Mamma Mia

By Robbie Collin

TAKE the gayest thing you've ever seen. Double it.

Multiply by Graham Norton. Add five John Barrowmans. Now take away the number you first thought of and times the result by ten.

And STILL, ladies and gentlemen, we’re a good few million miles away from the frankly terrifying glitter-strewn campfest that is this week’s biggest new movie.

Mamma Mia. Or to give it its full title, Mamma Mia! A film so out-and-out OUT, it makes Gok Wan look like John Rambo.

Very literally screaming into British cinemas at a time when, with straight-laced family epics arriving by the gross, it will be welcomed with open arms by the rosé-and- bingo-wings brigade. And rightly so.

Because Mamma Mia! could not have come at a better time. It’s the feel-good film of the credit crunch—showing that, contrary to what some other chick flicks might have you believe, you don’t need a five-acre wardrobe and six-figure credit limit to have a good time.

You just need friends, family, a little bit of romance . . . and some absolutely chuffing brilliant tunes. The premise: a young bride-to-be invites her mum’s three lovers to her wedding to find out, once and for all, who her real dad is. The ACTUAL premise: a monumentally weak excuse to string together a load of Abba songs.

Winsome Sophie (Amanda Seyfried) lives on a Greek island with her yummy mummy Donna (Meryl Streep) and fiancé Sky (Dominic Cooper). Donna’s best friends Rosie and Tanya (Julie Walters and Christine Baranski) have arrived just in time for the nuptials, along with three surprise guests—architect Sam Carmichael (Pierce Brosnan), banker Harry Bright (Colin Firth) and writer Bill Austin (Stellan Skarsgard).

They’ve been invited because, after going through her mum’s diaries, Sophie reckons one of them must be her dad.

Most of the film follows the build-up to the wedding, which seems to involve the characters having conversations that barely justify crowbarring in another Abba song. Which tend to run something along the lines of: “Remember that time I got trapped in a London railway station?”

“Yes I do. Which one was it again?”

“Oooohhh WATERLOO, COULDN’T ESCAPE IF I WANTED TO . . .”

You get the idea. Yes, it sounds pretty damn corny. But fortunately director Phyllida Lloyd, who masterminded the stage show, knows exactly how to deal with it.

Not with cheap irony and winking at the camera, but instead—and this is the masterstroke that turns Mamma Mia! from irksome musical hodge-podge into awesome musical brilliance—by making everyone play it absolutely poker straight.

The result is a brilliantly tongue-in- cheek, gay-as-a-goose laugh riot that can turn on a sixpence and deliver moments of pure, genuine emotion when needed.

All six adult cast members nail it with unforgettable performances (even Firth).

Special shout-outs must go to Julie Walters, who gets it absolutely right as always, and my man Pierce Brosnan, who belts out tunes with all the hearty vigour of Michael Crawford in Phantom Of The Opera—totally irrespective of the fact he’s got a voice like an outboard motor.

But there’s only one person you’ll be talking about after seeing Mamma Mia!— who, in all seriousness, could pick up an Oscar nomination for this. Meryl Streep.

She brings to the table not only a cracking pair of lungs and near-flawless feel for light comedy but enough high spirits to fuel both the film and audience for the entire 108-minute running time.

On the downside, this will inevitably bring about a cr*palanche of other greatest hits musicals. And watch this on your own on a Tuesday afternoon in a market-town fleapit and it might not have quite the right impact.

But see it in the evening, on a huge screen and top-notch sound system, dizzy on cheap wine, surrounded by singalong office girls and screeching queens? It does not get any better than that, my friends.