We now transition via some quick cuts of the streets of New York, which I suppose are more glamorous than the streets of Hamilton, Ontario, where this movie was mostly filmed. In another dance club some electronic funk plays while people dance around to pad the film. Some young guy with a deep-fried mop on his head hands the lily-white but fashionably unshaven DJ a tape and tells him its Sylk's new song. The DJ doesn't look enthused by this but plays the tape anyway. He's surprised as he thinks the singing sounds great, as he doesn't realize it isn't really Sylk singing on the track. Soon enough, Sylk and her dancers perform on stage as Sylk lip-synchs to Billie's vocals. I am now officially sick of the song no matter who is mouthing the words; this is the same song that Billie was singing in the studio, the DJ just played in the club, and that Sylk and the girls are now performing on stage. I haven't even mentioned the deep, thought-provoking lyrics such as, "You… and only you… can make me feel… the way I do!"
After some more time-wasting footage of gaudily dressed people bouncing around, the DJ moves backstage to compliment Sylk on her new song, telling her, "I had no idea you could blow like that!" which he might as well also say to the director and screenwriters. If you're wondering why the DJ said something so clunky (even for 1983), it was so Sylk could snazzily reply with "I had no idea you were so interested in how good I could blow!" Wow, the dialogue here is as sharp as it is in a porn film. I wish the plot was less predictable than one, though.
Anyhoo, Billie, tired of hearing Sylk accept compliments for her singing, wants to leave. A photographer comes in and asks for a shot of Sylk with the backup dancers, but Sylk coldly states that "…they don't matter, they're just backup." To get back at Sylk, Billie walks out while singing a line from the song, revealing her voice. The DJ immediately follows Billie outside so we can watch her get told how wonderful she is for the sixth or seventh time in the film's first twenty minutes. Can you tell why so many films about aspiring singers suck ass?
The DJ compliments Billie while talking in that awful, ersatz 'street' voice I'd hoped I'd heard the last of once "Marky" Mark Wahlberg switched from rapping to acting. He informs Billie of something she already knows, that producer/agent Timothy's been "ghosting you!" Apparently Billie is too dense to understand this highly technical record-biz terminology as she asks the DJ what that means. He actually explains that her voice has been used for Sylk's, to clue-in those audience members who fell asleep during the credits and just awoke at this very moment. He tells her she can't let that happen. He also introduces himself to her as "Dice… like 'lucky seven!'", as he's now aware every word must be carefully explained to her.
We return to the club because it's been almost four minutes since we've seen people in ugly clothing dancing to thankfully-outdated music. DJ Dice has returned and wants to pass his mike through the crowd, allowing anyone to sing. Oh God, is this gonna suck. The first guy he hands off to does a little rap that was unoriginal even back in 1983: "To da beat, y'all... to da beat, y'all... I go on-an-on-an-on-an-on…" For another variety of punishment, a plain-looking woman raps, "Don't get too close to my fine behine… 'cause me and my man got a masta plan!" I'm beginning to develop my own master plan, which is to locate this woman and sever her vocal cords.
I guess we only had to suffer through those two horrid performances in order to make Billie's performance next seem even better. Dice hands the mike to her while the people in the background become a blur and everything moves in magical slow motion. She sings and the crowd predictably goes way too nuts, as if they've just been awarded free spandex for life. After the show, Dice and Billie are outside yet again, and he tells her she's something special yada... yada... YET AGAIN. This film may be the most time-consuming piece of masturbation ever seen in public; I'm not sure though, I'll have to check the running time on Star Trek V. Dice now offers to take her away from Timothy and produce her himself. As per her routine, Billie hesitates then gives in after about three seconds of prodding. I'm reminded of Will Ferrell's character in the Austin Powers films where he'd answer any question only after the fourth time, except that was ridiculous ON PURPOSE. As Billie walks away, Dice asks how he can reach her; she smiles, replying with "You're lucky seven, right? You can figure it out!" Sure, he can figure it out, I mean there are only so many people in Hamilton... I mean New York. The camera closes in on Billie's smiling, vapid face as some firecracker sparks are superimposed over her, apropos of absolutely nothing. Auteur!
In a fancy bar, Dice walks up to Timothy to discuss Billie and her two girlfriends. Timothy doesn't want to give them up, so Dice threatens not to play any of his artists in his club anymore. Timothy then pulls a Billie as he changes his mind and discusses price: "You gonna have to reimburse Daddy." No, there wasn't some gay subtext going on, not that I know of anyway. They work out a price of one hundred thousand dollars, which Dice agrees to pay. It must be good to be a DJ in New York.
Another sped-up transition shot ensues, this time of the Statue of Liberty, only about a seven-hour drive from where the next scene was shot. The girls are in a studio rented by Dice, the wealthiest full-time club DJ in history. More lame electronic music plays and Billie starts singing I Didn't Mean to Turn You On, which was a mildly embarrassing hit for Robert Palmer. After a minute or so, the creeping feeling that I'm going to hear the entire song takes over and I'm nearly correct on that thought, unfortunately. The rest of the song transitions into yet another goddamned club where buddies Louise and Roxanne are now Billie's backup dancers. I use the term 'dancers' loosely as it looks more like Louise and Roxanne are just doing drunken jumping jacks.
Taking a break, Dice and Billie hang out and some small-record-label guy in a shiny shirt introduces himself. He tells Billie his boss is around and would love to sign her, excitedly bragging, "He just signed Chilly D!" Chilly D, eh? 'Nuff said! Dice hesitates now and tells Billie they should hold out for the big-time major record labels, like EMI, CMZ, or Warner Brothers. Hmmm… One of those record labels sounds fake to me, can you tell which one? I wonder if that's the one Billie will eventually sign with. Sorry to spoil the surprise, if there had been one.
The next transition is a sped-up shot of the Chrysler building. Okay, this is officially annoying now. Shit, if they had enough time to shoot all of these transitions in New York, why couldn't they have just filmed the damn movie in New York? Anyway, can you tell what our next setting will be? Another club? Whatever gave you that idea?
Some idiot with that expressionless pop-n-lock face that you just want to punch gyrates then we see some more people pretend like they know how to dance as a bit more padding occurs. Dice hands Billie's tape to the girl DJ and she informs him a rep from CMZ (Ding ding ding!) is here. I'm wondering, what the hell does the 'Z' stand for? I assume 'CM' stands for "craptastic music" but the 'Z'? I think I'm giving this more thought than the screenwriter did. After some more time-wasting dancing that isn't even worth watching to fans of dancing, we see Dorian Harewood in a suit as he meets Dice and Billie. Many of you will remember Dorian from Full Metal Jacket, where he was one of the soldiers that got shot up by a sniper. I feel sorrier for him in this film. Dorian, as 'Guy Richardson", hands Dice a business card while Jack, another exec, tells Billie "That's quite a voice you've got!" Haven't you heard enough of this yet, Mariah? How many orgasms are enough, lady?
