There was a cosmic
swirl last weekend that lead to me watching the film version of Jesus Christ
Superstar (1973) as a lifelong Catholic, it’s one of those shows that we
personally own. We’re taught The Stations of the Cross™ every Easter season,
and there’s Our Lord and Savior sitting there on the cross, reminding us of his
sacrifices for the world. But that’s so old hat. We can’t just be taught about
this man. No, we needed songs. Thanks to collaborators Andrew Lloyd Webber and
Tim Rice, they created the one musical that has been with me almost my whole
life by default (I’d love to know what religion forces Cats on their youngins).
Add in that Webber has been airing all of his old shows on
YouTube via his The Show Must Go On series (here’s hoping for Starlight
Express!), he has been on my mind a whole lot lately. While I don’t love Jesus Christ
Superstar, it got me wanting to revisit Evita (1996). In the past two years it
has ran up the charts of my personal favorites. That’s because I saw P3’s
production at the Ernest Borgnine Theater and loved it. I understood the story
both for its subject and as a form of entertainment. My own disappointment was
that there’s no full version with the original cast because Mandy Patinkin owns
Che so hard.
I had my expectations for what I wanted Evita to be and,
just like Jesus Christ Superstar, I found myself a bit discombobulated. On the
surface it was a great depiction of the story. Everything you needed to present
her struggles was there and I personally think that Madonna and Antonio
Banderas did great jobs with the material.
The issue was that it’s not a good musical. All you have to
do is check the credits to understand why that is. The director was Alan
Parker, who is better known for one of the most dour prison movies I have seen
with Midnight Express (1978). It was originally going to be done by Oliver
Stone, who co-wrote the screenplay, but as production histories happen you know
that some things just don’t happen. Still, the film was ripe with the Political
of it all. There’s so much archival footage of war wreckage and protestors that
this feels like a serious drama that just so happens to have singing.
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| Evita |
If you only know Evita through Parker’s vision, you’ll be
fine. However, I think that you’re going to miss a greater component of why the
show is so good. The Political of it all overshadows the flamboyance and camp
that goes into songs like “Rainbow High.” Then again, Stone is too masculine to
allow even the occasional wink. We need to tell this story as regimented as
possible, and it comes at a cost.
The most noteworthy is in the staging that could’ve enhanced
the story. Besides not having Che in his iconic rebel uniform (he loses all
meaning without it), there is something amazing when the show embraces its
pageantry. The music has an Argentinian flair and in moments where Eva Duarte
is courting Juan Peron, there are ballroom dancers behind them, elevated,
creating this symmetry of how the proceeding marriage is like a dance of
politics. There’s also a great dance number I can simply describe as “musical
chairs” but with Juan knocking off his rivals. It’s maybe one of the greatest
uses of theater that I’ve ever seen and Evita’s lack of it bothers me.
This got me thinking…what is a great version of a movie
musical adaptation? Before we get too far, I want to emphasize a few things.
This isn’t what movie musical has the best music or story. If this was the
case, I would still consider the known classics in the further argument. I’m
talking about My Fair Lady (1964) and West Side Story (1961) or any of the
noteworthy Rodgers & Hammerstein adaptations.
There is nothing wrong with them, but they all share certain
flaws when it comes to a faithful adaptation. While it can be worked around, I
think it’s important to have talented singers who can perform live and make the
material work. In all three of these previous examples (including R&H’s The
King and I (1956)), there was vocal overdub by Marni Nixon among others.
Similarly, I would consider Gypsy (1962) to be another great candidate had it
not featured similar. On the flip side, you want to have good singers who
elevate the material. Tom Hooper’s adaptations of Les Misérables (2012) and
Cats (2019) infamously featured actors who aren’t as vocally adept to handle
the operatics. For every Hugh Jackman or Jennifer Hudson, you had Russell Crowe
or Rebel Wilson. There’s an imbalance that keeps them from being something
greater.
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| A Chorus Line |
Similarly, a great adaptation needs to reflect what the
music and story brings to the show. A prime example of this failing is A Chorus
Line (1985). As one of my favorite musicals, it disappoints me that the film
version missed the mark in key ways (such as taking the minimal scope and
showing something as unnecessary as outside the audition theater). It also
performs the sin that all Oscar-bait musicals pull by including idiosyncratic songs
that add nothing to the show. “Surprise” is bad and takes the space of the
superior original soundtrack. It may otherwise get the heart of auditioning,
but one thing that A Chorus Line can’t capture that a stage can is the sense of
judging these strangers unintentionally in the opening dance, wondering who we
will be stuck with for the next two hours and why they matter. There’s a lot of
subliminal that’s missed in the film on top of just not doing the story enough
justice.
I still want a better version of A Chorus Line to watch
during my free time, for those who have the wherewithal.
To me, there’s a lot of emphasis on the word adaptation. It
has to be able to bring the joy of watching it on the stage, but in a cinematic
landscape. It also needs to have the elements of theater that you’d find if you
bought a ticket and sat in an amphitheater. You need to feel the passion of the
performers and, if I’m being honest, few can do it without camera trickery.
There’s nothing wrong with this if you have the talent. West Side Story comes
up short in the singing department, but more than makes up for it with
breathtaking dance and cinematography. Similarly, Rosalind Russell’s
performance in Gypsy is amazing despite being overdubbed by Ethel Merman.
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| Cabaret |
With all of this said, what would I consider to be a great
adaptation of a musical? I think there’s very few that achieve this without
taking liberties. The closest that we get to having a great version that
changes a few thing to better a story is Cabaret (1972). On the surface, it’s
easy to see why. Both detail what goes on inside a cabaret as Berlin, Germany
becomes occupied by Nazi rule. They are as suspect in helping to spread their
influence and normalizing its power. It’s considered the anti-musical because
of how it uses music not to compliment story (though it parallels)
but as a performance piece. We’re drawn into the kinky nightlife culture of the
Kit Kat Klub, and it’s wonderful in its own trashy way.
It helps that we have Joel Grey reprising his role from the
Broadway version. Even if Eliza Minnelli didn’t originate the role, her
experience in theater gives her an ability to adapt to the role. You buy her as
Sally Bowles because of how much confidence she brings to her performances.
Seeing her perform “Cabaret” at the end of the film is one of the most iconic
movie musical moments because of how much you buy into that desperation. She
sells it so well.
This works in spite of there being major differences between
the stage and screen. Because of the changing cultural tides, Cabaret was
allowed to be more sexually promiscuous in the film. What was subtle on stage
is now campy and obvious (this was before revivals that sexualized The M.C.)
with many drag characters getting more dynamic besides supporting characters.
Similarly, the soundtrack has major differences. The most
noteworthy is the absence of music for the supporting cast. If they don’t
perform at the Kit Kat Klub, don’t expect Cabaret to take time to let their
story unfold. This is true of a supporting couple who become marginalized by
Nazi rule. Their songs are sillier, at one point dealing with a pineapple.
Similarly, Sally’s introduction differs. The stage version has “Don’t Tell
Mama” which is cheekier and more about the scandalous nature of her profession.
In the film, “Mein Herr” is more about a fine affair that’s over. It’s more
politically charged, fitting with the rest of the songs. Bob Fosse’s
choreography elevates this scene into a masterpiece with swirling chairs that’s
just as iconic as the outfit Minnelli wears. While “Don’t Tell Mama” is easily
my favorite of the two, Fosse’s edits are to make the focus more on the
changing political tides, and it works.
The film also has something that is sorely lacking in
post-1960s movie musicals: great filming of dance numbers. While there’s been a
lot of great musicals in the past 20 years, few know how to frame a dance,
either cutting too soon or focusing too closely on a routine. I want to be able
to see the dance play out in lavish detail because that’s what theater is:
witnessing expansive spectacle. The longer a take goes, the more you understand
the effort that goes into a moment. It’s what drives me nuts about Moulin
Rouge! (2001) (among other things) and convinces me that Rob Marshall and
Damien Chazelle are the only great movie musical directors we have produced in
the 21st century.
Sure, Cabaret is a great way to adapt a musical for film,
but what about just doing the story wholesale and making everything illuminate
better? Surely there’s a version that is so committed to a clear and faithful
vision out there.
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| Fiddler on the Roof |
I’m sure there’s many that I’m forgetting, but few feel like
the PERFECT shift quite like Fiddler on the Roof (1971). It meets all of my
desires when adapting material. Topol as protagonist Tevye is about as perfect
as things get. Everything about his demeanor and haggard voice sell the
performance, and the many asides never feel tacky. It’s all about a Hasidic Jew coming to terms with the changing times, and every song is
here in its glorious detail.
I didn’t think it was possible for “Sunrise Sunset” to be so
elegant and emotional. John Williams’ excellent adaptation of the music makes
it feel bigger and full of life. The staging feels crucial to the story. And
best of all, we have the bottle dance scene in all of its glory. Oh, how I wish
every dance-centric show could translate as well to film as this one. Many have
come close, but there’s something off. If nothing else, there’s the camaraderie
and celebration of a heritage in those moments that overshadow any slight
changes. And beyond that, everything about Anatevka feels so organic and lived
in that… *chefs kiss.*
I could go long about why “Tradition” is also a perfect
opening to the show, but that’s for another day. What I will say that having it
presented in montage form makes sense here. We’re not rushing through story or
cutting through an elaborate dance number. Instead we’re getting a greater
sense of what the story means. We’re getting scenes of Tevya’s form of
tradition in his community, and it expands the scope in ways that strengthen
his identity.
As readers who have been following me will know, I am a
sucker for musicals in any form. Even if they aren’t a perfect adaptation,
there is plenty to love about them. However, I find that I began to see them
differently when I started going to live theater. Suddenly I wanted film to
present it in a way that made me feel like I was sitting in a crowd, because
that’s the mutual element that goes into both. It’s about the passion and craft
coming through. Even then, I think this answers a deserving question about what
a great movie musical adaptation should have, or what you should look for.
There is no right answer so long as you enjoy it, but I think it’s interesting
to appreciate on a deeper level getting the experience you would if you were
watching these performers on a stage. Most of us will never get to see it that
way, so getting it right on film should mean a whole lot on top of keeping it
as entertaining as possible.
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