Serjeant Buzfuz, who had proceeded with such volubility that his face was perfectly crimson, here paused for breath. The silence awoke Mr. Justice Starleigh, who immediately wrote down something with a pen without any ink in it, and looked unusually profound, to impress the jury with the belief that he always thought most deeply with his eyes shut.

Plaintiff, counsel, jury, and judge--that's nearly the whole line-up. You couldn't present a much baser version of the lot, short of showing them knowingly engaging in illegal misconduct.

Which is just what Chicago does. Still, I'd say its cynicism about the justice system is greater than Dickens's only in degree, not kind. (At first I thought to say he wouldn't joke about murder, but then I read the interpolated legend about the imprisoned Prince Bladud, who "naturally began to ruminate on a plan of escape, which, after months of preparation, he managed to accomplish; considerately leaving his dinner knife in the heart of his gaoler, lest the poor fellow (who had a family) should be considered privy to his flight, and punished accordingly by the infuriated king" (ch.XXXVI).) The histrionic trial in Pickwick certainly casts a dim light on all that people said about Chicago's pointing out specifically American forms of depravity.

Here, in a 23 March 2003 New York Times editorial reprinted by Global Aware, Frank Rich presents an appropriately skeptical resume of the musical play's reception as topical commentary:

When Watkins's play was reborn as a Bob Fosse musical on Broadway in 1975, it was seen as reflecting the cynicism of Watergate; the onstage band played a sardonic "Battle Hymn of the Republic" at the finale. When the musical was revived in 1996 - in the production still running on Broadway - Billy Flynn was identified with Johnnie Cochran and Roxie with O. J. Simpson. This year Miramax, the studio that produced the film "Chicago," is trumpeting the movie's social relevance in one of the relentless commercials of its Oscar campaign. The movie is "all about American institutions being corrupt," says its director, Rob Marshall, as we see black-and-white photographs of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein and of the disgraced Richard Nixon's departure from the White House.

Of course, Rich's analysis of the movie's reception is itself an example of irrelevant and flabby political guff, seeing irony in its popularity at the same time that George W. Bush is, to his mind, historically dishonoring the Presidency. (As an overwrought analysis of nothing, Rich's column exceeds Serjeant Buzfuz's "Chops and Tomata sauce" oration.) Rich's skepticism about other people's notions is nonetheless well-placed.

For instance, in the 27 December 2002 online edition of Playbill, Bill Condon, the screenwriter of Chicago is quoted as saying: