|
I'm afraid you may have to try a little harder, then, because I do want to understand what you meant.
But your comment is still backwards. If it's a musical, it's a musical. It can't be for people who hate musicals, or it would expect no one to like it, since it's a musical. Perhaps what you mean is that it's a musical for people who aren't impressed by the old style of musical that faded in popularity some time ago. But that's defining the entire genre of "musical" by only one incarnation of the genre.
Though I'm obviously not one of them, there are people who just hate musicals, period. I have this friend Leah who emailed me the other week saying that she'd just seen Moulin Rouge and detested it, and that it just confirmed her preconception that musicals stink. I explained to her that it was a bad example of a musical, that I hated it too, and that she shouldn't excoriate the entire genre because of it. And it is a bad musical in that the songs were collected from a variety of sources that had nothing to do with the rest of Moulin Rouge. First, there are the pop songs from elsewhere that didn't grow organically out of the plot and character of this particular movie, but instead had been played on the radio as discrete, stand-alone works; theatre songs are written differently from pop songs because they have a different purpose, to further plot and characterization in a theatre piece so that we end up in a different place at the end of the song from where we started, and pop songs don't need to be surrounded by a larger work -- they're fine as they are and beautiful in their own way. But I also recall one song shoehorned into Moulin Rouge that grew organically from the plot of a completely different show, The Sound of Music (which incidentally I find rather saccharine, but that's beside the point). If the songs in Moulin Rouge had been written specifically for the movie, with specific characters in mind, and were part of an integrated work along with the screenplay and design, I would have liked the movie better. The story comes first and is of primary importance, and the songs must come out of the story. To do it the other way around is just bass-ackwards. Come to think of it, I might even have enjoyed it better if Ewan MacGregor had shown us his willy again, as he has done in so many other movies.
As well as writing musicals, I've also made a scholarly study of their history and structure, as well as the function of book, music, and lyrics in theatre. I think any responsible writer should study the works of those who came before him, whatever the genre. Sondheim has been a brilliant innovator in musical theatre, but he is great in large part because he's standing on the shoulders of giants like Rodgers & Hammerstein (his mentor), who in turn stood on the shoulders of giants like Jerome Kern, Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Sigmund Romberg, and the Gershwins, who in turn stood on the shoulders of Victor Herbert and George M Cohan. There is, of course, some overlapping.
Musical theatre has had a fascinating evolution. In the first period, from the mid-19th century to around the 1920s, musicals were rather crude and primitive affairs, either they were minstrel shows, or a slew of Tin-Pan Alley songs with a sketchy bit of plot and some gags thrown in, like the Cohan shows, or European-style operettas with cardboard characters, like the Herbert shows. I'm not counting, by the way, the very well-written and composed works of Gilbert and Sullivan, because they are considered comic operas rather than musicals. Then Show Boat happened late in 1927, and it was revolutionary in its time as a fairly organic mixture of musical comedy, drama, and operetta, supporting a strong and sweeping story. Meanwhile, Brecht and Weill were blazing trails in Berlin with such serious, experimental work as Dreigroschenoper and Mahagonny. The next big leap forward was in 1943: Oklahoma!. Here, at last was seamless integration of music, lyrics, book, costumes, orchestrations, and acting style, and the show ushered in the Golden Age of the musical, which lasted either until the end of the 1950s (that is, around the time of West Side Story and Gypsy), or the 1970s, depending on which source you wish to believe. All hell broke loose when Sondheim came along with groundbreaking works such as Company, Follies, A Little Night Music, Pacific Overtures, Sweeney Todd, and Sunday in the Park with George, each one of which managed to stretch, without breaking them, the boundaries of what could be accomplished in musicals and push the envelope of the genre. At the same time, fresh ground was being dug with Kander & Ebb's Cabaret and Chicago, plus works conceived by director/choreographer Michael Bennett, like A Chorus Line and Dreamgirls. And of course there were the rock musicals like Hair (which was dated almost before it hit Broadway) and Jesus Christ Superstar, which is more successful in its non-rock parts because they're more nuanced than the rocky bits, and drama requires some nuance.
Then things started to devolve somewhat and Broadway fell on hard times creatively. The most successful shows weren't even homegrown, but ponderous, bloated dreck by writers from across the pond, like Phantom of the Opera, Cats, Les Miz, and Miss Saigon. It was almost as if Broadway was starting to implode, and everyone was predicting the demise of the musical. The Disney shows brought back some hometown spark to this quintessentially American artform, because they were actually written by Americans, but like the British/French imports I just mentioned, they were overproduced and relied more on style and spectacle than substance. The Lion King is a perfect example of this; the music is mostly forgettable and the lyrics are amateurish, but it's amazing to look at. Unfortunately, we're not supposed to leave the theatre whistling the scenery and costumes.
But fortunately, a new crop of serious-minded and dedicated artists have emerged to rescue musical theatre from the relative bland emptiness of the last few decades and push forward with the evolution of the form: Ahrens & Flaherty with Ragtime and Once on This Island, both very well crafted and moving works with truly dramatic songs; Michael John LaChiusa with The Wild Party, Hello Again, and most recently, See What I Wanna See; Jason Robert Brown with Parade; and Adam Guettel with Light in the Piazza (beautiful score), and the astonishing Floyd Collins. The recent Grey Gardens and Spring Awakening are terrific, and the latter especially is introducing a whole new generation of theatregoers to musical theatre, and Broadway is healthy again. I hope eventually to be part of this new wave and a player in the history, but the closest I've come so far is off-off-Broadway.
So in essence, I appreciate innovation. Moulin Rouge is devoid of innovation. If anything, it hearkens back to the first period of musicals where the songs had little or nothing to do with plot and the characters were made of cardboard. It's what I call a Chicken McNuggets musical, where perfectly good meat is diced up into a pulp, breaded, deep fried, and re-served as flavourless, unnutritious, almost inedible pap. We've come along way, baby. Let's not go there again.
Now, when I talk about musicals written for people who hate musicals, I'm referring to works that ignore the history of the artform and discount the substantial changes that have taken place over 150 years, things that are important to musical fans who can be as rabid as extreme baseball fans at times and are in love with the form. Some people, the ones who hate musicals, think they're all like the old-fashioned shows from a faraway yesteryear and don't know about the history involved, nor do they care to know. When folks write shows to cater to these people, they do nothing to advance musical theatre, and they offend people who are trying to do exactly that.
Still, de gustibus non est disputandum, and if you like the movie, you like the movie. I'm just telling you exactly why I hate it.
Now, if you were trying to be snarky and imply that my first statement was ambiguous as to whether people who liked it had to be above or below a certain threshold, presumably to state that I was inferior because I liked it, perhaps you should contemplate the word "above" with a little more concentration. As in "I think there's an intelligence threshold you have to rise above to enjoy it."
Hell no, I wasn't trying to be snarky at all, and I hope I didn't come off that way. I took you to mean that EITHER you have to have intelligence above a certain level in order to enjoy Moulin Rouge, which is kind of offensive to me for reasons I stated above, OR ELSE in order to enjoy it properly, all you have to do is ignore the low intelligence threshold set by the piece, shut off your critical faculties, and appreciate it for the pretty fluff that it is -- in other words, willing suspension of disbelief, the same disbelief that musical-haters can't seem to suspend when someone breaks into song in the middle of dialogue. I'm sure you couldn't have meant both, but then again, you could have meant neither. So you tell me, and I won't be so confused.
|