The Music Man (1962)
By Bill Warren
Now where the hell is it written that the only people anymore who truly love musicals are gay? I've loved them since I was a child--"Singin' in the Rain" was one of the great movie landmarks of my childhood--and I love them today. Nothing wrong with being gay and all that, but I'm not gay, and I disavow the idea that musicals are the property only of gays--and then only of gay men. I suppose this is partly because musicals were always highly stylized, and usually romantic comedies, which are seen as Chick Flicks and Gay Icons. But you can't find a more masculine dancer than Gene Kelly, who often looked like he just walked in from a mill. Fred Astaire was stylish, but it's a graceful, masculine stylization. And Robert Preston, the star of "The Music Man," was masculine enough to star in many Westerns before he turned his career completely around by starring in the 1957, Emmy-winning Broadway play of "The Music Man." Preston was neither a singer nor a dancer, but he had a very good voice and tight control over his compact, muscular body. He appeared in more Broadway musicals, as well as the movie "Victor/Victoria," where he was nominated for an Oscar for playing a very gay actor. "The Music Man" was the pinnacle of his career and relaunched him as a very different kind of actor than he'd been in movies before. In one of his last films, "The Last Starfighter," he played an alien con man modeled on his character from "The Music Man."When Warner Bros. bought the rights to the extravagantly successful musical (1400 performances on Broadway), they wanted, somewhat unaccountably, to star Frank Sinatra as Professor "Harold Hill," the con artist who is The Music Man. But Meredith Willson, who wrote the play and its memorable songs, insisted no one but Robert Preston could play Harold Hill. Desperately, Warners turned to Cary Grant, but as he did with "My Fair Lady," Grant turned them down, saying the movie role belonged to the man who created it on Broadway. And so Robert Preston ended up playing the charming, rascally "Professor Harold Hill." (He's no professor, and his real name is Greg.)
But he's Harold Hill on the day in 1912 when his train stops at River City, Iowa; he regards the residents, known for their stubbornness, as a challenge to his current profession; he's looking for a place where the people are as green as the money. He's surprised to meet Marcellus (Buddy Hackett), formerly a partner in many a con, but now a River Cityan, who provides useful information. Harold's goal: convince the residents to back the formation of a boys' band, ordering expensive musical instruments and uniforms. When they arrive, Harold always collects the money--and disappears on the next train out of town.
Thinking fast, he decides the brand new pool table (it arrived on the same train he did) is just the ticket for convincing concerned River City parents that their children are in danger of corruption, and that a boys' band is their only way out. ("Ladies and gentlemen, either you are closing your eyes to a situation you do not wish to acknowledge, or you are not aware of the caliber of disaster indicated by the presence of a pool table in your community!") He charms enough of the locals--Mayor George Shinn (Paul Ford) and unmarried librarian marian Paroo (Shirley Jones) are holdouts--to order all the stuff, then sticks around, claiming his skills learned at the Gary (Indiana) Conservatory of Music allow him to instruct the boys by the (highly fictional) "Think System."
Although she's unexpectedly attracted to the dazzling Hill, Marian gets the goods on him--but when she realizes her much younger brother Winthrop (Ronny Howard), mostly silent since their father's death and because of his lisp is bowled over by the glories of the cornet that arrives for him on the Wells Fargo Wagon--bowled over enough to turn positively chatty--she can't bring herself to give the revelatory material to Shinn. As for himself, this time, the traveling salesman, as he ruefully admits himself, got his foot stuck in the door--he's also fallen for Marian. And anyway, way back inside his soul, Harold Hill has always heard a marching boys' band. He'll never admit it, but he loves them, especially when they feature 76 trombones.
Meredith Willson based River City on his home town of Mason City (mentioned in the movie), and derived some events from his own childhood, and love of marching bands; he even marched in the band of John Phillips Souza. It took him years to get "The Music Man" into shape for Broadway; he dropped 22 songs, and changed everything else again and again. The result: one of the greatest American musicals, featuring one of the greatest American musical performances (that of Robert Preston), and one of the greatest American musical numbers ("You Got Trouble"). The movie is a bit on the clunky side; Morton Da Costa directed only three movies, all of which seem constrained by the non-existent proscenium arch. Onna White's scrupulously synchronized choreography is also more suited for the stage than movies, though "Marian the Librarian," one of the best songs in a score that seems to consist entirely of best songs, is lively and fills the wide screen.
Willson was one of a kind; his musicals (another was "The Unsinkable Molly Brown") weren't quite like those of other Broadway writers/composers. His are often more rhythmic--the song on the train right after the credits is entirely rhythmic, spoken, not sung, and timed to the acceleration and slowing-down of a steam locomotive. "Marian the Librarian" has lively, inventive lyrics (it's the best song ever written with the word "carrion" in the lyrics); the famous "76 Trombones" and "Goodnight My Someone" have the same melody, first performed as a march, then as a waltz. Even playful numbers like "The Sadder But Wiser Girl" and "Shipoopi" are frisky, funny and novel. In the old days, whenever this movie appeared on TV, the next week half the kids in school would be trying out Harold Hill's signature "You Got Trouble" (trouble with a capitol T that rhymes with P that stands for pool), a stunningly, infectious con man's tirade. I cannot imagine Frank Sinatra doing this number justice, but maybe Cary Grant could have. I saw Dick Van Dyke do Harold Hill in a theatrical production of "The Music Man," and he was fine. Matthew Broderick was so-so in the so-so TV movie of "The Music Man" of a few years ago. (I'll bet Eddie Albert and Forrest Tucker, both of whom did it on stage, were great.) But nobody, not nobody nohow nowhere, could have done it with the brio and energy of Robert Preston. And he brings just as much to "76 Trombones," a paean to the very idea of marching brass bands. Preston doesn't really dance through these numbers; he struts and prances, enticing us to join him. He's a full-fledged Pied Piper.
Preston has the best songs, but as said before, they're all good. Hill's mesmerizing chat turns four quarreling townsmen into the greatest barbershop quartet of all time. And they're played by one of the greatest barbershop quartets of all time, the Buffalo Bills. When they sing "Goodnight Ladies" and, later, "Lida Rose," they demonstrate the reason there are barbershop quartets--they completely validate the form. Shirley Jones has some great songs, too, including the odd, funny "Piano Lesson," "Goodnight My Someone" and "'Til There Was You." This song, incidentally, was covered by none other than The Beatles on their first American album; the rights to all of Willson's songs are now owned by Sir Paul McCartney, who knows a good thing (or many of them) when he hears them.
The movie is full of great, humorous, nostalgic language--"you'll hear from me until who laid the rails!" thunders Mayor Shinn, who later declares "that's a clear as a buttonhook in the well water!" "Trouble" refers (anachronistically) to Cap'n Billy's Whiz Bang, and also to tailor-mades and famous trotting horse Dan Patch. The play and movie are valentines to MidWest America just after the start of the 20th century. It's a candybox full of wonders. Some find it slow going, but not I; it makes me want to jump up and join the fun. This is mostly, but not entirely, because of Robert Preston. Shirley Jones has always been a national treasure, particularly in musicals, but who would have thought of the utterly British Herminone Gingold as an Iowa housewife of 1912? She's wonderful, nonetheless, and says "Balzac" better than anyone. (She has a rhythmic name: Eulalie McKechne Shinn.) Preston croons "Gary, Indiana," a song that really has no meaning, to Marian and Winthrop's Oirish mother (Pert Kelton); later, Ronny Howard gets to sing it, too--Winthrop likes it because it doesn't have too many S's. (If you wonder what Ron Howard was like as a real little kid actor, even before "The Andy Griffith Show," wonder no more; he's terrific as spit-spraying Winthrop. He has a sputtery, delightful line in the "Wells Fargo Wagon" number; he's waiting for "thomthing thpethial").
Not everything works as well as it might. In the opening number, on the train, the rhythms of the lyrics make it utterly clear they're timed to the chugging of a steam locomotive; Da Costa didn't have to cut to shots of the train wheels and the smoke stack. In the later "Pick a Little" number, in which the city women complain about Marian the Librarian, the song sounds like a bunch of chickens clucking away; Da Costa didn't have to be so thuddingly literal as to SHOW us chickens clucking way.
Warners has brought "The Music Man" out on Blu-ray with surprisingly little fanfare, especially considering that there's been some clamor for this release for a while now. It was first released as a major event, running longer (151 minutes) than most movies, and shown in the widescreen process Technirama. It was shot entirely (or almost so) on the Warner Bros. lot, with several exteriors actually being shot inside the cavernous sound stages there. Though the extras include an interesting documentary on the making of the movie, hosted by Shirley Jones, otherwise the disc is very light on extra material. Surely there were production drawings, disused takes and other material available that could have made this package special.
The movie and high definition were made for each other; it was initially very sharp and detailed because of the Technirama process, and it springs to life on home theater setups, the wider (and louder) the better. It's a great movie for home theaters, big, enveloping, richly detailed, with great song numbers, including, of course, the triumphant, brilliant "You Got Trouble," parodied time and time again down through the years, including more than once on "The Simpsons." It is somewhat uncomfortably more of a stage musical than a movie musical; too bad direction wasn't entrusted to the likes of Vincente Minnelli--but then, Da Costa produced the movie, and had also produced and directed the award-laden Broadway Production. As Sam Goldwyn supposedly said, sometimes you gotta take the bitter with the sour. There's damned little that's sour about "The Music Man;" if you are (even secretly) fond of musicals, this is an absolute and utter must have. It's just a bang beat, bell ringing, big haul, great go, neck or nothin', rip roarin', every time a bull's eye musical, that's "The Music Man," Music Man.
