MY MOVIE SHELF: West Side Story

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 6 Days to go: 8

Movie #434:  West Side Story

My mother-in-law bought me West Side Story three Christmases ago because she thought I would like it, and I haven’t watched it even once until today because I am an awful person. I knew stuff about the film, of course — more than I realized I did, it turns out — but before today my only first-hand experience with West Side Story was the backyard garden hose-assisted performance of “Jet Song” in Sleeping With the Enemy. “When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day.”

[At this point you should be really disappointed in the internet for not having this clip readily available anywhere, because it is fantastic.]

I had heard at one point or another that West Side Story was a modern (in the ’60s) remake of Romeo and Juliet, but it would be obvious even if I hadn’t known it going in. The warring gangs of Jets and Sharks are very clearly Montagues and Capulets, with the cross-boundaries love of Tony (Richard Beymer) and Maria (Natalie Wood) being the equivalent of the unlucky Shakespearian lovers, bound to their respective sides by blood, but with neither the heart nor the interest to partake in the pointless rivalry. They fall in love at first sight but are kept apart and have to keep their meetings quiet. There is even a secret wedding ceremony, of sorts, as Tony and Maria role play what it will be like. Then, at the rumble, everyone’s come with weapons hidden on their person just in case, even though it was supposed to be a fair fight — because neither side trusts the other. Tony tries to break things up but Bernardo (George Chakiris) taunts him. Then Riff (Russ Tamblyn) slugs Bernardo and the switchblades come out, which ends when Bernardo accidentally stabs and kills Riff and, lashing out, Tony accidentally stabs and kills Bernardo with Riff’s knife — just as Tybalt killed Mercutio and Romeo killed Tybalt. There is even the misinformation of Maria’s death given to Tony, leading Tony to seek out his own death at the hands of Chino (Jose DeVega), who has vowed to kill him as revenge for his killing Bernardo. And when Tony dies in Maria’s arms, she does, for a moment at least, entertain the thought of taking her own life. It’s an incredibly true homage to the original, decrying the pointlessness and futility of hatred and revenge, and I think anyone familiar with the Shakespeare play would recognize the correlations. West Side Story, though, also brings a lot more to its story to coincide with its modern setting, and it addresses themes that are not just relevant to fifty or sixty years ago but are still pertinent today.

What I really didn’t expect from West Side Story — despite going in knowing it was in part a conflict between whites and Puerto Ricans — was the intense examination of racism in their community, in the police force, and in American society as a whole. Without being preachy or stepping outside of its structure, it reflects how institutional racism is, how it’s tolerated and encouraged in the way we operate and the things we put up with. The police in West Side Story decry the hoodlums, but they clearly favor the Jets, who are white. When they’ve all been fighting, the police ask only which Puerto Ricans are responsible. When whispers of the upcoming Rumble abound, Lieutenant Schrank (Simon Oakland) openly offers to conspire with the Jets to destroy the Sharks, making him a bigger threat and a more destructive force to the neighborhood than either gang, even if it is the gangs who destroy each other in the end.

I also didn’t realize going in how many of these songs I was familiar with already. I knew “Jet Song,” of course, as I previously established. I also had heard “America,” no doubt from any one of a dozen Oscar tributes to the movies, to musicals, to Rita Moreno, or to some combination of the three. It’s a really great song — and also more about race relations than I’d realized. Beyond that, though, I also knew “Tonight” and “I Feel Pretty” (no idea why Dirty Dancing‘s Lisa would choose this to perform now, though) and “Somewhere.” These are all wonderful songs, and I’d never realized how great Natalie Wood was before now. (In Rebel Without a Cause she doesn’t sing, and I’m way too caught up with how goofy these supposed rebels are to pay much attention to her.)

The gangs in West Side Story definitely start off as rather laughable, with the snapping and the dance fighting and the silliness of it all, but the film actually does a great job of making you forget all that as it goes along, and the conflicts carry real weight throughout, so Maria’s pain at the end is authentic and moving. My mother-in-law was right; I do like this movie. I’m sorry for not watching it earlier.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Singin’ in the Rain

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 112 Days to go: 77

Movie #328:  Singin’ in the Rain

It’s no secret that Hollywood loves movies about Hollywood, but a lot of times movies about Hollywood are also just really good — possibly because Hollywood knows itself so well and can make insightful films about its world. Whatever the case, though, Singin’ in the Rain is a smart musical comedy about the world of 1920s Hollywood, and it’s also a lovely, splendid film that basically the whole world enjoys. Why haven’t I seen it before now? (Spoiler alert: I was stupid.)

Gene Kelly’s character (he plays silent movie star Don Lockwood) starts off as kind of smarmy, selling the story of his fame despite it being diametrically opposed from the truth. This is played for comedy, though, and the lightheartedness of it speaks more to the sort of necessary deceptiveness of publicity and not to Don’s character specifically. And Don has to be a good guy, because his best friend Cosmo (Donald O’Connor) is like the best, funniest, sweetest, most adorable guy ever. He’s cute and musical and he had me literally laughing out loud at this “Make ‘Em Laugh” number.

For me, however, the star of Singin’ in the Rain is unquestionably Debbie Reynolds as Kathy. She’s adorable and delightful. She’s funny and spunky and sweet. She’s got a beautiful voice and a huge presence on screen, and when she dances my eye is drawn to her over even the more celebrated Kelly and O’Connor. She’s luminous. She glows. She’s a star, through and through. I could watch her forever.

The other thing I love about Kathy is that she’s got a backbone. She’s not bowled over by big movie star Don Lockwood. In fact, she mistakes him for a thief when they meet (he dropped into her car, so) and when she finds out who he is she isn’t any more impressed by him. And while much of her criticism is borne of bravado and not entirely sincere, she still makes him take a closer look at himself and reevaluate his career. She makes him better, and that’s a character arc (and a romantic storyline) that I can get behind.

The movie also broadly supports giving creative credit for an artist’s work, even if it’s behind the scenes, and considering the time period it’s set in, when studios and not artists had all the power in films — not to mention the period in which it was made, when many artists were still contracted to studios and couldn’t work outside them — it seems like a bold and powerful statement. Of course I can watch a film like this in 2015 and say “obviously voice artists should get credit for their work,” but that wasn’t always the popular opinion, nor was it always in practice. So Singin’ in the Rain feels important to me in that way, in addition to just being a whole lot of fun.

The songs in Singin’ in the Rain are of course great, but it’s the dances that take your breath away. Beautiful, intricate choreography is featured throughout that is both uplifting and amazing to watch. So much so that I don’t even mind the elaborate, way-too-long dream sequence production of “Broadway Melody,” but that might be because it features the impeccable Cyd Charisse — just one more addition to the spectacular dancers performing throughout the film. It really does just make you feel better to see it, which is one reason I will never understand people who don’t like musicals. Do they hate happiness too?

I do not hate happiness, which is why I’m so glad to have finally watched this film. I’d blame my previous reluctance on not knowing how great it was, but literally at least a half-dozen people whose opinions I greatly esteem have told me how much they love Singin’ in the Rain and I still never got around to seeing it. I guess I was just stupid and lazy about it; there’s really no better explanation. Thankfully, I’ve fixed that problem now.

 

MY MOVIE SHELF: An American in Paris

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 113 Days to go: 77

Movie #327:  An American in Paris

An American in Paris is a weird movie. Like, I’m pretty sure it’s making jokes in a lot of places, but I definitely don’t get them. I’m wondering if different things were funny in the ’50s. Also, the movie centers around Jerry (Gene Kelly) seeing Lise (Leslie Caron) in a Paris nightclub and basically harassing her to go out with him, which she continually rebuffs in no uncertain terms until he proves himself a stalker who shows up at her job and interferes with her customers. So she pretends to laugh at his jokes and agrees to go out with him, I assume to get him to go away. But then suddenly she decides she likes him (stalkers really are so charming in their persistence) and they start dating (in secret, for reasons), only almost all of their dating is covered in montage so there’s not any actual character development or investment in their relationship. It’s like The Lion King of flimsy Fifties musicals. And after all that, the movie ends on nearly twenty minutes of a dialogue-free dance number dream sequence (with a final nod to the real world of the film at the very last second). Then it’s over.

There’s not even a real conflict to the film, other than Lise’s completely unwillingness to go out with this jerk who won’t leave her alone, despite the movie’s half-hearted attempt to build one. See, Jerry is a painter who has always been a starving artist but has recently found himself a benefactress in rich society lady Milo Roberts (Nina Foch). Milo clearly likes Jerry, as a painter and as a handsome man, but he’s some weirdo who can’t just be complimented by a woman and date her if she likes without making it a weird thing about money, so instead she has to act like she doesn’t like him and he pretends he isn’t seeing someone else. Meanwhile Lise is seeing Henri (Georges Guetary) — who’s a friend of a friend of Jerry’s — basically because she feels obligated to since he protected her during WWII? It’s weird. Anyway, so she hides her montage relationship with Jerry from Henri and he hides it from Milo and it’s supposed to be some sort of hilarious romp that Jerry and Henri’s mutual friend Adam (Oscar Levant) is the only one to figure out they’re in love with the same woman, but it’s not, really. I mean, the fact that the movie is all set-up and minimal action kind of undermines its effectiveness. Fortunately, for An American in Paris, the plot is utterly beside the point.

The only reason for me to watch An American in Paris — and, incidentally, also the best reason for anyone to watch it — is to see Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron dance. What Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers did for ballroom dancing in films, I really wish Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron had been able to do for tap, ballet and jazz dancing. They are so great. The control Caron has over her body movements is mesmerizing and hypnotic, and Kelly’s about a thousand times more charming when he’s dancing than when he’s not. It’s like art in motion, watching these two move. I could do it forever. I especially love Caron’s introduction as Lise, when Henri is attempting to describe her to Adam, so she’s no more than a concept, and she’s seen inhabiting these different personality traits and ideas as different styles of dances. It’s more lovely and telling and insightful than anything else in the entire film. And it’s gorgeous, to boot.

An American in Paris also has quite a few memorable, well-known songs in it, but oddly none of them were written for the film, just appropriated after the fact. They’re all standards, so of course they’ve been around for ages, but even standards have to start somewhere. I would’ve been much more impressed if they’d started here. Not that it makes them less enjoyable or catchy or that I’m at all less likely to be humming them for the remainder of the day, but considering what a covetous award the Best Original Song Oscar has become, it’s odd to me to find a movie musical not even trying for it. It won Best Picture, for crying out loud; it could’ve won Best Original Song with any decent attempt.

So I can’t say An American in Paris is a movie I particularly care for or will watch again, but I’m glad I watched it now, if only for the spectacular dance numbers. (And there are several.) I could be convinced to revisit the film just to absorb those again. Plus, Leslie Caron is lovely. If she, at nineteen, were really “getting on” and not really a beauty, as Lise is described by Henri, then what chance do the rest of us have?

 

MY MOVIE SHELF: The Sound of Music

 

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 175  Days to go: 122

Movie #263:  The Sound of Music

Back when you only had three television channels to choose from, or maybe even into the early days of cable when there were a dozen or so, I remember once or twice a year (usually around Easter and again at Thanksgiving, maybe), someone would broadcast The Sound of Music. It was a tradition, and I loved it the way we love all our traditions. The songs are like old friends, and watching and singing along feels like home.

The thing about getting used to the broadcast version, though, is that the full film is significantly longer and full of all kinds of superfluous crap. Okay, it’s not crap, but it is easy to understand why it would be edited out. I mean, there are long stretches of nothing but shots of mountains and buildings over the score. It also probably doesn’t need an intermission, but I guess people in the ’60s weren’t okay with sitting in a theater for three consecutive hours without a break.

The story, of course, is about a young nun candidate named Maria (Julie Andrews, always at her best when taking care of children and singing) who is, among other things, a “flibbertijibbet, a will-o-the-wisp, a clown.” I actually really like the song “Maria” for the underlying implication that a normal girl is not a model of perfection but a basic human person who can be stubborn and flighty, who can be both an angel and a headache. As a mother, I assure you this is the case for all children and adolescents of any gender.

Of course, what I never really realized when I was younger is that Maria was no doubt barely a few years older than the oldest von Trapp child, 16-year-old Liesl (Charmain Carr), when she came to be their governess — even though Julie Andrews was 29 during filming. Then again, Charmain Carr was 21 or 22 during filming, which would be like Maria being 23 or 24 to Liesl’s 16. Maybe that’s not too off base.

I don’t know if I can pick a favorite song, really. I’ve always loved “Sixteen Going on Seventeen,” but the weird shadow over Liesl’s teeth at her closing squeal makes it look like she’s missing at least three. “My Favorite Things” is of course delightful, but I resent it being played on holiday music channels at Christmas time simply because it mentions snowflakes and “brown paper packages tied up with strings.” That could be any package, people. That’s how normal mail used to be delivered. Mail is not indicative of Christmas.

Then there’s “So Long, Farewell,” which is great and a perennial crowd-pleaser, but if someone seriously thinks it’s better than “The Lonely Goatherd,” they’re crazy. It comes with flirting marionettes! I also have a soft spot for “Something Good,” because I do honestly feel blessed and lucky to have the life that I do, and I adore “Confidence” for the goofy authoritative way Maria’s like “they will look up to ME, AND MIND ME,” plus its sort of non-sequitur stream of consciousness lyrics. “The Sound of Music” is good but ubiquitous, and neither “Edelweiss” nor “Climb Every Mountain” are in the running, obviously, so that leaves “Do-Re-Mi,” to which I say: “So, do, la, fa, mi, do, re. So, do, la, ti, DO, RE, DO.” That’s right, I even know the nonsense lyrics of that one. Yes, even the double-time ones: “Do mi mi, mi so so, re fa fa, la ti ti!” Hey, “when you know the notes to sing, you can sing most anything.” If not for the whole vocal talent issue, I think that would be absolutely true. “Do-Re-Mi” it is!

There are some other plot things, particularly involving Baroness von Schraeder (Eleanor Parker), but since she can’t sing and can’t play ball and actively places a wedge between Maria and Georg (Christopher Plummer) by scaring Maria back to the Abbey, I don’t have much use for her. I bet she’d never even make play clothes out of curtains, for Pete’s sake. The most whimsical thing she does, as far as I can tell, is drink pink lemonade.

In the end, sure, there’s a whole thing about escaping the Nazis, but the real question of the film, “How do you solve a problem like Maria,” is answered thusly: Marry her off to Georg von Trapp and suddenly all that hot honeymoon sex will make her wise and settled beyond her years.

Marriage is obviously the way you control any of the outlandish females in your life. Take note! (It’s much easier to accept when explained in song form.)

MY MOVIE SHELF: Moulin Rouge!

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 192  Days to go: 197

Movie #185:  Moulin Rouge!

If you’re looking for a movie that’s wildly theatrical, over the top and amazing, director Baz Luhrmann is the gold standard. It’s his signature style and I don’t know anyone who does it better. His films are glorious spectacles — feasts for the eyes. Though not my favorite of his films, Moulin Rouge! is the best, most shining example of this .

Set in 1899 Paris and the “Bohemian revolution,” a young writer named Christian (Ewan McGregor) happens into an opportunity to pen the show “Spectacular, Spectacular” for production at the Moulin Rouge club. Championed by Toulouse-Lautrec (John Leguizamo), he goes there one evening to win over the star, a courtesan named Satine (Nicole Kidman), with his poetry so she will approve of him taking over the show’s script. Meanwhile, Satine is being encouraged by her manager Harold Zidler (Jim Broadbent, being amazing and virtually unrecognizable) to quote-unquote entertain a Duke in attendance that evening (Richard Roxburgh) to get him to invest in the show. Naturally, Satine mistakes Christian for the Duke and attempts to seduce him, but his earnest adoration (and impeccable singing of modern tunes) captivates her and she falls for him. Unlike a lot of those mistaken identity stories, this misunderstanding is rectified almost immediately and the real tension of the film comes from Satine trying to hide her growing love for Christian from the Duke while also stringing the Duke along so as not to jeopardize the show or the club. Also, she’s dying. (Any woman who coughs roughly in the first act of an old-timey story, must die of consumption in the third. It’s Chekov’s tuberculosis.)

The real draw, though, and the thing that sets Moulin Rouge! truly apart, are the musical performances to popular songs from the twentieth century. Satine does a mash-up of “Material Girl” and its reel world inspiration “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend,” while Madonna gets another nod as Zidler knocks out a great cover of “Like a Virgin.” Elton John’s “Your Song” gets to play very large in the plot, meanwhile, and The Police’s “Roxanne” is featured nicely. The rest of the songs are incredible medleys, from “Zidler’s Rap” featuring “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and a modernized “Lady Marmalade,” to a show-stopper on top of Satine’s elephant that brings together nearly every iconic love song it can think of (by everyone from The Beatles to U2 to Dolly Parton) as part of a unique call and response.

The original music is great, too, though, and the marquee song, “Come What May” lives up to every expectation. It’s a powerful, anthemic, soaring love song that builds passion and hope in equal measure. The ridiculous rules technicality that kept it from Oscar eligibility  is just another reason the Best Original Song category needs a serious revamp (not that I begrudge Randy Newman winning his first Oscar, but come on). As far as I’m concerned that was the best original song in a movie that year.

I know a lot of people who shirk Moulin Rouge! because of its crazy, flamboyant, musical nature, and if that’s not typically your thing, fine. I get it. But I think Moulin Rouge! is the type of film that’s surprisingly, unexpectedly enjoyable for those who go in not really into it, and incredibly fabulous for everyone already predisposed to like it. So it’s a win-win. What more can you ask for? Kylie Minogue as an absinthe fairy hallucination? Done!

MY MOVIE SHELF: Mamma Mia!

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 202  Days to go: 206

Movie #175:  Mamma Mia!

I find it infinitely fascinating that some random ABBA fan decided their songbook told a story and arranged an entire stage play around it. (So fascinating, in fact, that a few months ago I was listening to my Dixie Chicks CDs and had the same thought. I’ve been working on it ever since. Call me, Broadway!) That the musical eventually became a movie isn’t much of a surprise, though some of the casting certainly was.

I think we can all agree that Meryl Streep is the greatest actress that ever lived (my high school English and Drama teacher used to talk about her worshipfully, like a zealot talking about their god) and no role is beneath her or beyond her abilities, yet I can’t say she was who I expected to take the lead in a musical. Unsurprisingly, she does her typical great work, fully committed to the silliness, the campiness and the melodrama. What’s most amazing, actually, is that she looks no older here than she did in her first “resurgence” (not a resurgence, really, because she never went away, but definitely a moment when she seemed to come back into my decidedly narrow view) when she starred in Death Becomes Her and She Devil.  My point is, the woman is a master of transformation and possessed of limitless skill. There is nothing she can’t do, no role she can’t inhabit completely, whether it requires embodying a terrifying witch or mastering a gnarly accent or becoming a musical virtuoso. I am in awe of her. Always.

The movie, however, is kind of clunky, if I’m being honest. It’s fun and all, and the songs are of course fantastic (curiously, ABBA is before my time and yet I own two ABBA-centric movies), but the plot is kind of one of those things out of the most thinly constructed soap operas or romance novels, in which things that would normally be said right away are left unsaid or half-spoken and so everyone rolls around in misunderstandings for an hour and a half until it all finally gets said at the end. Sophie (Amanda Seyfried) is daughter to Donna (Streep), living on a remote Greek isle and about to get married. The only problem is she wants her father to walk her down the aisle and she’s never known who he is, so she swiped her mom’s old diary and found three possible suspects:  Harry (Colin Firth), Bill (Stellan Skarsgard) and Sam (Pierce Brosnan — the less said about his singing, the better). And invited them all to her wedding, as you do. Which they all accepted, because of course they would. Cue the running around and the craziness until the wedding, when all is resolved.

I enjoy the movie, but the best part about it, by far, are the girlfriend relationships. Sophie has her two bridesmaid best friends there, and they have a giggly, strong, long-standing relationship that is a mirror of the one her mother has with her two best friends and former co-conspirators, Tanya (Christine Baranski, who is equally perfect in a wide-array of unexpected roles) and Rosie (Julie Walters, who is virtually unrecognizable as the same woman who played Molly Weasley).

Tanya and Rosie are loud and exuberant and tons of fun. They like to sing, they like to party, they like to support their friend and also help to save her from herself. They are bold and outspoken and sexually adventurous and alive and joyful in ways a lot of middle-aged women are not at all portrayed in film. They are, unequivocally, the best. I basically would like to cultivate this exact same relationship with every kickass chick I know, though sadly most of them live several states away. Still, I have hope of one day travelling to exotic locales with a bunch of girlfriends and having a wild, crazy time. It’s like a life goal.

Please help me fulfill my life goal, ladies.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Little Shop of Horrors

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 207  Days to go: 210

Movie #170:  Little Shop of Horrors

I love this movie so much, and I haven’t watched it in ages, which is a grievous error on my part. Sitting here tonight, singing all the songs, was the most fun I’ve had all week, and my toddler’s reaction to little Audrey II (the voice of Levi Stubbs) was so amazing all I want to do is replicate it. (She loves music and loves to dance, so I was fully prepared for her to really get into all the great music, but I could never have predicted her jumping in fright, covering her mouth and then her eyes with her hands, and making the most exaggerated “oh no” face ever upon seeing that little plant snapping at Seymour’s fingers for the first time. It was incredible.)

So Little Shop of Horrors is a movie musical based on a stage musical based on a movie, and it is spectacular. Seymour (Rick Moranis) is a poor little schlub working in a Skid Row flower shop that belongs to Mr. Mushnik (Vincent Gardenia), and hopelessly in love with co-worker Audrey (Ellen Greene). But a strange an unusual plant — which he’s dubbed the Audrey II (*squeak*) — has recently entered his life, and everything changes. It takes place in a generic city, in the generic early ’60s, but it makes excellent use of its time and place by performing some of the greatest Motown-sounding songs in any musical. But even more important than the songs are the fashions.

Tisha Campbell, Tichina Arnold and Michelle Weeks play Chiffon, Crystal and Ronette, a sort of ’60s girl group Greek chorus, and they were the most amazing outfits. As city girls, they’re dressed in standard street clothing, but any time they start to sing (either backup or lead), they’re suddenly in matching dresses, from pink satin to red fringe to green kimonos, that are gorgeous and vibrant and I covet them desperately. Always have.

The songs, though, are also great, and perfect for a boisterous sing-along. “Little Shop of Horrors” is a great title song, but the opening ensemble number — “Skid Row” — is ambitious and layered and truly amazing. Meanwhile, Greene’s solo “Somewhere That’s Green” is idyllic and hopeful while still being silly and teasing of the early ’60s suburban lifestyle, and her part in “Suddenly Seymour” is an opportunity to belt like you wouldn’t believe (to be honest, Rick Moranis is surprisingly no slouch either). And the movie’s a comedy, so there are some really funny songs too, like “Some Fun Now,” and everything by Audrey II is hilarious and menacing at the same time, but nothing beats Steve Martin’s “Dentist!”

As Orin Scrivello, D.D.S., Steve Martin is a sadistic marvel (okay, okay, “semi-sadist”). He fully commits to this violent, hostile, gleefully awful man. It’s so funny and great, from his Elvis lip-curl, to his little high-pitched “so”, to his motorcycle that continues rolling until he stops it with a look. And when Bill Murray shows up as Arthur Denton, a dentist-fetishist, the comedy sparks fly everywhere. If you ever catch me screaming “candy bar” over and over for no discernible reason, this movie is why. (Like I said, I haven’t seen the movie in ages, I still think the “candy bar” line at least once a month.)

When I was a kid, we bought Little Shop of Horrors on video and my mother and I watched it dozens of times. Neither of us could get enough of the songs, of the comedy, of Audrey’s crazy high voice. It’s all perfection, and we didn’t want it to end. “But that’s tough titty, kid.”

Luckily, when this DVD gets to the end, it starts right back over at the beginning, like a gift from movie heaven. “Da-DOO!”

MY MOVIE SHELF: Fiddler on the Roof

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 267  Days to go: 261

Movie #110: Fiddler on the Roof

I was in a production of Fiddler on the Roof in high school (not as a named character — my mother always told me I was an awful singer, so I was terrified to ever audition for anything other than chorus). Drama was actually my favorite class the one year it was available, and my participation in our school theater productions was the only thing I really cared about in high school, so Fiddler on the Roof holds a special nostalgic place in my heart. And while I understand and appreciate the film’s (and original stage musical’s) ruminations on faith and tradition, and the mindless, pointless persecution of Jews going back years before the Holocaust, for me the film will always be about a girl pulling away from her parents, forging her own path, and marrying the man she loves. Okay, technically it’s about three girls doing that, but you get the idea.

Tevye (Topol) is the patriarch of his family in Anatevka, Russia, early in the 20th century, before WWI and the Russian Revolution. Their town is split between Jews and Christians, with both sides steeped in culture and tradition. One of the traditions is that of matchmaking, where the woman assigned the role of Matchmaker (Yente, played by Molly Picon) will try to find husbands for the eligible daughters of the town. Tevye and his wife Golde (Norma Crane), as it happens, have five daughters. In the playful and iconic song “Matchmaker,” the three oldest daughters — Tzeitel, Hodel and Chava (played by Rosalind Harris, Michele Marsh and Neva Small) — sing first of their romantic ideal of a husband: “For Papa, make him a scholar, for Mama, make him rich as a king. For me, well, I wouldn’t holler if he were as handsome as anything!” The song turns, then, to the harsher realities of matchmaking — that they have no choice in the man, that he may be old or fat or abusive or a drunk, or all of the above. The lyrics become hesitant and wary as the girls hope the Matchmaker remembers they are still young, still have years before they need to marry. “Playing with matches a girl can get burned.” They resolve that they don’t want any match at all, unless he is their perfect match. Unfortunately, the Matchmaker has other plans.

Over the course of the movie, each of the three oldest daughters approaches her father with the man she loves, asking his permission to marry. Tzeitel, it turns out, had pledged to marry the tailor Motel (Leonard Frey) over a year earlier, and while this insults Tevye’s position as the head of the household and the traditions of their culture, he wants his daughter to be happy. He knows that Motel is a poor man, but a good Jewish one, and he will take care of Tzeitel. So he gives his permission and gets Tzeitel out of Yente’s plan for her to marry Lazar Wolf (Paul Mann) via elaborate dream sequence that involves Lazar’s deceased first wife threatening to kill Tzeitel from the grave. (Poor Lazar Wolf, relegated to living the rest of his life in loneliness because of Tevye’s machinations.)

Each progressive daughter, however, pushes the limits of Tevye’s indulgence. Hodel wants to marry a poor student revolutionary (Perchik, played by original Starsky, Paul Michael Glaser) who has no occupation or means of support at all. But at least he’s a man of faith, and a learned one at that. When he gets arrested and sent to Siberia, Hodel leaves to find work there and live by his side. She gives up everything for love, but Tevye finds there’s more to give. Chava gives up even her own faith and family when she falls in love with a Christian and Tevye forbids her marriage outside their faith. Chava disobeys him and elopes with Fyedka (Raymond Lovelock), and Tevye disowns her completely. She is dead to him.

I may not have ever defied my parents to that extent, or even been held to such a standard, but I know well the driving need for a girl to come into her own, to find her own way and to live her own life. And to be honest, I’ve sympathized but never supported Tevye over the affront to his ideals — certainly not as a teenage girl, but even now as a parent, I can’t condone his treatment of Chava. My role as a parent is to help guide my children into adulthood, to help them live their best lives, not to hinder them. And my love as a parent, my hope for my children’s happiness, trumps any other hopes or desires I have for their futures. Obviously I would never think of dictating who my children marry — it’s a different time now, completely — but I also would never force them into a specific career or faith or lifestyle. All I want is for them to be good people, productive individuals, healthy and happy and fulfilled. What more could any parent want?

As a movie, though, I will always love Fiddler on the Roof. I will love the music and the struggle and the love Tevye expresses when he wishes “God be with you” to Chava and Fyedka as they leave for Krakow. And knowing the events that will come to Krakow and all of Poland in the coming years, I hope beyond hope that Chava and her family, and Tzeitel and her family (not to mention Hodel and her family in Siberia), all make it to New York one day to reunite with Tevye and Golde and the younger girls who, now that they’ve been forced out of their little Jewish community, (“Chicago, America? We’re going to New York, America. We’ll be neighbors!”) might not have to marry the boys the Matchmaker set for them either.

It may be silly to get this invested in a movie, but I’m always hoping girls in films (and, by extension, the girls in real life who will be influenced by what they see in the world around them) will strive for more, will fight for independence, will find a way to live the lives of their choices, rather than the choices others make for them. It’s my greatest passion.

“The world is changing, Papa.”

MY MOVIE SHELF: Evita

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 276  Days to go: 268

Movie #101: Evita

Evita marks the coming together of so many things that I love: movie musicals, feminist stories, the Argentine Tango (though I would not know that was what it was until Dancing With The Stars informed me, many years later), songs that resonated with me emotionally, clever lyrics, Madonna and baby news. It would seem odd if I didn’t adore it, honestly, but of course I do.

Madonna has often said that the role of Evita was one she was born to play, and I believe her. As the film portrays her, Eva (Evita) Peron was a woman of great ambition and passion. She was used and exploited by men, and so she used and exploited them right back. She wanted to be famous, and she wasn’t going to settle for anything less than it all. That sounds exactly like Madonna to me.

Also like Madonna is the fact that a woman who exploits her own sexuality and displays bald ambition and performs calculated moves is someone to be reviled and looked down upon — certainly the case with Eva. A man’s ambition is something to be proud of, a woman’s ambition is something to scorn. But despite the detractors, Evita and Madonna both managed to become exactly what they wanted to be, with millions of devotees and a worldwide stage.

Evita is of course based on the Broadway musical of the same name, but unlike other stage-to-screen adaptations, this one is performed entirely in song. Entirely. There are a couple whispered or spoken interludes, but they’re still almost always accompanied by music, meaning essentially the whole thing is sung. That’s a tricky feat to pull off, especially with so many people disdainful of the musical already, but even more so without the framing and structure of spoken dialogue to provide context and support to the music. In Evita, the only framing comes in the form of Ché (Antonio Banderas), an Everyman figure who narrates and provides commentary on the film’s events. He’s the bartender in the restaurant, the worker in the factories, the protester marching in the streets. He represents the poor of Argentina — the people Eva appealed to and, in some cases, those who felt let down by her. It’s a startlingly ambitious musical (again, much like Evita herself) to combine the complex and volatile history of Argentinian politics in the 1940s with the story of the life and death of Eva Peron, but Ché is there to help guide us through the transitions (through all the songs), and it works beautifully.

Being largely unfamiliar with Argentinian politics, I can’t say the movie succeeds quite as well as it would like to with making the audience care about the rise of the Labor Party or the accusations of fascism or the supposed disapproval of the military and of Juan Peron’s (Jonathan Pryce) advisers toward his relationship with Eva, but it definitely resonates emotionally with the story of the rise of Eva herself. Madonna’s first scenes are of her waking up with a singer visiting her little town. She’s supposed to be fifteen here, but I’ll allow it since actually having a girl who looked fifteen waking up with this obviously much older man (he even looks older than Madonna) would be gross. She’s smitten with him and believes he loves her, that he’s going to take her away with him to Buenos Aires now. (“Would I have done what I did if I hadn’t thought — if I hadn’t known — we would stay together.”) She’s full of hopes and dreams and spitfire, and though you see her companion clearly doesn’t want her with him, it’s still a blow when she follows him to his home, where he is greeted by his wife and children.

From there she transitions to the song “Another Suitcase in Another Hall,” which I listened to incessantly in early 1997. The last few months of 1996 had been bad ones for me, and 1997 started off as a challenge as well. I was lost, I was floundering, and I wasn’t sure where to go next. When Evita came out on Christmas Day 1996, this was the song that spoke to me. It fully captured the lack of direction and focus I felt, the essence of being at sea and alone. “Being used to trouble, I anticipate it. But all the same I hate it — wouldn’t you?” The lyrics spoke to me — all of them — but no more than here:

“Time and time again I’ve said that I don’t care,
That I’m immune to gloom, that I’m hard through and through.
But every time it matters all my words desert me,
So anyone can hurt me–and they do.”

Having been put down and derided my whole life, I’d developed something of an armored exterior. I would be cool, be “chill,” be “like one of the guys.” But inside I was always the same vulnerable girl who never belonged anywhere, who no one ever noticed, who couldn’t count on anyone to ever be there for her. It still creeps up on me now, sometimes. So with these lines, I felt a kinship with Evita — and with Madonna — as if, at least in that infinitesimal, insignificant way, I was understood. You can watch and listen to the whole song here:

The next song, “Goodnight and Thank You,” is also one of my favorites, as it explains and justifies Evita’s upward mobility, complete with obscene hand gestures from Banderas. And while “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina” is the signature for a reason — it’s a sweeping, anthemic, regal song, the simple strains of “You Must Love Me,” an original composition written especially for the film, is quite lovely and affecting. I also appreciate how, when it won the Oscar for Best Original Song, Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber thanked (the wretchedly awful eventual Best Picture winner) The English Patient for not having any songs. It’s the little things.

Some other little things I love about Evita are sprinkled throughout — like how the tango is danced for all occasions and to express all emotions: sadness, lust, celebration, whatever. Or how the lyrics of “Another Suitcase in Another Hall” are reprised by Juan Peron’s mistress when Eva takes over the role. Or how there’s a sly line about “okay, she can’t act,” which also is a criticism that’s followed Madonna herself quite a bit, though she accomplishes some excellent work here. Or how Banderas was an obsession of Madonna’s once upon a time, appearing in Truth or Dare as the little known Spanish actor he was in 1991, who despite her obvious lust, wasn’t interested in her at all. It feels like the best inside joke of all time. Or how Madonna found out she was pregnant with Lourdes while filming, and you can maybe see evidence of a little tummy in a few of her scenes.

Evita is a difficult musical to love, really, but it does hold a lot of sentimental meaning for me, so I hold it in very high regard. And every now and then, I pull it down off the shelf and sing for a solid two hours and fifteen minutes.