It's possible that Mariah Carey may not be to blame for this heroically bad film, writes Andrew Richards.

Glitter does complicate the matter of studio interference. On one hand you have the mangled career of Orson Welles (post-Citizen Kane), a lifetime's work ravaged by studio control. On the other hand you have this a project that should have been killed at birth, or, at the very least, taken outside by the studio and disposed of gangland-style.

Instead, with free reign, we have a project pandering to soul diva Mariah Carey, a star with enough success and unit-shifting ability to pick and choose within a scheme that is too scared to defy her: she may be crap at acting, but she does sell a lot of records.

And the only thing bigger than Carey in this movie is the huge 100ft pink neon sign that says "vanity project". This unsightly mess is riddled with it.

Moist

Her charmed life inside the moist, twisted reality of show business is now on the big screen in a rags-to-riches story.

Carey plays Billie Frank, a young singer who works (or worms) her way from disco clubs to Madison Square Garden with the help of love interest DJ Dice, played by Max Beesley (who will surely get a ribbing from girlfirend Mel B even Spiceworld was better than this!).

This is definitely the stuff of legends. It's the kind of fluff that sends heartless critics into a girlish screaming frenzy, curled up on the foyer floor, foaming at the mouth and clutching their eyes in a desperate bid to remove the vile images. The climax contains such moments of horrendous silliness (just watch for the dramatic reappearance of Mariah's lost cat after ten years!) that Glitter makes Showgirls look like a raw fly-on-the-wall documentary.

Mess

As the mess unfolds, DJ Dice and Billie enjoy more than a working relationship, which is soon tested as her star rises in the cold, harsh world of disco. Forget the excess, the deaths, substance abuse this is a world where all the story and dramatic concerns have been replaced with searching exchanges such as: "Will you sign to my label?" "Boy, I sure will." "Good, now sing another song!" It beggars belief. Absolutely nothing happens. It has the nutritional value of a McDonald's Happy Meal.

But such a lack of talent, vision or judgement seems to have dawned on Carey. After her breakdown and refusal to publicise the movie, you have to wonder who can blame her? This died a thousand deaths in the US. The core message that a sugary power ballad can conquer all seems even more hideously misjudged in the current climate.

Out tonight.

November 23, 2001 12:01