Spice World

Director: Bob Spiers
Cast:
Spice Girls
Richard E. Grant
Alan Cumming
George Wendt

Really. Trying to eye "Spice World" with criticism is like beating up the Pope for being Catholic, and it's beside the point. Like any movie about rock stars on a merry caper (did anyone see the ABBA movie from 1978 besides me?), it's not supposed to be any good. This seems like a rationalization, but the fact is, not many things in life are supposed to be purposefully stupid. We gotta take what we can get.

Interesting, then, that "Spice World" is a damned good time. I love the Spice Girls for the same reason I adore the Weather Channel: it is totally uncynical. All the Weather Channel wants you to do is know the weather; all the Spice Girls want you to do is buy their albums. There is no pretense here, no brooding lead singers crooning about lost innocence and romantic solopsism—the Spice Girls may well be the Least Cynical Cultural Product to come down the pike since the Hula Hoop.

One of the best things about them, of course, is that they're quintessentially British. If the Spice Girls were American, they'd all look like boring blonde playmates—but like all good Brits, they have personality, charisma and imperfect teeth. Sporty Spice speaks with the guttural drawl of a East London fishpacker, even as she croons "I Swear" at the top of her falsetto. Baby Spice has comic timing and big ol' thighs. Posh Spice is a terrible actress and knows it.

And my favorite—Sexy Spice, is truly a study in sexual dualism. While all the other Spices have definitive personality traits (Baby Spice carries around stuffed animals, Scary Spice screams a lot), Sexy has become something of a spokesman for "Girl Power," a sort of Walmart-variety feminism that also means she has to be The Smart One. The problem is, she's also the one who posed nude in magazines throughout the early '90s and has these undeniable breasts that threaten to take over her body. Thus she made the distinctly post-feminist transition to "Ginger" Spice, leaving her with a sort of Camille Paglia-esque view of sexuality, the sex-as-power subtexts of which could fill a thousand doctoral dissertations in the Women's Studies Department at your local university. All this within the context of a silly London romp? I think so, fine consumer!

The best part of the movie are its biggest lies, but I don't care. There is a flashback scene to a pub, where the as-yet-undiscovered Girls are playing their new tape for the owner. As they scream and yell "Tell Me What You Want (What You Really, Really Want)" you get a glimpse of why every 12-year-old girl wants to be one of them. Never mind that the Spice Girls were patched together with cattle calls, want ads and Wonderbras—the fact is, they are fun as hell.

—Ian Williams

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