Though definitely not the most iconic version of Gaston Leroux’s much loved horror romance novel, 1943's Phantom of the Opera is opulence personified. Directed by Arthur Lubin (the man behind so many classic comedies with Abbott and Costello. . . though he had already proven that he could do darker work with Lugosi and Karloff in 1940's Black Friday), the movie is actually filmed on the set constructed for the legendary Lon Chaney Sr. 1925 version. . . built to be completely identical to the actual Paris Opera House (a true masterpiece of set design). This version is shot in stunning Technicolor, every single hue popping to create an eye-catching pastiche. Paired with creative cinematography that at times reaches German Expressionism like chiaroscuro lighting (especially when filming the Phantom), this really is a treat to look at. It is then all pieced together with creative crane shots, intriguing static angles and so much more, a technical masterpiece that cannot be denied.
Though definitely not the most iconic version of Gaston Leroux’s much loved horror romance novel, 1943's Phantom of the Opera is opulence personified. Directed by Arthur Lubin (the man behind so many classic comedies with Abbott and Costello. . . though he had already proven that he could do darker work with Lugosi and Karloff in 1940's Black Friday), the movie is actually filmed on the set constructed for the legendary Lon Chaney Sr. 1925 version. . . built to be completely identical to the actual Paris Opera House (a true masterpiece of set design). This version is shot in stunning Technicolor, every single hue popping to create an eye-catching pastiche. Paired with creative cinematography that at times reaches German Expressionism like chiaroscuro lighting (especially when filming the Phantom), this really is a treat to look at. It is then all pieced together with creative crane shots, intriguing static angles and so much more, a technical masterpiece that cannot be denied.
A musical murder mystery? Yes, you read that right. . . and that was the type of film you often saw during the Pre-Code era. If 1934's Murder at the Vanities was made just six months later, it never would have passed code and been released – fortuitous for the film makers and us. Directed by Mitchell Leisen, this on stage/backstage premise finds Jack Ellery (Jack Oakie – The Great Dictator) putting on a sumptuous musical revue, featuring his two stars, an Austrian making his American debut, Eric Lander (Carl Brisson), and up and coming Ann Ware (Kitty Carlisle). Unbeknownst to everyone, a whirlwind romance has swooped up between the two stars. . . and they plan to marry after the opening show (they make the announcement upon their arrival at the theatre).
As light and frivolous as a wispy summer cloud meandering across a baby blue sky, 1956's The Girl Can’t Help It, written and directed by Frank Tashlin, though perhaps at first glance not as influential (or known) as its very similar cousin from the previous year, The Seven Year Itch, is an entertaining musical comedy that had a huge impact on pop culture. . . though intriguingly not on the movie industry (but more on that later). Flipping the script slightly from the Billy Wilder classic, Tom Ewell plays a similarly twitchy man, an alcoholic press agent, Tom Miller, who ironically thinks himself an adonis despite his rather frail, nervous demeanor around women. Instead of being slightly bored in a staid marriage, he has instead lost his chance at telling his former singing sensation client Julie London (as herself) that he was falling for her – she has now moved on to bigger and better things.
Learn an instrument, form a band, get the girl. . . the fantastical dream steps of many a wannabe rock star, yet the main character in John Carney’s 2016 musical dramedy Sing Street takes a slightly different route – ah, the road, or should I say street, less travelled (which, of course, is the oft misused false-title of Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”). Welcome to 1985 Dublin, country floundering, jobs nonexistent, an existential crisis smothering the Populus. . . a place where teenager Conor is trudging through the early part of his life (his only saving grace, music). His parents, struggling architect Robert (Aidan Gillen – Game of Thrones) and ‘cut back to three days of work a week’ Penny (Maria Doyle Kennedy – Orphan Black), are constantly bickering – eldest sibling Brendan (Jack Reynor), a dope smoking college dropout who is an inspiration to Conor, even surmises that their mom may be having an affair. Youngest Ann (Kelly Thornton) must also be mentioned, for she is the sister who is often criticized for leaving her art dreams behind to pursue architecture (like her father).
If you’ve ever hoped someone would combine Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid” with touches of David Cronenberg’s psychological sexual thriller Crash (or many of the director’s other iconic horror features) and the quirky colours and music of Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory – then you’ve got one interesting imagination. . . and your time is here, as the 2015 Polish horror musical The Lure, directed by Agnieszka Smoczynska, walks this bizarre line. Mesmeric in its colours and direction, some may wonder why make the film a musical. . . though, if you think about it, it makes perfect sense, as these half human/half monster hybrids are like the sirens of Homer’s epic poems, creatures that sing to allure and attract (it gets more gruesome after that) – it is in their essence. Set in Poland in the Communist era 1980s, the story follows mermaid sisters Silver (Marta Mazurek) and Golden (Michalina Olszańska) – they have a yin and yang quality, the former a more compassionate being learning to love, the latter a more violent, dangerous beast – as they make their way into a foreign landscape.
Landing somewhere in between French New Wave, older classic French features and the grand Hollywood musical, Jacques Demy’s 1964 colourful kaleidoscopic romantic drama, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, is most definitely not your typical movie musical. Firstly, there is no dancing (a standard in musicals), rather, Demy orchestrates many lengthy choreographed takes with his camera – it adding the graceful movement that would usually be asked of the actors. But, more importantly, and at greater risk, every single line of dialogue in Cherbourg is sung. Perhaps a bit daunting to movie audiences, it does, in some ways, make sense. I have never bought into the idea that people would just randomly break into song and dance at any given time. . . only a few films giving some sort of reason for this (see Singin’ in the Rain and La La Land), so it is more plausible, in this vividly toned movie landscape, that people naturally sing all the time – this means no distracting breaks between song and talk.