) imagery in the lyrics and song-titles to project 'rugged South' (ex. "Man of the Woods," "Flannel," "Living off the Land").
 
Heartfelt storytelling is one of the principal attributes of Tennessee music, but the writing on Man of the Woods is dispassionate, when it's not vacuous. There's a number of songs about relishing in the nourishment and comforts of companionship, but they're sketched out with generality and objectivity. Even when seemingly specific details are mentioned (ex. "Higher, Higher," "Montana"), it's hard to believe there is a singular, significant person who was a muse for this material. The composition and vocal delivery also aren't particularly emotive. "Say Something" has a spurring presentation (mostly thanks to Stapleton), but its point is unclear. Is it about hesitancy in making a statement about the world, your life, or both? Is it 'none of the above?' Thorough sincerity and sweetness is found on the previously referenced "The Hard Stuff" and "Flannel" (despite its tropes), as well as "Young Man." The former two emphasize being unyielding and reliable as a romantic partner. The first verse of the lullaby-like "Flannel" is especially dear, as Timberlake sings of emulating the pure and steadfast love of a parent. "Young Man" is a 'father's advice' dedication to his toddler son, Silas. In order to take Timberlake seriously as someone whose matured enough to give counsel, you'd have to forget the boyish sexual depictions earlier on the record (ex. "Filthy," "Man of the Woods," "Supplies"). "What you gonna' do with all that meat? Cooking up a mean serving, huh?," he asks on "Filthy." *Rolls eyes* "Supplies" is an utterly stupid song, where apocalyptic survival skills are a metaphor for his qualities as a mate. Of course, he has to prop his cojones once more: "Flew in on a 3 AM just to show up and hear your sounds; the multiple times...you ain't had it that way, I can guarantee you that...I'll be the wood when you need heat." None of the other cuts are idiotic like that one, but many are very repetitive and a few are thin in meaning.
 
Man of the Woods is the first JT album that isn't predominately produced by Timbaland. The Neptunes lead this charge. The music is still sleek-sexy-funky-cool, but it's disconcerting that the only new thing they brought to the table was a big dose of...flatness. On most tracks, the rhythms just loop around after a while. A couple feature Timberlake's hallmark melodic switches, which liven things up (ex. Midnight Summer Jam).
 
Justin Timberlake wanted to show us the softer side of his Sears with this endeavor. However, the inattention to theme, lean lyrics and cyclic production worked against him. Instead of appearing humbled, relatable and affable, he comes off as unplugged and out-of-touch. Miley Cyrus' journey back home was more convincing. 

15 years ago this month, Focus Features released Deliver Us from Eva, a film about 3 guys who try to wrangle their overbearing sister-in-law (Gabrielle Union). It was funny, entertaining, and had a bomb R&B soundtrack. Union was spectacularly brilliant in the title role. Her quirky facial expressions, bodily twitches and pronounced delivery of the rapid-fire script brought the eccentric and hyper-intelligent Evangeline Dandridge to life. Eva is a no-nonsense natural born leader. She cut her teeth at this raising her younger sisters: Kareenah (Essence Atkins), Bethany (Robinne Lee) and Jacqui (Meagan Good). They all became orphans years prior. To stay afloat and start "The Dandridge Fund," Eva dropped her horse-training dreams for more practical work as a restaurant health inspector. Her siblings naturally look up to her, but they extensively hang on her every word. This is to the exasperation of their respective mates, who feel her opinions and advice block their personal desires. Kareenah's husband, Tim (Mel Jackson), has baby fever. Bethany's boyfriend, Mike (Duane Martin), wants to move in and get his hands on the fund. Jacqui's spouse, Darrell (Dartanyan Edmonds), isn't happy she spends so much time on her college studies. The men resolve to pay someone to sweep Eva off her feet. That someone is Ray (LL Cool J), a rolling-stone playboy. His fee? $5,000. His task is "not just to distract her, but make her fall hard," and get her to relocate with him. Then, he can dump her. When he ends up liking her and she passes on an out-of-state job promotion, the fellas stage his death. Ray exposes the entire scam and chases Eva until she forgives him.
 
I saw this movie for the first time at a teenage slumber party. It had just come out on DVD. I was the only girl who actually had admiration for Eva, and thought the four horsemen didn't deserve forgiveness. I always joke I came out of the womb a feminist. I say this because, from a young age, I'd detect ridiculous biases. I'd question 'default' attitudes, standards and archetypes. In the very least, some situations--like parts of this film's plot--just didn't sit well with me. Eva wasn't homicidal, deceitful or malicious, but she was 'evil' the males needed 'deliverance' from. If any of the characters were guilty of these things (minus homicide), it was the guys, but she was villainized over them. There's something really wrong with that, especially when one takes a closer look at what allegedly made her so bad.
 
Eva is purportedly so traumatizing to deal with, an ex developed a speech impediment. Said ex freaks out upon seeing her picture, and repetitively screams "B*tch!" in an open bar. A flashback to their last encounter shows her dismissing him for complaining she was uptight and then lying about it. Oh, the horror! The horror! How 'bitchy' of her. *Rolls eyes* What puts Eva at the top of her field is her precision, but she's constantly criticized for it by others. When she doesn't budge on an inspection citation, she's told she has an ice pump in her chest and is "so damn uncompromising." Later, on her first date with Ray, she repeatedly has to ask him to leave a restaurant with a faulty manager. He further diminishes her concerns and career by accusing her of overreacting and snarkily saying "You're not the FBI." She responds accordingly, but is described as "nasty" and as having an "electric fence with rabid pit-bulls" around her heart.

​I have to admit that when I saw Proud Mary recently, it wasn't because I was pressed to see it. I was more excited about trying the menu at the new local dine-in theater. Come to think of it, I really gambled with my dollars; both the feature and the food could've been horrible. My meal was just okay (not that you care), but the film was better than I expected. The trailers made it seem like there wasn't much to the plot: A single mother named Mary (Taraji P. Henson) prepares to retire from being an assassin. I thought "Stuff will blow up, her last hit job will be particularly difficult, her son will briefly be in danger, and all will end well because she's just Mary." The short 88-minute runtime fed my assumptions. You know what they say about making assumptions, though...
 
With the exception of the awesome action sequences and Mary's change of vocation, I was mostly wrong about the storyline. For starters, Jahi Di'Allo Winston's character Danny is not her son. How she ends up in his orbit is the film's biggest twist, and its unanticipated (though, parts of their initial interaction are written clumsily). Her personal history and collaborative relationships are also a bit more complex than imagined. Alongside her are Benny (Danny Glover) and Tom (Billy Brown), who tread the line between 'ally' and 'enemy.' As usual, Glover brings his master-class skills, easily alternating between the two modes. In this role, he's most delicious when Benny is feeling nefarious. Fans who are used to watching Brown play the harmed good-guy on ABC's How to Get Away with Murder will have fun seeing a different side of the actor. As for Henson, she's as reliable and proficient as always.
 
The 70's style promotional artwork and music made me worry I was in for a campy, new-age take on black exploitation movies. Thankfully, the only calls to that were a black woman kicking butt and a vintage soundtrack that included the Temptations and, of course, Tina Turner. Turner's signature cover of "Proud Mary" was effectively used at the thrilling climax, and into the credits. It was a blast hearing the audience sing along and hair flip in unison.
 
Babak Najafi's Proud Mary is indeed compact, but it doesn't feel stuffy or rushed. The tangled webs, sturdy performances and cool stunts make it a good 88 minutes. It's not the total throwaway it appears to be. 

WARNING: This review contains SPOILERS.
 
Overall: The storytelling is a bit rushed, but it's an entertaining and uplifting "celebration of humanity"

If you haven't heard already, Michael Gracey's The Greatest Showman is very loosely based on the life of P.T. Barnum, the legendary circus ringleader. Looking at the film's inspirational themes, and the vast liberties taken with the facts, it's clear making another biopic wasn't the intent. Instead, screenwriters Bill Condon and Jenny Bicks use the symbolism of Barnum to remind us to dream, show benevolence and focus on what matters.
 
We watch Gracey's Barnum from his youth as a misfit (Ellis Rubin). He copes with the bleakness of his poverty-stricken life with imagination, charm and humor. He hopes to one day show up his elitist naysayers by wowing and entertaining the world. When of age (Hugh Jackman), he marries his childhood sweetheart (Skylar Dunn; later Michelle Williams), who happily leaves her lap of luxury to be with him. "Barnum's Circus" is eventually launched, piquing both interest and protest for making stars out of outcasts. The lineup consists of performers exiled for their physical appearance. To appeal to the upper-class, P.T. recruits a more traditional act: a glamorous singer named Jenny Lind (Rebecca Ferguson). He also enlists the help of a wealthy playwright, Phillip Carlyle (Zac Efron). Phillip's budding romance with Anne Wheeler (Zendaya), a black trapeze artist, tests them both in different ways. Things also get sticky between P.T., his wife and Jenny. It all comes to a head as his obsession with raising the show's profile gets the best of him, and the performers are attacked.
 
As with any proper musical, the songs strike the emotional chords of the story and sharpen its tones. Holding the defiant and aspirational spirit of the characters, each track is stirring. So much so, you'll forget you're watching a movie and will clap by reflex at the end of numbers. This is particularly true with "Never Enough" and the outsider anthem "This Is Me," beautifully led by 'bearded lady' Keala Settle. "Never Enough" marks a 'make or break' instance for P.T. He's hired Jenny by word-of-mouth alone, and has promised awe to cynical crowds with her debut. I myself was prepared to be unimpressed. I thought "I'll accept this for the pivotal scene it's supposed to be, no matter how unremarkable it is." My breath was taken away right with the fictional audience. Recall the first time you heard Adele's "Someone Like You," Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On," Whitney Houston's cover of "I Will Always Love You" or Mariah Carey's "Vision of Love." Those kinds of memories will flash before you. Perfect diva science was smartly applied to create the desired effect. You know the formula: sweet lyrics, stunning vocals and 'just right' structuring to where the song escalates, but never crushes its own tenderness. The chops were provided by Loren Allred, who appeared on season 3 of NBC's The Voice (it's awkwardly noticeable that Ferguson is lip-synching). I think it's unfortunate (and a little strange) that a dual actress/singer wasn't cast as Jenny. This way, the architect of such an wonderful moment was left out of the party.