Two and a half stars (PG-13)

When I went to an advance screening of Brokeback Mountain in 2005, I noticed that a significant number of people waiting for the show to start were so enthused — over the idea of a major gay-themed film, over their love of the story on which it was based, over the director and/or the cast — that it was obvious they already loved the movie and actually seeing it would just be a formality that would allow them to love it more specifically.  

I mention this because something similar is happening with Mamma Mia. For months I’ve heard from fans of the musical that know — absolutely, positively know — that the movie will be sensational. With those songs, those wonderful ABBA songs, coupled with the amazing Meryl Streep, how could it not be? If you are one of those people and you’ve stuck with me this far, I suggest you stop reading at the end of this paragraph. Shake your head sadly that I only gave the movie two and a half stars and go have the wonderful time you know you’re going to have. I’m not being facetious or snide here, I’m really trying to be helpful.

To those remaining, I want to note that I saw the musical, too, and had a fine time. Some friends gave tickets to me and my son and we saw it at the Murat on a snowy Christmas Eve. Aside from Hair, it was the only live musical I’d ever seen. Though I was never much of an ABBA fan, it was fun watching the spirited performances of their catchy pop ditties, especially the extra cheesy ones. Donald and I laughed and clapped and tried to sing along when everyone else did. We had a great evening.

Which brings me, finally, to the movie. I wanted to have fun watching the big screen adaptation of Mamma Mia and I did, sort of, after a while, but only by making allowances for the bad camera work and choppy editing. Mamma Mia plays like the filmmakers weren’t sure what to do, so they told the camera people to just shoot from any old position and they’d edit it into a movie later. There is no sense of visual coherence, which saps the punch of the musical.

The story — the 20-year-old daughter (Amanda Seyfried) of Streep’s character invites the three men she supposes might be her father (Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth and Stellan Skarsgard) to her wedding without telling Mom —  boasts beautiful shots of its sun-drenched Greek island setting and lots of movement as it clumsily celebrates life, love and sexual freedom.

Streep is good and her gal pals (Christine Baranski — less abrasive than usual — and forced kooky Julie Walters) provide solid support. Of the men, agreeably no-nonsense Skarsgard fares best, while Firth is nearly invisible and Brosnan ... well, Brosnan sings and as a singer, he is brave and vaguely embarrassing. Young Seyfried and her cinematic boyfriend Dominic Sky are pretty and they try hard. 

Mamma Mia is as good-natured as movies get. There are no villains  — heck, even the three male theoretic rivals get along well. A friend describes the production as a karaoke musical and there’s nothing wrong with that. There is a reason why over 30 million people have paid to see the show. Despite the cluelessness of the filmmakers, the giddy appeal of the stage version survives. It’s just a shame what you have to put up with to enjoy it.