Kelly Wand42nd Street
January 3rd 2007 03:19
It is quietly surprising watching a film like “42nd Street.” There was a time I hated musicals simply because I hated their lack of realism. By that, I don’t mean I was upset about the way people suddenly began singing at inopportune moments. I sing at inopportune moments. I do it all the time. That wasn’t the problem at all.
I’m sure Holden Caulfield would have some god damn thing to say about how phoney that stuff was. Old Mrs Crabapple is going to close down the orphanage and sell the children’s ponies as dog food.
“I know what we can do, Judy,” the forty year old midget barks between puffs on his Havana cigar. “We can put on a show.”
“Thank heavens we sorted that out. Now little rays of sunshine can once again beam down from heaven and fill our lives with joy and happiness. Or they will if that runaway truck doesn’t ground the bones of our leading lady into dust.”
Splat!
“Judy, you just have to go and take her place. The orphans are counting on you.”
“But, I’m a wheelchair bound cripple and I’m tone deaf to boot.”
“Listen, a little music solves everything.”
Was I just lazy as I watched these films on television? No. Actually a lot of them really were that bad. But then I watched “Cabaret”. “Cabaret” is a musical but it is barely a musical. It is set in a real world and features real people; people whose lives seemed as messy and tangled as real life tends to get.
Later, I saw “West Side Story” again and I realised it wasn’t nearly as dumb and antiseptic as I had remembered it being. It was not just about love, it was about racism and poverty. Songs like “America” weren’t actually patriotic jingles. Okay, I’d seen it before when I was about six so maybe the finer points had escaped me but it did make me wonder what else I was missing out on.
I’d never actually seen “42nd Street” until last night. If I told you the plot, it would stick out as a cliché but, at least in this case, the cliché started here. The cast are putting on a show. The star breaks her leg and a new star is born. (You probably know this plot from “Showgirls”.)
Okay, so there’s nothing all that exciting there. There is, however, the kind of brilliant editing that upstarts think they are inventing. Busby Berkley’s dance routines are exceptional in design and execution and should be watched by anyone with half an interest in visual design.
What amazes me, however, is the messiness of the characters lives. There is none of that nauseating wholesomeness that seemed to arrive in the late thirties and hung around for way too long afterwards. This is a Warner Brothers’ movie and it shares some of the same kind of grit they added to their Gangster fare. More importantly, the melodrama and banal show business smiles are undercut with razor sharp dialogue and a very dark cynicism. The shot of the director standing outside the theatre as he listens to the comments of the audience as they depart is quite shockingly bleak.
I enjoyed this film enormously which isn’t bad considering it would now easily qualify for its pension.
I’m sure Holden Caulfield would have some god damn thing to say about how phoney that stuff was. Old Mrs Crabapple is going to close down the orphanage and sell the children’s ponies as dog food.
“I know what we can do, Judy,” the forty year old midget barks between puffs on his Havana cigar. “We can put on a show.”
“Thank heavens we sorted that out. Now little rays of sunshine can once again beam down from heaven and fill our lives with joy and happiness. Or they will if that runaway truck doesn’t ground the bones of our leading lady into dust.”
Splat!
“Judy, you just have to go and take her place. The orphans are counting on you.”
“But, I’m a wheelchair bound cripple and I’m tone deaf to boot.”
“Listen, a little music solves everything.”
Was I just lazy as I watched these films on television? No. Actually a lot of them really were that bad. But then I watched “Cabaret”. “Cabaret” is a musical but it is barely a musical. It is set in a real world and features real people; people whose lives seemed as messy and tangled as real life tends to get.
Later, I saw “West Side Story” again and I realised it wasn’t nearly as dumb and antiseptic as I had remembered it being. It was not just about love, it was about racism and poverty. Songs like “America” weren’t actually patriotic jingles. Okay, I’d seen it before when I was about six so maybe the finer points had escaped me but it did make me wonder what else I was missing out on.
I’d never actually seen “42nd Street” until last night. If I told you the plot, it would stick out as a cliché but, at least in this case, the cliché started here. The cast are putting on a show. The star breaks her leg and a new star is born. (You probably know this plot from “Showgirls”.)
Okay, so there’s nothing all that exciting there. There is, however, the kind of brilliant editing that upstarts think they are inventing. Busby Berkley’s dance routines are exceptional in design and execution and should be watched by anyone with half an interest in visual design.
What amazes me, however, is the messiness of the characters lives. There is none of that nauseating wholesomeness that seemed to arrive in the late thirties and hung around for way too long afterwards. This is a Warner Brothers’ movie and it shares some of the same kind of grit they added to their Gangster fare. More importantly, the melodrama and banal show business smiles are undercut with razor sharp dialogue and a very dark cynicism. The shot of the director standing outside the theatre as he listens to the comments of the audience as they depart is quite shockingly bleak.
I enjoyed this film enormously which isn’t bad considering it would now easily qualify for its pension.
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