It is impossible to make an intentionally campy film. The whole point of camp is that it never realizes that it is camp. For example, “Valley of the Dolls” is genius camp because it is so wonderfully wrong at every imaginable turn, with the gifted cast trying and cluelessly failing to create alchemy with their material. If the actors started winking at the audience or smirking at their material, then it is not camp – it is just plain dumb.
The 1986 “Little Shop of Horrors” is adapted from an Off-Broadway musical that turned Roger Corman’s 1960 quickie into a campy revue. The show worked because the rules of camp are different in a stage setting – the actors’ exaggerated antics and the cheesy nature of their production spark a positive reaction by the audience, and their happy vibey refuels the on-stage action. At one of the performances during its original run, New York City Mayor Ed Koch made a surprise appearance and wound up being devoured by the carnivorous giant plant – the campiest of politicians in a perfect theatrical setting.
But the film version makes the mistake of trying to camp things up in the manner of the stage show. Yet what came across on the stage as bouncy and fun-spirited came across on the screen as shrill, forced and frenetic. Rather than taking a cue from Corman and have the film actors play their screwball roles completely straight, Frank Oz directed his cast to ham it up with too-big gestures and corybantic line readings. And since the camera magnifies every gesture and decibel, the result is overkill.
There are some saving graces, particularly the special effects puppetry that brings the always-hungry Audrey II plant to life, plus a grand voice performance by Levi Stubbs as the botanical beast. And while the Howard Ashman-Alan Menken score didn’t produce any hit tunes, it had a fun doo-wop style.
Unfortunately, most of the main cast was harvested from SNL and SCTV alumni, which makes the film feel like a seriously overextended television sketch spoofing old horror flicks. And the funnymen make the lethal error of playing everything tongue-in-cheek. Rick Moranis was predictable as the nerd hero, Steve Martin was painfully obnoxious as the villainous dentist, and the likes of John Candy, Christopher Guest, Jim Belushi, and Bill Murray turned up in significantly unmemorable cameos.
Vincent Gardenia should have shined as the plant store owner Mr. Mushnik, but he gets caught up in the bigger-and-better approach to comic acting and is nowhere near as effectively funny as the droll Mel Welles in the Corman original. Ellen Greene, the one member of the Off-Broadway cast to make it to the film version, has a great singing voice but a limited screen personality. It is intriguing to consider what could have happened if Cyndi Lauper, the original choice for the film, had accepted the part.
Still, the film’s comic headliners and an aggressive marketing push by Warner Bros. made this the rare mid-1980s musical film that scored at the box office. Yes, I am in the minority, but I’ll stick with the Corman gem, which I feel accomplished much more with far less.