You're In A Musical

Perhaps it is fitting that I am sitting down after Sweeney Todd, to watch last year's musical glitzbomb Dreamgirls for the first time since it shook its spangles at me on the big screen. This will be my third musical in five days (Hairspray, Sweeney Todd, now Dreamgirls) and probably not my last as Once, an Irish movie musical I never even heard of until last week, just arrived in my mailbox between two pieces of red paper. I basically gave up on the musical when I left the middle and high school chorus days behind me in a fit of rebellion against RENT and too many years of musical theater nerddom. Since then, a musical has blipped on my radar every once in a great while- Dancer in the Dark, for example - and even then, only the involvement of someone like Bjork (and the promise of an unorthodox treatment of the musical format) has allowed me to invest myself. But these days I can't believe how much I've been looking forward to the movie musicals that seem to be popping up like dandelions. I fucking hate Abba - a holdover grudge from the bat/bar mitzvah dancing days (something about the lyrics "dancing queen, young and sweet, only 17" really rubbed me the wrong way, especially at age 17) - but damned if I'm not looking forward to a big screen version of Mamma Mia! that features a singing and dancing Meryl Streep.

Somehow I am always pleased, but never really that surprised when accomplished actors and actresses can sing. If you make a career out of manipulating your voice and tone and delivery, chances are you can belt out a decent tune. And yet the first notes out of Johnny Depp’s mouth of rotten Old Londonized teeth, about three minutes into Sweeney Todd, were nothing short of thrilling.

Quickly, Sweeney Todd is the story of a barber, Sweeney Todd (Depp), who is wrongfully imprisoned on the orders of a corrupt judge (Alan Rickman) who plans to steal Todd’s beautiful, flaxen-haired wife. Years later, Todd returns to London seeking the love of his wife and proper revenge. Instead of his lady, he finds Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter), the owner of a rancid meat pie shop below his old barbershop. As for the revenge, I’ll let you see the movie. Heads roll, and Johnny Depp sings about it. It’s all great fun.

Depp’s voice doesn’t exactly move the earth, but it’s hearty enough to get the job done, and his menacing delivery is spiked with just enough lovelorn angst to brand Todd as a both a murderer and a romantic. Helena Bonham Carter, another longtime muse of director Tim Burton's, truly stands out for the first time in her role as Mrs. Lovett, the nurturing and desperate would-be love of the demon barber. She is ghostly yet seductive, her corseted bosom, deliberately mussed bouffant, and grandiose, gothic rag gowns making her appear both doll-like and (taking her quirkiness into account) ready for the Oscars. Her twee voice and powdered visage always reflect the appropriate zest and/or tenderness. Some of my favorite moments of the movie occur during a solo song of Mrs. Lovett’s entitled "By The Sea" in which she describes to a brooding and unreceptive Todd, her dreams for their future. The song plays over a series of fantasy shots of Todd and Lovett, dressed in their palette of grays and blacks and blues and blood reds, against bright blue picnic skies and fanciful boardwalk scenery. And all the while HBC’s piping delivery of the light little tune plays contrast to Depp’s stubborn, boyish scowl, making for irrepressible laughs.

The other real musical highlights of the film are the duets. Moments in which two known actors have the opportunity to synchronize their instruments, even briefly, are magical when captured in Burton’s magical frames. In “A Little Priest,” Todd and Lovett are squared side by side in the window of Lovett’s pie shop, pressing their hands and faces to the dirty glass, looking out upon the London's streets while singing in perfect unison of turning various Londonites into meat pie filling. In “Pretty Women,” Todd and his foe Judge Turpin wax musical about one thing they have in common – their love of beautiful girls – as the two men, one in the barber’s chair, are cast against the dark, slanted window of Todd’s barbershop-turned-slaughterhouse. Rickman’s gravely bass is so classic and useful here, the perfect backdrop for Depp’s lead vocal, though I like to imagine Michael Caine could have swapped in for the same function. (He actually took on a similarly evil role involving an infatuation over “pretty women” in the movie Quills, which I double, no, triple heart.) I wonder if Sir Caine was on the casting list. Perhaps he was Rickman’s understudy.

When it all comes down to it, the strongest vocalists of the bunch were the kid actors. This is hardly surprising, as in these roles Burton had the advantage of seeking excellent singers without worrying about casting a known face. Ed Sanders as Toby, the small boy Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney Todd take in after the mysterious disappearance of his caretaker, tackles the most famous song of the Sweeney score (with a bit of help from HBC). Three-quarters of the way through the film, I was amazed to hear Toby launch into “Not While I’m Around,” first of all because the song seems a bit sugary and sentimental buried in what is otherwise a comedic, horror musical, and second because I didn’t think I knew any songs from the show. And I didn’t just recognize the song; I knew every single word, yet I couldn’t figure out how or why. I was about to attribute the familiarity to my summer of chorus/theater camp (yeah, I know), when my mother enlightened me during the credits. “I didn’t know that song the little kid sang was from this show,” she said. “You know who sings that song? Barbra Streisand. That song has been played at every bat and bar mitzvah on Long Island.”

Wow. Of course it was Babs. I can hear that nasal bravado reach up for those high notes even now. She must be a friend of Sondheim’s because I don’t see how else the Funny Girl would have found her way to Fleet Street. Although she did always cover “Send In The Clowns,” another song of Sondheim’s. (And one that I don’t particularly enjoy.) The one thing that is certain is that I know way too much about this.

Barbra Streisand career does, however, provide a good example of a born singer summoning some acting chops for the big screen, which was the idea behind recruiting Jennifer Hudson to do Dreamgirls. It’s definitely an effective model for casting musical roles in a lot of cases. In Chicago, Catherine Zeta Jones nailed her song and dance routines, probably better than most could do on the stage, but when Jennifer Hudson delivered “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going”, she laid down what will probably be remembered as one of the best recordings in the history of musicals.

I’ll tell you something about “ And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going.” That song is so close to perfect it’s scary. When those first notes landed in the theater, all of my normal bodily functions were suspended. (Well, my breathing was. Not my crying.) It is such an artfully constructed song, peaks in all the right places, a flourishing, incremental build, a funky ass breakdown complete with punctuating horns -- the perfect platform for a robust, soulful voice, with a message that resonates, simply stated. And then Hudson puts her fierce, womanly stamp on it and rockets it through you. I don't listen to musical soundtracks much anymore, but occasionally when I want to get hit with an earthquake I'll bring that song up on the iPod and let it knock me on my ass.

I say the song is nearly perfect and not absolutely motherloving capital “P” fucking Perfect because of a monster peeve I’ve developed over about four seconds towards the very end of the song. But this is really just nitpicking. Even with a few bars that grate on me, if I put that song on once, I’m listening to it twice. And as I am experiencing now, the second time around Dreamgirls entertains, but mostly it's just eye candy costumes and counting the minutes to J Hud's big moment.

Generally speaking though, musicals are kicking ass these days. I spent so long rejecting them on principle (see me kicking and screaming on my way to A Chorus Line and Hairspray on Broadway last year), that I may have to force myself to loosen up and accept that visionaries like Tim Burton can liven up tired genres, and that once I learned all the words to Cabaret and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat because something about staged and storied song and dance moved me. (For the Joseph obsession I also blame my parents, Hebrew School and years of unchecked, unfettered dorkiness.) Every once in a while I should prepare to be embarrassed and give in, because it’s likely I’ll fall in love with John C. Reilly’s performance of “Mr. Cellophane,” an eight-year old’s cover of a Streisand cover of Sweeney Todd, or an almost motherfucking Perfect Dreamgirls song.

Pretending I Paid Attention This Year: A List

I forget about a lot of things immediately after they happen -- books read, concerts attended, albums ingested -- so in order to synopsize what I've been up to this year, I went back through tattered notebooks, iPod playlists and a hefty box of tickets stubs to jog my memory of where I've been and what I've been doing for the last twelve months. Below is a rundown of some of this year's best/worst/most influential/most fun and random, albums/songs/books/movies/places/etceteras.

Feel free to pluck and sample at your discretion.

Best Albums 2007
1. Nina Nastasia & Jim White - You Follow Me
(Listened to approximately 3xs a day, 7 days a week for a month, and pretty consistently after that. Still making appearances. The voice. The drums. Mmmmmm.)
2. Bird and the Bee - Self-Titled (Female lead vocals in my range. Song that uses the words "public relations.")
3. Band of Horses - Cease to Begin (Gauzy and beautiful. Male lead vocalist sounds more than slightly like a female.)

4. St. Vincent - Marry Me (Title references Arrested Development. Catchiest tunes in the universe.)
5. Radiohead - In Rainbows (Thank God.)

Runnerz Ups
Prodigy - Return of the Mac (for iron pumping)
The Long Blondes - Someone to Drive Me Home (for treadmill running)

Late to the Party For
Mos Def - Black On Both Sides (for Brooklyn living)
Joanna Newsom - Y's (for spelunking)
Camera Obscura - Let's Get Out of This Country (for belting on solo car trips)
Jon Brion - Meaningless (for brooding)
John Legend - Once Again (for reminding you that you used to love Babyface)

Albums I Listened to Exactly 1 1/2 Times
Kanye West - Graduation (I don't get it?)
Bjork - Volta (Personally, I miss Rahzel.)

Like Crack
Rihanna - "Umbrella" (Gimme more, like Britney.)

Fucking Overdose
Natasha Beddingfield - "Unwritten" (The perfect "dead inside" soundtrack for The Hills.)

Almost As Good As "The Denial Twist"
The White Stripes - "Conquest" (Or as a friend once lovingly spelled it: "Cah-ah-han -que-est!")

A Sad Year In Live Music When Your Concert Highlight Was On
January 9 (Emily Haines and the Soft Skeleton @ Hiro Ballroom)

Also Pretty Fun
Band of Horses @ Terminal 5 on 11/4 (So many beards.)
Bird and the Bee @ Blender Theater on 11/18 (Blender has a theater? 60's-inspired stage outfits!)
Fiona Apple @ The Brooklyn Lyceum on 10/6 (Crazy - and brilliant - as I hoped she'd be.)
Nina Nastastia & Jim White @ The Mercury Lounge on 10/3 (So much buildup. Jay Dubbya was worth it.)

Rip Off Tickets Of The Year
Bjork @ Radio City on 5/2 (For 70 bucks I want "Isobel" AND "All Is Full Of Love." AND "Possibly Maybe." AND "Oceania." How about you just play for more than an hour and fifteen minutes and cover your catalogue? I say this with love...)
The Museum Of Natural History's Mythic Creatures Exhibit on 9/15 (Advertised a 50-foot dragon it didn't deliver and failed to present dioramas of mermaids under water. Do-over?)

Holy Christ, So Freaking Underrated!
Grindhouse: Planet Terror/Deathproof (Machine gun leg for Halloween next year?)

Don't Remember Seeing You At All
Live Free or Die Hard (But I have your ticket stub...)

Would Have Died In a State of Blissful Indulgence If Delivered A Fatal Blow During
Enchanted (More songs to add to my Disney repertoire.)
Paprika (Technically '06, but still freakish, anime fun.)

First Movie of the Year
Children of Men (Unless I saw something before Jan 15th)

Oops! Actual First Movie of the Year
Dreamgirls (Jan 14th!)

"First" Movie That Made Me Cry More
Dreamgirls (It also made me want to wear sequins!)

Movies viewed in the splendiferocity of the IMAX theater
300 (aka "300 Mins of Abs")
Spiderman 3 (aka "Why Sam Raimi, why?!")

Finally Got Around To
The Watchmen - Alan Moore (Mindblowing.)
The Dark Knight Returns - Frank Miller (Quicker. Darker. Better?)

Left With A Hopeless Addiction To
Neil Gaiman (A man who owns multiple sushi pillows is a man I can get behind.)

Best Meal of the Year
Momofuku Noodle, sometime this fall. (Go now. Don't fuck around. Get the grits.)

Year-long (ish) Unconquerable Late Night Cravings
Raw cookie dough (From the roll. Pillsbury over Nestle Tollhouse if at all possible.)
Wonton Soup (No less than five dumplings.)
Pierogies (With assorted fillings.)

Favorite Saved Fortune Cookie Fortune of '07
"It is necessary; therefore, it is possible."