Film

With all the giddy, giggly energy of a 10-year-old girl’s slumber party (and roughly the same aesthetic sensibility and self-discipline), Mamma Mia! practically dares you to criticize it, then laughs in your face (and, presumably, all the way to the bank) if you do. From the breathless opening, in which bride-to-be Sophie (Seyfried, as scrubbed, cheery and full-throated as anyone from High School Musical) sends wedding invitations to each of the three men who might be her father, the cast jumps around a gorgeous Greek island squealing and laughing and bursting into some of the most hooky pop songs ever written. (Just try to get through this review without “Waterloo” taking over your internal soundtrack.…)

The spectacle of Streep, one of the most lauded actresses of her generation, crawling around a roof in overalls singing “Mamma Mia” is a bit jarring, but damned if she doesn’t throw herself into it with gusto. As her former backup singers, Walters and Baranski aren’t given enough to do, a fact only made more clear when each gets a number of her own. About Brosnan, we can only say that his license to kill apparently includes songs. As for Lloyd’s direction, it’s a study in middling success, with missed opportunities at every turn. But who cares? This movie isn’t just unapologetic fluff; it’s aggressive, out-loud-and-proud fluff. Just like Abba.