The music man, the music man, how I love the music man.

At a hefty 151 minutes long, this film could have continued for another 2 hours and I'd still want more. I don't think I can say the same for any other film, let alone any other musical. I'm not a big fan of the musical. I enjoy the classics--Singin' in the Rain (1952), The Sound of Music (1965)--and the edgier ones that came along later--Cabaret (1972), Victor/Victoria (1982)--but most of the time I avoid them. There's only so much musical sugary one can stomach in a lifetime (of course, anything with Judy Garland is an exception). Having said all of this, The Music Man (1962) has got to be one of the most delightfully enjoyable movie experiences I've ever, well, experienced.

Composer Meredith Willson started his career as a member of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra and eventually landed in radio working on the Burns & Allen and Jack Benny programs. He also received awards for scoring Chaplin's The Great Dictator (1940) and the Bette Davis tour de force The Little Foxes (1941). Incredibly, The Music Man was his first Broadway musical, and he was well into his 50's by that time. My biggest problem with musicals is, appropriately, the music. There are usually a few great numbers, but very rarely is every song a catchy hit that I find myself humming for the next week or so. And more often than not, the love songs leave much to be desired. The drawn out high notes leave me cringing, and the rest leave me drifting off to sleep. Willson's score, however, contains hit after hit after hit. After hit.

I know some people would have preferred Barbara Cook in the role of Marian, who first portrayed the character on Broadway in 1957, but Shirley Jones is fantastic in this role, and her chemistry with Robert Preston is perfection. Speaking of Preston, can I just say thank God plans with Frank Sinatra and then Cary Grant fell through? As much as I love these fellas I can't imagine anyone else but Preston giving the right amount of sneaky panache or flamboyant trickery to Professor Harold Hill.

There are some excellent supporting roles in this film, including an 8 year old Ron Howard (credited as Ronny) and the Buffalo Bills, arguably the best barber shop quartet, then and now. Above is a video of my favorite musical number, "Marian the Librarian". Unfortunately there isn't enough detail to capture Jones's comedic expressions, or even clearly notice the brilliant flick of the wrist that sends her spectacles flying, but hopefully you get the picture. And if you've seen the film you already know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, I hope you enjoy this little theatrical gem and that it inspires you to seek out the film. Honestly, you will be laughing and grinning for over 2 hours.

Lewton's Leopard Man!

 

Someone actually titled this film The Leopard Man. From what I know of classic Hollywood, the decision was probably made by a cigar-chewing bigwig with no experience actually making films, and plenty of experience making money. He might have said, leaning back in his plush chair, feet up on the desk, "Hey! 'The Leopard Man.' That's a much better title than 'Black Alibi'." And he was right. How can you resist with a title like that? Furthermore, when you realize it was directed by Jacques Tourneur and produced by Val Lewton, well you're even more helpless at this point. This is a terrible film, let's be clear about that from the start. But the title sort of indicates that on its own. It's not trying to hide anything. I've read several reviews of this film, mostly by Lewton fanatics who insist on its greatness. I can't help but shake my head, try as I might to follow their pleeing logic. There's absolutely nothing to analyze or critique, or get into a heated, in depth discussion about. It's pure, silly, dated entertainment. And as long as there's someone to laugh with you, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

Play time with Tati.

The first time I saw this film I couldn't wait to see it again, and before I knew it 7 years went by. Recently, it came to my hometown and was as fresh and wonderful as I remembered. Tati's creation of a sterile, cold and ultra-modern Paris nearly bankrupted him, but I like to think he felt it was worth it. The enormous set presents a conformist, industrial vision of the City of Light devoid of any originality or creativity. Office workers sit in boxes within boxes, all in perfectly aligned rows, the janitor stares blankly at immaculately clean floors, and families live in fully exposed apartments that more closely resemble shop windows than homes. It's a wonderful poke at the modern world and technology posing as progress. Play Time (1967) also happens to contain one of the best party scenes on film (think Holly Golightly's soiree x 10) and is delightfully brightened by Tati's popular character Monsieur Hulot--bumbling and struggling to make sense of it all. In the end, Tati leaves us with a congregation of buses and cars trapped in a roundabout. With nowhere to go they circle round and round and round.