One of my favourite blogging traditions of this season is StinkyLulu’s supporting actress blog-a-thon. I can’t profess as unmitigated a love for the category as our venerable host, but time and time again it’s the supporting women who offer up surprising gems that, of course, go unnoticed. One of the terrible things about being deprived of sleep and overly busy, though, is missing out on events like these which meant I took some time to compile a post, or even decide on a performance to feature. My decision to choose Blanchard wasn’t rooted in a desire to go against the grain, the fact is I was mulling over the idea of Dianne Wiest in just because she’s so brilliant and then it occurred to me that the mainstay of StinkyLulu’s feature was celebrating those supporting actors forever on the sidelines – but still doing excellent work – which made Tammy Blanchard’s Izzie an obvious one to write on.
Blanchard, probably most noted for her excellent work as Judy Garland in ABC docudrama Life With Judy Garland: Me & My Shadows, plays Kidman’s somewhat wayward younger sister. I’m still generally flummoxed at the tepid response to Rabbit Hole (my review). Sure, the critics have responded positively but the film has, thus far, made a mere $500,00 at the box-office and other than Kidman’s admittedly stellar work is being virtually ignored by every single awards’ body. David Lindsay-Abaire’s script doesn’t thrive on being especially rote, even though Izzie ostensibly exists as the ying to Becca’s Yang. She’s not really that wayward, even if her first introduction to us is after a bar fight. It’s not the fight that’s important, though, it’s watching the relationship between Becca and Izzie being set up right there. 
All through their conversation it’s not so much that she’s baiting her sister, but Izzie is already used to this and I just love the little moments where the slightest of tics enunciate that. Rabbit Hole moves along gradually and Lindsay-Abaire doesn’t come out immediately and tell us that the main duo is a grieving couple, but the clues are there and not in a thriller-esque way....but in the sort of way we’re given an idea – but not explicitly told. That moment the next morning when Becca finds out that Izzie’s pregnant works a bit like the aforementioned scene. Izzie is deliberately playing her role as the relaxed sibling, but she’s feeling out Becca’s response all along. True, the writing is of special importance, but Blanchard’s interpretation is just as engaging. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Becca asks, and you get the feeling that she really didn’t want to know which makes Blanchard’s response of “Why’d you think?” so important. It’s one of our first “clues” and I love how it rolls off her tongue – when the movie ends and we have all the pieces it’s makes sense that her response is so glib.
Blanchard’s realisation of the role is essential to the tone which Mitchell creates. She can’t act over Nicole – this is her story – and her arc isn’t as easily definable as Wiest’s Nat. She’s a sort of observer, who just so happens to be participating and her intense eyes are an asset. In the same way that you can discern Becca constantly scoping out those around her, you can see Izzie constantly scoping out Becca. For all its deliberateness, Lindsay-Abaire’s script is notable for leaving so much room for thought and it’s as if Blanchard knows that whatever Izzie says – although ostensibly leisurely – is more than just incidental as far as Becca’s concerned. She’s immediately freaked out at the idea of having her child-to-be in her dead nephew’s clothes, and from just watching her eyes dart you know she’s thinking of a way to establish this sensitively. Moreover, it’s the single moment in the film where I realise that it’s not just Becca and Howie who’ve lost someone – Nat and Izzie have lost a relative too. Blanchard’s voice cracks ever-so-slightly as she says how weird it would be seeing her son running around in Danny’s clothes. She knows her sister well enough to know that even though she says she’s fine. When Becca leaves she glances in her direction and her expression there speaks volumes. It’s her lot as a supporting player, and perhaps that is Izzie’s lot as the daughter of a scene-stealer and the sister of a reticent control-freak. The sort of family who get into an argument at your birthday birthday, you have to watch closely to note just how annoyed she is with the situation.
The minute she arrives, her view of life is transformed because she has achieved color. Her simple jumper now in pale blue becomes a symbol of serenity and achievement.Did you know that the color blue is meant to symbolize high ideals? With this simple color choice we determine that the filmmakers are placing an importance in the way Dorothy looks, in her expression through what she wears.
And speaking of flying monkey attacks: when the Simeon minions swarm and attack our heroes in the haunted forest, they totally get after it. They're all pouncy and rippy and flyey and kidnappy -- they take out some of the scarecrow and throw him over there and take out some more and throw it over there. Just very violent and graphic -- if you're made out of straw, but still.
As usual what sells the show is the chemistry of the leads, and the music. Some musicals annoy me when the music isn't quite "right", when it pulls you out of the story for a 'tah-dah!' musical moment. But here the numbers all pretty much worked seamlessly within the tale, starting off with a song I need to adopt as my own "If you feel like singing, sing!". Judy sings this as she goes through her morning rituals (shower, dress etc.) and it's just such a wonderful moment that I'm sure many people can relate to, when you just feel like singing and to hell with anyone who might have a different opinion!
The perfect confluence of song, dance, sugar-spiked romance and Hollywood satire, the film is one of those rare Hollywood musicals without a flaccid note, number or scene in sight, utilizing its well-rounded cast and catchy verses to win us over time and time again.
Cukor was of course one of the most skilled comedy directors of the forties, which in turn makes him one of the most skilled of all time. And he’s able to keep the film from becoming a slog, putting in some deft comic scenes that never feel out of place, including one nice sequence that turns a killer running gag out of the simple phrase, “Glad to have you with us.”
West Side Story is a movie that achieves the impossible – to bring the aliveness and thrill and feelings of the stage production to the screen. Isn’t it thrilling to sit an audience and watch dancers do the dance at the gym right in front of your eyes, on a stage where you can see the brilliant movements so closely?
That's pretty ironic, as the four's own bickering is what led the group to self-destruct and go their own ways once they were no longer forced to go together in the same direction by their hectic tour schedule. The only real idyll they have in "A Hard Day's Night" is in the antic "Can't Buy Me Love" sequence, where, in a rare moment of freedom, they caper about a play-field, which Lester films in an eclectic helter-skelter array of techniques, formal and informal: sped-up, slowed down, from the air, and hand-held.** Even that ends with an admonition ("I suppose you know this is private property!").
With musical theatre the score must either be so good that the listener appreciates the quality of the writing (see just about anything by Sondheim), or you need to leave the auditorium toe tapping away (try anything by Andrew Lloyd Webber). I won't pretend the music in My Fair is particularly well written, but by God it does make you want to join in.
Fantastic, mesmerizing (despite, as I assume ya'll know, shitty subtitles), surreal, colorful in that way only Godard in a good mood and the sixties can produce. Aided by the fanciful performance of Anna Karina and the half-lovestruck, half-bemused Jean-Paul Belmondo, an unexpectedly catchy song is performed by the two, that might've been an in-character way to pass celluloid had not been for the burst of music the background.
The film is ultimately about love. The love between a father and his daughter. The love between a husband and his wife. The love between two young lovers. The love between a man and God--and that's touching, whether you believe in God or not. There is just something so pure and simple about the musical's message about love, and it's a shame that modern films seem to over stuff the love message with a glow of shallow boxes of chocolates and bouquets of roses.
I suppose Cabaret is not so much a story about what happens as it is a story about how it happens. Fosse has always has his reputation for being an especially stylistic man, and Cabaret represents the zenith of his talents. For, in many ways, Cabaret is a bit like an allegory. We’re transported by the bawdy music and scintillating dances so that by the time tragedy is at hand we’re surprised, even though it’s been sneaking up on us for the entire film.
The screenplay is the highlight, without a doubt one of the best ever written. Yes, I stand by it: so many excellent one-liners, the dialogue is fabulous and funny and the story just makes sense all around. It is Blake Edwards’ greatest achievement and one of Julie’s Andrews best performances.
The real fun of Krush Groove is in the performances. About half of the film is scenes of rappers and singers performing either on stage for an audience or just out in public with a mix of diegetic and non-diegetic music. In one scene, The Fat Boys sing their song "All You Can Eat" while scarfing down pizza at a Sabarro. It might sound like a Weird Al music video but this is what hip-hop was like in the mid-80s.
Still, “Be Prepared” is a powerful little number. Not only is Jeremy Irons freakin’ amazing delivering his lines (“And soon I’ll be givin’ my due!”), but it’s also been suggested that Jim Cumming may have filled in for him when he got a throat ache (and wasn’t able to finish the song). in under three minutes, with a hauntingly demented yet charismatic voice, and iconography borrowed from source I was too young to understand at the time, the musical number managed to do what no amount of ranting or raving or threatening from any Disney villain before or since could do: it convinced me that Scar was irredeemably evil. Sure, he’d go on to throw his brother into a herd of stampeding wilderbeast and (in an act even more evil) convince his nephew Simba that he was responsible, but this musical number was the first hint that something was truly and deeply wrong with the cartoon lion.
The themes of looking for love, being in love, and being in relationships with the wrong people, are common in almost every single Woody Allen film. Yet there is a more optimistic, and whimsical, feel in this particular film than is more prominent than his other works. Everyone from the upper east side elite to the two-bit gangster is struck by cupid’s arrow.
The idea here is that normal, everyday people, not given the gift of Garland, can become so full of emotion and romance that they are compelled to sing despite their own limitations. It's a beautiful and dangerous idea, yet Woody is blessed with actors who can actually carry a tune for the most part.
Even as Ewan and Nicole spin high up in the clouds, they make sure that the message doesn't get lost in the crazy, over-produced (in a good way) musical number. It also helps that Ewan's voice has that sensual, masculine touch of rogue-ness and the face of a Shakespearean paramour. He's the spark that ignites Nicole's flame (there's a metaphor of worth in there somewhere... look harder!).
It wouldn’t be a really good musical, without THE BIG FINISH or a big musical number to get your toes tapping. Chicago won’t disappoint you. After much tap dancing and legal maneuvering, Bill Flynn (Gere) helps both Roxie and Velma beat their murder charges. Unfortunately for Roxie, her trial’s publicity doesn’t bring closer to her dreams of stardom. It is as true in Jazz Age Chicago as it is today: People are always looking for the next big thing.
Among the songs in the film my favorite is Roxie, sung by Renee Zellweger who is just perfect as the jazzy baby turned murderess who comes to start enjoying her infamy. Much of Chicago's success is thanks to Zellweger who carries the film with her funny, sexy, and all around luminous performance. It's her understanding of the character and her vocal/dancing abilities that make everything work.
I will forever hope that the Phantom is able to be with Christine. My whole life, since I first saw the play, I would listen to those songs, feel his pain, hear Christine's longing for him and would be moved to tears by the music, the story. It is about passion, music, love, fear, anger, rejection, lust and mystery. In my minds eye, Christine always chooses to stay with the Phantom, to love him and sing with him...to be his angel of music.
Most musicals are bright and colorful, I prefer dark and moody. So Sweeney Todd works on that level for me. And since it's directed by one of my favorite directors and features one of my favorite actors, that also works.
The film is really entertaining and I think it works, although the "bursting out into song isn't realistic" thing sometimes becomes too noticeable and sometimes it lacks the soul of the original production. But the music is flawless. There are so many great songs and so many that I love!
The great music, dancing, and acting aside (and I didn't even mention the fabulous costumes and art direction!), Hairspray is the "perfect musical" because of the feeling that you get during and after you watch it. I saw the film three times in the theater (the most I've ever gone to one movie in the theater, by the way), and at least 3 times on DVD, and every time I just feel so happy and uplifted.
By taking this story of a chubby girl chasing her dreams out of the John Waters universe and brushing aside inside jokes and obscure cultural references, the message is as simple and touching as ever: Never give up hope; dreams are not selective and anyone with the courage to reach for them has the tools to catch one.
Their songs rain from the depth of their personality. They exude the screen. Define the mood. Create the world. Breath life into each and every moment. The musical is a form of auditory art, in which the vocals, soul, and visuals must align so rightly. Loudness, and gimmick, cheapen this to the point of blandness. Musicals that fail to capture the heart of their own characters sit well with me not.
