Maybe I wasn’t in the right mindset to watch Life With Father; I watched it right after To Kill a Mockingbird, so I had the bar set pretty high.  Or maybe it’s because I love Meet Me in St. Louis, which also deals with a turn-of-the-century family.  Regardless, I found Life With Father to be a tedious affair powered by William Powell and a 14-year-old Elizabeth Taylor.  There are particular moments of fun, but the rote characterization and plot never go anywhere, keeping it hard to maintain your attention for two-hours.

In nineteenth-century New York, the father (William Powell) of a wealthy family is forced to deal with his wife (Irene Dunne) and children’s problems on a daily basis.  To complicate matters, a series of unwelcome house-guests threaten his peace and solitude.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’m writing this review two months after I saw the film, so if I confuse details it’s because I’m going off my memory and my notes.  Life With Father is incredibly stagy (adapted from the long-running play by Howard Lindsay and Russell Crouse) with grand entrances made by all which become hokey and routine by the half-way mark.  The only actor whose entrance works to his advantage is Powell.  The camera shoots his feet first and rises up, to have the audience take in the intimidation and bluster that is Powell.  Of course, this is contradicted when the audience gets a load of ginger-haired Powell.  It’s obviously a bad dye job and just looks like he colored his hair at home and turned it orange.  All of this sweeping grandiosity is preceded by the various already introduced family members ominously talking about Father to foreshadow his appearance.  He becomes an urban legend with each story increasing the fear of the character.  Powell excelled at comedy, or at least being the man with a dark side which was undone with his charming personality.  As Clarence Day, none of that is on display.  and his greed and bluster come off as mean.  He’s akin to Ebenezer Scrooge only everyday is Christmas.

There is a bit of wry humor that appears to place this in the screwball vein; this is a film about first-world problems.  For example, Vinnie is horrified to discover that Clarence is negotiating the price of the “best” pew for the family to sit in during church, with the joke being that pews are being bought at all.  I also found that religion gets poked fun of quite a bit, although never in a mean-spirited way.  When the family discusses going to Heaven, they talk as if they’re planning a family vacation.  I have to wonder if 1947 audiences found it as weird as 2013 audiences might?  A key subplot is Clarence’s refusal to be baptized, placing Vinnie’s entire world into upheaval; she starts to question “maybe we’re not even married.”  Irene Dunne is the straight man of the picture, and she has some fun, yet unremarkable, chemistry with Powell.  Much of it could be the prim and proper nature of the time, but Powell and Dunne aren’t as in-sync as Powell and his other female co-stars.  You expect the climax to focus on Vinnie’s struggle to overcome an illness – it would be a logical conclusion – but 30 minutes of plot remain involving Clarence flip-flopping on the baptism question.

The additional thirty minutes is included to wrap-up everyone’s storylines, and none are compelling.  One of the sons has trouble with the violin and there’s an additional plot involving the Day house-guest, Mary (Elizabeth Taylor).  Taylor’s character is chronically naïve, and it’s a nuisance complicated by her squeaky pitch.  On top of that there’s an underutilized Upstairs, Downstairs narrative with the help that relies on characters going through the scene but never actively engaging in them.

Life With Father is life as usual, neither spectacular nor terrible.  William Powell’s bluster mutes his personality and several times he’s just rude.  Irene Dunne is a solid straight man and both Powell and Dunne turn Life With Father into a watchable experience.  The problem lies in the humdrum story that feels like a slice-of-life tale, but only shows how boring an average family can be.

Ronnie Rating:

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Life with Father

After devoting over a year and a half to reviewing every Disney animated film, I was ready to put Disney behind me, for awhile.  I recently became one-half of the Walt Sent Me podcast (available to listen to now) and our first featured film was The Reluctant Dragon.  The Reluctant Dragon isn’t considered one of the 53 movies Disney considers part of their animated legacy.  Odd, considering it contains an equal amount of live action to animation, on par with the later package films.  The movie is gimmicky in its depiction of a happy Disney environment during a time when it was anything but, but it depicts a moment in time at the Walt Disney Studios we’ll never witness again, and that makes all the difference.

Humorist Robert Benchley’s wife convinces him to speak to Walt Disney about turning his book, The Reluctant Dragon, into a movie.  Begrudgingly, Benchley goes to the Walt Disney Studios, but has trouble meeting the man himself.  Instead, he’s side-tracked by the various departments within the studio, learning about what goes into a Disney picture.

The Reluctant Dragon’s documentary aspect is where it excels.  The Disney Studios changed in many ways since 1941, and so as Benchley wanders from place to place, the audience feels they’re getting an insider’s view of a sacred place of magic; Looking at it in 2014 only enhances this feeling.  Not only are we going beyond the berm, so to speak, to see where Disney creates Mickey Mouse, we’re seeing a time in our history where people were hand-drawing Mickey himself.  Now, I’m sure all those drawing desks are replaced with computers.  The movie, at barely an hour and 13 minutes, is unremarkable in its trajectory.  Benchley attempts to evade a young tour guide and wanders from room to room learning about the animation process, and working himself into it in the process.  In the podcast episode I mentioned it as akin to what Uncle Joey was attempting to convey in that detour he took to the Walt Disney Animation Studios in Florida during that special Disney World episode of Full House.

Much like Full House, this is a movie surrounded around the gimmick of “lifting the curtain,” but with the added benefit of Disney cartoons.  At various points in the movie the live-action cuts to animation.  Unlike the package films, where the live action attempted to work alongside the animation, the animation is a diegetic piece of the narrative.  The animators are making something, and through the eyes of the animators and Benchley, it’s alive.  This is the case with the “Casey Jr.” sequence in the audio segment, as well as the screening of The Reluctant Dragon (a film within a film) at story’s end.  Other times, the “Baby Weems” story for example, it’s just storyboards shown consecutively which gives the illusion of life.  The “Baby Weems” number is the cleverest, utilizing still images while an off-screen animator (Alan Ladd, not a real animator himself) explains the story.  This device of story-telling is far more effective than the animated narratives of the package films, where the live action takes you out of the story and only forces you to confront the unreality of the animation.  Within the confines of The Reluctant Dragon, the infectious nature of the Disney spirit combined with the knowledge the animators do this for a living, helps your belief in the animation.

The first Goofy “How-To” short, “How to Ride a Horse” plays during the movie and it’s a clever lampoon of serious “how-to” videos playing during the war.  The various shorts, up till the end, understand how to keep the laughs coming; that changes with the final short, The Reluctant Dragon.  To start, this is the only time you actually see Walt Disney himself, and even then it’s only about a minute.  He puts in a cameo in his own movie.  The dragon short is animated well, but the effeminate dragon comes off as dated and goofy; not to mention the story just seems to go on and on.  It’s fun for what it is, but after the brisk clip of Benchley wandering through the studio, it doesn’t punctuate as well as it should.

Obviously, Alan Ladd wasn’t a Disney animator, and the true-life events going on behind the scenes leave The Reluctant Dragon with a dark mark on it.  During this time over half the animators were on-strike over loss of bonuses, as well as lay-offs and firings due to the war.  Walt was staunchly against unions and the resultant strike led to several key animators leaving Disney for good, as well as ruining Walt’s belief that they were one big happy family.  Of course, none of this is evident in the movie itself.  The happy family element remains in effect here, although almost none of the so-called animators (aside from Ward Kimball and a few others) truly worked there.

I was left reluctant by The Reluctant Dragon.  It’s a great documentary for the sillier set, as well as a time capsule to a time in Disney history we’ll never see.  It’s also a highly idealized look at the animation house; an attempt to remove itself from the strike and concerns of a world war.  It’s a product of its time and deserves inclusion within the Disney animated canon.

Ronnie Rating:

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Disney Animation Collection 6: The Reluctant Dragon

Journey for Margaret is a movie interpreted in different ways from 1942 to today.  For 1940s audiences, the movie is a rousing call to arms for the nuclear family to band together; a condemnation against isolationism and the need for compassion for our British allies as embodied by two orphaned children.  For today’s audience, Journey for Margaret is a bittersweet tale of a couple coming together during wartime and embracing two children who need their love.  Whereas that plot was originally there for 1940s audiences, Journey for Margaret is hard to swallow today.  Its rallying cry prevents the audience from feeling any emotion not conveyed via lengthy speeches, yelling, and patriotic music.  Despite its star-making début of young Margaret O’Brien, it’s hard to see her possessing any discernible talent which, thankfully, ended up proving false.

John Davis (Robert Young) is an American reporter living in London with his pregnant wife, Nora (Laraine Day).  When the couple loses their baby during the Blitz, the two find themselves drifting apart.  When visiting an English shelter for orphans, John takes a shine to two young children (William Severn and O’Brien) looking for a home.

Journey for Margaret is about the end of innocence and the beginning of a new breed of innocence, and that’s encapsulated best through Margaret O’Brien’s début.  O’Brien plays the eponymous Margaret, loving the name so much she dropped her given name (Angela) in favor of Margaret; this was a common technique for stars to take on the name of their début character.  Sadly, the movie marked the end for director W.S. Van Dyke who famously directed several classics including The Thin Man.  Van Dyke was struggling with cancer and heart disease and committed suicide shortly after Journey for Margaret’s completion.  Van Dyke’s heartwarming exploration of domesticity remains at the heart of the film, especially incorporating the nuclear family and its resilience to the growing war.

The script’s intentions come off as preachy and overtly patriotic at times, especially when Young gives not one, but two separate speeches where he raises his voice to convey seriousness.  Shouting isn’t required to convey a message, so when Young winds it up you take notice, not for the message but to wonder why he’s yelling at you.  Margaret O’Brien doesn’t get away from this either.  We’re introduced to her character when she’s returned to the orphanage by her adoptive mother.  The head social worker says Margaret is allowed to cry, and boy does the kid take it to heart.  It’s hard to blame the child actress too much, she was only five years old, but she starts to oversell it and as you watch her ramp it up you’re also wondering why the people around her let it go on for so long.

Coming out in the heart of WWII there’s a distinct air of American can-do spirit, and our all-American couple with the generic name of Davis get a first-hand look at the tragedy of the war they’re entering.  American isolationism lasted a long time, all while the British and other Allied countries were fighting for several years.  As John witnesses the horrors of the bombing, and the children left behind, he becomes angry and, much like America, can no longer ignore it.  His anger is heightened once the Blitz ends up causing Nora to miscarry their first child in their own personal Pearl Harbor.  There are a few affecting scenes, particularly one where a small child says her nightly prayers as bombs drop outside their shelter.  If anything, Journey for Margaret depicts an oft-ignored element of WWII: the children who couldn’t leave the country and had no one to care for them.

Robert Young is the adult center of the movie, but this is a vehicle meant for its child stars.  I say stars, but there’s a reason this film isn’t called Journey for Peter.  Outside of her crying sequence, O’Brien is adorable and the movie’s beginnings are similar to Lost Angel, both detailing a man without children coming to terms with fatherhood.  Unfortunately, O’Brien’s acting is limited to crying and looking cherubic.  She worked far better as a comedic child star than a dramatic one.  William Severn is cute, but whenever he’s on-screen I thought I was watching Children of the Damned.  He’d work great alongside Charles Laughton from The Barretts of Wimpole Street.  Severn has a tendency to look at Young like he’s going to eat him, and I dare you to not shudder when he says “my Mr. Davis.”

It’s easy to tear the movie apart with today’s knowledge.  It’s mentioned that the children John meets are emotionally disturbed, yet they’re given to people with no knowledge of how to handle them and are quickly returned.  Even Margaret’s third foster parent tells her straight-up “We don’t know what to do with you.”  The movie’s happy ending seeks to wipe clean the slate, showing love as the cure for these kids.  The third act perpetuates the idea that children are often the ignored ones in wartime, a fantastic element worth exploring, but the script dilutes the whole thing with Davis asking various passengers on a plane to  give up their luggage so the children can escape the country.  It’s hard to fathom people balking at deciding whether luggage or children are more important.  Your iPod or your kids?  It’s heavy-handed for a reason, but funny today.

Journey for Margaret is a product of its time and its patriotism comes off as abrasive in parts.  Robert Young is a solid all-American lead and Margaret O’Brien is adorable, even though this isn’t the best launchpad for showcasing her brand of talent.

Ronnie Rating:

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Journey For Margaret

The first of (hopefully) several articles exploring the upcoming TCM Classic Film Festival simultaneously marks the return of the Mint in the Box review.  If you missed my inaugural post exploring the Sound of Music Collector’s box set, check it out!  I received the Wizard of Oz Collector’s Edition after begging and pleading with my parents, ultimately convincing them that if I didn’t get the flash drive included with this set, exclusively sold via Amazon, my life would never be good again…and they could write it off as a business expense or something (didn’t work out in my favor there).  Thankfully, opening this set up now was a great idea, aiding my journey into the TCM waters next week.

I did create a fun review of The Wizard of Oz last year, and you can read that over here.  We all should know the film by now, and if you haven’t watched The Wizard of Oz yet there’s no help for you.  (I jest…kind of).  I won’t review the movie proper but the box set comes with any and all ways to travel to the magical land of Oz.  The movie component includes a 3D Blu-ray of the film which you can only watch with a 3D TV.  Since I lack all the 3D elements, that particular disc will probably never see the light of day.  There’s also the standard Blu-ray, a 2-disc DVD and a code for a digital copy of the movie.  The movie on Blu is stunning and includes a wealth of bonus content including an hour-long making-of, audio commentaries, singalongs, biographies, and a Lux Radio Theater presentation.  There are two-discs worth of content so I’m barely scratching the surface.

You really want to know about the box set itself right?  I mean, these aren’t exactly cheap so they need a bunch of goodies to get your dollar.  As with The Sound of Music set, the Wizard of Oz 75th Anniversary Collector’s Edition blends knickknacks with insightful commentary on the movie itself.  The box is hefty from the outset, with a beautiful photo of the whole gang on the front.  Each box is limited edition with a number on the front.  Sorry if it the photo came out blurry.

After opening it, there’s a hardbound book detailing the entire production of the movie, from the germination of the original idea to cast changes and première.  This is a brief picture book but provides rare photos of costuming testing, and actual scenes with the original characters, hair, and costumes which were eventually reshot.  There’s a timeline running along the bottom of each page which fascinated me because as you’re looking pictures of filming they timeline mentions casting is still going on and changes were being made.  Underneath the box is a large map of Oz printed on cardstock and a still of Dorothy entering Oz for the first time.  These are a bit flimsy, but are suitable for framing if you’re so inclined.

In the interior of the box are the goodies and the Blu-rays/DVD.  I collect these because of the gimmicks and boy are there are a ton of fun things for you to play with.  First off, is a notebook with the infamous Kansas tornado on the cover.  I was looking for a notebook to take with me to TCMFF, and what better way to connect with the festival (since Wizard of Oz is playing there) than to have a notebook associated with the film?  There’s also a small glitter snow globe with the ruby slippers on top that lights up.  My mom assumed the set would contain a regular snow globe, but I found it adorable.  There’s also a flash drive in the shape of the Wicked Witch of the East’s infamous striped-stocking leg (yep, I asked for this set because of this element alone).  There’s also three beautiful pins in the shape of the “gifts” the wizard bestows on Dorothy’s friends (a diploma, a heart watch, and a badge of courage).  I plan on pinning the heart watch to my lanyard so be on the lookout  for it if you see me at the fest.

Overall, for the value, there’s a lot to enjoy about this collector’s edition whether you’re purchasing it for the movie or the tchotckes inside.  It’s on-sale quite a bit via Amazon so if you don’t have the movie on any Blu-ray, consider the box set.

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The Wizard of Oz: 75th Anniversary Limited Collector’s Edition (Blu-ray 3D / Blu-ray / DVD / UltraViolet + Amazon-Exclusive Flash Drive)

The last production Walt Disney greenlit, The Love Bug was the perfect movie to help audiences sit down and tune out during the chaotic year of 1968.  The story of a little bug with a spunky personality perservering against the wealthy corporate drudge is a tale as old as time…but those other movies lack a car named Herbie.  The first of the Herbie movies is a fun little tale even if it lacks the punch of other Disney classics before or after.

Jim Douglas (Dean Jones) is a race car driver past his prime.  When he becomes the owner of a Volkswagen bug named Herbie, Jim is poised to become the driver he believes he is.

The Love Bug’s pedigree contains the best Disney had to offer in 1968: Mary Poppins director Robert Stevenson, Poppins scribe Don DaGradi, and Poppins co-star David Tomlinson.  Stevenson and DaGradi worked on other pictures post-Mary and her magical carpetbag, but they were obviously riding the wave towards Disney’s next franchise.  The Love Bug was the first of six Herbie the Love Bug features and feels like the beginning of a larger story where the title character is prominently featured despite a lack of pronounceable characteristics.  I’m sure as the later sequels developed Herbie, and his human companions, gained a wider swath of traits to round them out.

It’s hard for a movie to personify inanimate objects without inserting goofy facial characteristics or, even worse, a moving mouth and dialogue.  For all of Disney’s strengths in the past, doing just that with various objects, they ground Herbie in some type of reality.  The little Bug isn’t given dialogue or features short of his headlamps being eyes, and even then it’s just because they’re circular and in the front.  (Later features would play up the headlights as eyes more.)  The audience is aware he’s a car, yet it’s hard not to believe he’s a living character, a testament to the script and mechanical work of the stunt car.  His leaking fluid on characters he hates and dragging Jim and friends around creates a colorful personality far more entertaining than the human characters you’re supposed to root for.  I was, however, surprised that the title The Love Bug fails to pay off as much as you’re led to believe.  Herbie plays Cupid in a way, getting Jim and Carole (Michele Lee) together, but it’s through nothing more than taking them on one date.  The sheer story with Herbie and Jim brings the duo together, but you’re so focused on Herbie that Jim and Carole’s relationship is irrelevant.

There’s a lot of incidental plotlines and situations paying off little or not at all.  The romance is one element, and there’s a lot of wheeling and dealing with the car and its owners that becomes repetitive by the end.  For a feature clocking in at 108-minutes, The Love Bug overstays its welcome a bit by the end.  The film is set in San Francisco, a location Disney’s loved during this time period and later (see The Princess Diaries), and there’s some wonderful cinematography employed highlighting the city.  Look at when Jim and the car go down Lombard Street, or, more dramatically (and hilariously) when Herbie tries to throw himself off the Golden Gate Bridge, as some of the movie’s best sequences highlighting the beauty of the city during a time when it was coming into its own.  And it wouldn’t be a movie set in the late 1960s without hippies and references to San Francisco’s rising drug culture (a cop makes a passing reference to Haight-Ashbury).  There are several instances where this movie isn’t as PC as the Disney of today, both sad and funny to watch.

Herbie is the Charles Atlas of the car world, especially when compared to Peter Thorndyke’s (Tomlinson) beautiful Apollo GT.  (I’m a car girl and the Apollo in this movie is EXQUISITE!  The private collector who owns this is lucky.)  Speaking of Tomlinson, he’s another colorful character you can’t help but enjoy.  Tomlinson, as the snooty Thornkdyke, channels Mr. Banks, but with an added veneer of scheming leaving you with a smile on your face.  Herbie becomes a child of divorce, torn between two people just selfish enough to miss the bigger picture.  Dean Jones is decent as the milquetoast Jim Douglas, although I can’t help but wonder how the character would play younger or older than Jones himself.  Jones inhabits a liminal stage, looking too old to be a petulant child obsessed with a dream he might never achieve (every time Jim mentions “I want to be a race car driver” I imagined some young kid desperate to become a rock star), and too young to pull off a rough and tumble guy too old to acclimate to how racing’s changed.  Jones and Lee are incidental to the plot and provide the requisite love story.  Buddy Hackett, returning to the blog after the lackluster Bud & Lou, is the one who should have been in the driver’s seat.  His character, Tennessee is in tune to Herbie and bonds deeply with the car in contrast to Jim.

The Love Bug is a pleasing children’s film that’ll attract families and car lovers.  The plot is thin and the other human characters pale compared to the dynamic Herbie.  Disney knew the potential of a franchise and if any movie deserved additional films it’s this one.

Ronnie Rating:

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Disney 4-Movie Collection: Herbie (Love Bug / Herbie Goes Bananas / Herbie Goes To Monte Carlo / Herbie Rides Again)

Summertime is coming and maybe you’re planning a fantastic trip to the beach to spend time with your loved ones.  Or, if you’re like me, you dread any type of event where you’re stuck in close quarters with the people you already spend 365 days a year with.  If this is you than Mr. Hobbs Takes a Vacation is the movie to pop into your Blu-ray player before hitting the road.  Jimmy Stewart plays an exhausted father looking for some togetherness with his disparate clan only to wander down a road littered with disaster at every corner.  With enough humor to spare, Mr. Hobbs Takes a Vacation combines old Hollywood ideals lost at sea in the 1960s.

Roger Hobbs (Stewart) refuses to spend time with his family, especially after their last trip.  With the aid of flashback, he shows us the last time Hobbs and his family took a presumably quiet trip to the Northern California coast.  However, the family ends up staying in a house whose problems are commensurate with their own.

Twilight Time essayist Julie Kirgo is a mind-reader because several character comparisons and elements in my notes cropped up in her analytic essay included with the disc.  (I read the essay after watching the movie in case you’re wondering.)  I fault Jimmy Stewart for always playing the hero, the optimist, the guy you just can’t help but empathize with.  He’s too perfect for me, which is the reason I’ve avoided his work in the past.  The Jimmy Stewart of Mr. Hobbs is a harder, rational character whose issues I identified with constantly.  His opening narration bemoans a world that’s “too damn crowded” (the emphasis on “damn’s” and “hell’s” appears to flaunt the relaxed Production Code rules of the ’60s).  Roger Hobbs (and Stewart as a result) is too damn tired to stand as the bastion of righteousness any longer.  All he wants is a little peace and quiet, and maybe time to spend with his family despite claiming they don’t need him anymore.  George Bailey would get a smack in the kisser if he stood in front of Roger Hobbs screaming about Zuzu’s petals.  The closest comparison to Roger Hobbs is Stanley Banks, Spencer Tracy’s character in Father of the Bride.  It makes sense considering Nunnally Johnson adapted Edward Streeter’s novel of the same name; Streeter was the author of Father of the Bride.

Same as Father of the Bride, Hobbs leads us via flashback to the vacation that ripped out his soul to the point of contemplating suicide at the beginning-proven as a joke by the end.  The opening introduction to Hobbs and his family presents the deterioration of the nuclear family: Roger and his wife, Peggy (Maureen O’Hara) barely talk; his daughter, Katey (Lauri Peters) is crippled with self-consciousness due to her new braces; Hobbs’ two eldest daughters live far away with individual domestic troubles; and little Danny Hobbs (Michael Burns) talks to Roger when it’s time to purchase the month’s Playboy.  Jimmy Stewart talking about Playboy is easily one of the more disturbing things I’ve heard a classic movie actor talk about.  This is a nuclear family diverging from the norm, both geographically and fundamentally, with Hobbs forced to conform or die.

After setting up the family, they’re assembled for their trip to the coast and a funeral dirge appropriately plays as they pull up to a house seemingly materialized from thin air and plopped in the middle of the beach.  It looks like the Bates House with the interior from 13 Ghosts (anyone know if the Castle feature was filmed on the same set?).  Hobbs says it’s “good for Edgar Allan Poe” but you’ll half-expect Lurch to open the door with a “You rang?”  The film falls into the typical pratfalls of a house from hell picture, especially the mischievous water pump Stewart fights with, but for the most part this is a movie concerned with people’s failures.  Johnson’s flippant script pulls the film away from a typical Hollywood family gathering.  What other movie combines a joke about two people trapped in a bathroom with a one-liner about Lolita’s Humbert Humbert?  And let’s not forget Roger Hobbs screaming “Where’s that albino” during a teen dance.

There are also witty accusations against child psychology since one of Hobbs’ eldest daughters is married to a man interested in the subject.  The movie makes light of the various ways people “discipline” their child by ignoring their disobedience, but you side with Hobbs in his attempts to save his possessions from his daughter’s rugrats.  (They eventually grow to love their “Boompa”, and, despite never showing anything to the contrary, it’s presumed they’ve changed from being around him.)  Several moments in the movie present laughter at select tragedies in a sea of terribles.  When one of Hobbs’ daughters decides to separate from her husband the movie doesn’t detour into melodrama.  Instead, the two adults part with the husband telling his kids “Bye, kids.  Don’t forget Daddy.”  On the page it sounds upsetting, but presented within the movie it’s hilarious.

For all the humor there’s a desire to retain the family focus of Mr. Hobbs Takes a Vacation.  Much of this is placed on the shoulders of Lauri Peters’ Katey who originated the role of Liesel Von Trapp in The Sound of Music on Broadway.  Her Katey acts like a Gidget clone/reject despite Peters’ hilarious facial expressions as she remains lock-lipped because of her braces.  Her plot develops over an hour into the movie once she meets Joe (teen idol Fabian) and the two instantly fall in love.  Or it’s instant because of the lack of scenes developing it.  Fabian was 19 but looks fifteen years older standing next to Peters, who appears significantly younger than her 19 years.  There’s nothing before or after indicating this is a musical, but the studio heads must have agreed Fabian couldn’t appear without a song, so cue three minutes of obnoxious, 1960s beach music.  The song is as startling as Katey’s character transformation.  One minute the girl won’t smile, the next she’s confident enough to sing a song in front of others?  And poor O’Hara, despite being “36-26-36 and still operating,” is relegated to speaking in moral platitudes as the voice of reason.  The movie overstays its welcome by a good 30 minutes, with the appearance of another couple, leaving you to wonder if the script is inventing things to do in order to pad the runtime.

I’ve heaped near-constant praise on Twilight Time’s Blu-rays already, but I’ve never talked about the service they provide smaller features that wouldn’t warrant a Blu-ray release from a larger studio.  Mr. Hobbs Takes a Vacation isn’t a seminal film from 1962, and it’s doubtful 20th Century Fox would have given the movie half the respect Twilight Time’s given to its Blu-ray release.  The picture and sound are spectacular, and the bonus features are the typical “one and done” of standard Twilight Time and Fox releases.  There’s the requisite isolated score as well as the Fox stand-by’s of a Movietone newsreel and the theatrical trailer.

A running gag is Hobbs’ attempted reading of War and Peace, a novel whose title describes the two elements at play within Mr. Hobbs Takes a Vacation.  Mr. Hobbs is at war with his family and himself, but eventually the peace he’s wanted all along, and he bonds with his family at the same time.  Twilight Time takes an obscure title-I hadn’t heard of it before learning Twilight Time was putting it out-and releases it to the masses in a loving new transfer.  If you’re stuck with the family, give Mr. Hobbs your attention before you go.  You might learn to love your family in the process!

Ronnie Rating:

If you’re interested in purchasing a Twilight Time release, the cheapest way is directly from their website.

Mr. Hobbs Takes a Vacation

As we wrap up my look at the Rodgers and Hammerstein Collection on Blu-ray, I’m reposting my Mint in the Box review of The Sound of Music.  Please note, the Blu-ray in both is beautifully presented, but due to space the only bonus content on the disc in the box set is “Favorite Things,” two commentaries, Sing-Along and Music Machine.  If you want just the movie, as well as the other R&H movies, buy the set.  If you’re interested in strictly Sound of Music, and want a bunch of fun toys, purchase this set.  Stay tuned for my final wrap-up and overall summation of the set.

I got a fantastic deal on this at Costco, and I’ve always wanted one of these heavy box sets but the prices haven’t been too affordable (I’m looking at you Singin’ in the Rain).  The Sound of Music is a flawless movie in my book, and yet this Collector’s Edition goes one step beyond by providing a slew of additional collectibles on top of the film.  I recommend this to the hard-core Sound of Music fan, or those who enjoy owning more than the Blu-Ray disc.

The Sound of Music follows a flighty nun named Maria (Julie Andrews) who becomes the governess to the seven Von Trapp children.

The Movie

Whether you’ve seen the film or not, you know the basic synopsis of The Sound of Music.  The film is a Christmas staple on television, maybe because of the nuns, the spirit of hope, or the music, but it definitely warms the cockles of your heart.  The film opens with a beautiful expansive shot of Salzburg  highlighting the on-location nature of the film as well as the expansive sets.  Released in 1965, The Sound of Music embraces CinemaScope, as well as the road show release method popular at the time.  It’s a lengthy movie, clocking five minutes shy of three hours, and there are slow parts but not enough to break the fun.

There are two distinct halves to the movie: the first hour is comprised of Maria interacting with the Von Trapp children, turning their world upside down, and making them embrace fun and singing.  Maria is a free spirit (she sings “without permission”) saddled with teaching seven children who don’t trust her.  I understand her frustration!  Andrews soars as Maria making this is my second favorite role of hers.  She’s bubbly, and a fantastic mother figure throughout.  I actually saw this for the first time last year (I know!), and was  surprised to see Christopher Plummer as the Von Trapp patriarch.  He’s astounding, and easy on the eyes, I must say.  He’s gruff and domineering in the opening half, but it’s always evident he loves his children.  It’s no secret Plummer’s singing voice was dubbed, but the performance of “Edleweiss” is my favorite in the film.  The acting of the children is mixed, running from good to fair.  Charmain Carr, who plays the eldest, Liesl, is a superior dancer but a fair actress.  I love the choreography of “Sixteen Going on Seventeen,” but when Carr’s not dancing she looks as if she’s reading her lines like a movie of the week.  The other children have their own individual moments to shine (except for the boys who are ignored).

The second half is a jarring segue into a darker tone permeating the rest of the movie.  The Nazis are present throughout, but by the two and a half hour mark their presence is unavoidable. The problem is the Von Trapps are never placed in any true danger.  Yes, the Nazis wait outside their house for them when they plan on escaping (I have to wonder how many other families were able to make it out since the entire Nazi fleet of Salzburg was stationed outside the Von Trapp home), and there’s a tense stand-off in the abbey, but it fails to amount to anything.  The film presents such a light tone throughout the preceding two hours you’re never given any indication the film is going to end badly.  And immediately after the stand-off, they’re trekking through the mountains in harmony.  I’m not saying I wanted the Von Trapp’s to end up in a concentration camp or anything, but the two halves don’t gel; they live happily ever after.

The Box Set

The 45th Anniversary Edition comes with the DVD, the Blu-Ray, and a CD containing the soundtrack.  I didn’t own the soundtrack before, so it was nice to have a legitimate copy I can import to my iPod.  The Blu-Ray is amazing with full sound that’s too loud at times but otherwise perfect.  The colors are lush and vibrant due to it’s CinemaScope filming.  I noticed moments where everyone was outside, the skin tones had a glare, but it doesn’t happen often.

The film is light on bonus material.  There are commentaries with Julie Andrews, Christopher Plummer, and director Robert Wise that I haven’t sat through yet, but I look forward to it.  The big selling point, weirdly enough, is Your Favorite Things: An Interactive Celebration.  It’s a series of different “modes” to watch the film in: Making Music: A Journey in Images shows never before seen images in the corner while the film plays, the Sing-Along Experience (song lyrics run along the bottom), Many a Thing to Know (a Pop-Up Video-esque feature involving trivia on the movie and the real Von Trapps), and Where Was It Filmed, a quiz testing your knowledge of the movie.  You can also go to individual scenes and see what modes are offered.  It’s a fun novelty worth watching once, but it has little replay value unless you’re watching with a group.  There’s also a feature called Music Machine, playing all the musical sequences alone, as well as Sing-Along Mode.  I didn’t understand why Sing-Along Mode is its own feature when it’s the same thing as the Sing-Along Experience in Your Favorite Things.

As for the box set itself, I am in love!  The entire set comes in a large box that flips up like a  keepsake box with My Favorite Things emblazoned along the top.  Each box has a number attached to correspond with the total copies sold.  It also comes with a sheer certificate of authenticity.  Inside the box, along with the DVD/Blu-Ray, is a packet of photos entitled Snapshots from Salzburg.  They’re mock postcards showing images from the film with fun sayings like “Greetings from Salzburg” on the front.  There’s also a booklet providing a plot summary of the movie with more images.  I wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but it’s nice to have if you miss something in the film, or want to quickly read what happens.  On top of all that is a book called “A Few Of Our Favorite Things” detailing the real Von Trapp family, the origins of the Broadway musical, the adaptation to film, and filming in Salzburg.  It’s an informative book with beautiful images of the family, the original Broadway cast, and behind the scenes photos.  The best reason to buy this, in my opinion, is the porcelain (it felt like it) music box inside.  It says “My Favorite Things” on the top and plays the song of the same name.  I really like music boxes and felt this was a nice present.

The Sound of Music is a delightful film, although I know the runtime and the cheerful ending can put some people off.  If you’re a die-hard fan I highly recommend getting the 45th Anniversary Box Set.  It’s affordable at the moment, and for what you get, there’s a few “favorite things” to add to your collection.

Ronnie Rating

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The Rodgers and Hammerstein Collection on Blu-ray

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The 45th Anniversary Sound of Music Set

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My final Film Class Wednesday movie is the fantastic Wizard of Oz.  This is a movie reviewed to death, so read my repost where I present a rather humorous take on the movie.  Something to note, this was also the closing-night film during this year’s TCM Film Festival.

It’s difficult reviewing a truly beloved film since there are few unexplored avenues you can go down without blandly reiterating how amazing it is.  For today’s review, let’s go funny.  There are a few things I’ve always wanted to discuss about The Wizard of Oz, mainly things which bother me.  So with that, I present this review of The Wizard of Oz.  Keep in mind, I love this movie, but that doesn’t mean it’s infallible.

First, my general thoughts about Dorothy and her journey.  I adore The Wizard of Oz; it’s unique, and I doubt we’ll ever see another one of its kind again.  The Wizard of Oz is one of those rare films that has the ability to transport you to an entirely new place and you believe in it wholeheartedly.  There have been mystical or fantastical places depicted in film since the medium’s inception, but The Wizard of Oz makes you believe Oz exists. When Dorothy opens the door of her house and enters the Technicolor world of Oz, it feels more real to you than boring Kansas.  Kansas is a lonely photograph, complete with sepia tone (which I love over the typical black and white), but Oz is the vibrant heart of a mystical world found only in your dreams.  As an adult, you’re able to notice the mastery of the set design.  The construction of the set feels obvious, and yet you wouldn’t mind walking around in it.  Judy Garland inhabits the liminal space between childhood without being childish.  I notice when a young adult is trying too hard to be a child, but Garland never makes you feel that.  It’s a class act, and no amount of description conveys how fantastic she is.

With that being said, let’s discuss some things.  First off, Dorothy should have died within the first twenty minutes!  When the twister comes (by the way, the movie Twister has put me in a bad habit of capitalizing the word ), knocking out Dorothy’s window and bonking her on the head, she should have died from blunt force trauma alone let alone traveling via a tornado in a house built of planks!  I blame Toto for all this.  I know he’s cute, but that dog is either a diabolical mastermind or the biggest douchebag in the world.  First, he bites Almira Gulch (Margaret Hamilton) and gets taken away.  He comes back, causing Dorothy to run away and run back home where she should have died in the aforementioned twister.  The dog gets stepped on and taken away at least eight more times forcing Dorothy to defend him.  Then, at the end, he jumps out of the hot air balloon so Dorothy has to stay in Oz!  I want a movie told from Toto’s perspective because this dog does not have Dorothy’s best interests at heart.

Going back to Dorothy landing in Oz itself.  I’m confused about the governmental structure of this city.  It’s revealed there are three witches (of the North, East, and West.  Guess they redistributed the South?) who all seem to control some undefined territory?  Or maybe they’re like Mafia enforcers who patrol various areas and threaten to move in on each others property?  (I guess then they’d be like modern-day gangs/drug cartels.)  If that’s the case wouldn’t Oz be in a constant state of civil war?  Glinda (Billie Burke) supposedly has a lot of power, and yet she refers Dorothy out to the Wizard whose power is grander than her’s.  So do the witches act as mayors then?  I’m wondering if Sam Raimi’s Oz the Great and Powerful answers any of these questions (Addendum: It doesn’t and it’s a terrible film not worth wasting your time with).  And why was the Witch of the East skulking around Munchkinland in the first place?  It’s obvious the Munchkins aren’t aware of her presence – unless we’re supposed to believe they were hiding from her.  And how stupid was the Witch of the East that she doesn’t see a massive house coming? Munchkinland looks as big as my house, so a full-size house plummeting from the sky shouldn’t be hard to miss.  Once Dorothy actually gets to the Emerald City we see all the one-percenters living the high life (who else could they be?).  As the song “The Very Old Land of Oz” says: “they get up at noon, get to work at one, take an hour for lunch, and at two they’re done!”  So does their economy run purely on the odd stranger allowed entry to have their hair primped? (Keep in mind, visitors have to get clearance from the guard.)  Is that why the Munchkins are terrorized daily, because they don’t make enough money?

The actual ruby slippers are a pre-Hitchcock MacGuffin if ever I’ve seen one.  Other than getting Dorothy home they aren’t good for anything but being hip footwear.  They supposedly protect Dorothy from the Wicked Witch, but I don’t trust anything Glinda says (I’ll get to her in a minute).  Since the Witch doesn’t do anything violent to Dorothy herself we don’t get a chance to test that theory either way.  And the ruby slippers are either the best kept secret of Oz or everyone’s stupid.  Glinda says she doesn’t know why the Wicked Witch of the West wants them.  “They must be very powerful, or she wouldn’t them so bad.”  How does Glinda not know their power, yet she makes a point of reminding the Witch Dorothy has them on?!  Thanks a heap Glinda!  If you had kept your fat piehole shut Dorothy could have made it to Oz without any problems.  I think you wanted her to irritate the Witch both of them off your back!  “Hey Dorothy, this is the Wicked Witch of the West.  Oh, my God, look at Dorothy’s ruby slippers that were once your dead, rotting sister’s.  Aren’t they awesome?”   Gregory Maguire’s Wicked explains all this better than me.

This brings me to Glinda herself; the sadistic “Good” Witch of the North.  Not only does Glinda sic the Wicked Witch on Dorothy, she rubs salt in the wounds by telling Dorothy “the sooner you get out of Oz altogether, the safer you’ll sleep.”  She’d be sleeping fine if you hadn’t mentioned the damn shoes!  Or better yet, at any moment you could have told Dorothy “click your heels, say ‘there’s no place like home’ and I don’t have to look at your face!”  She tells Dorothy at the end “you wouldn’t have believed me.  She needed to learn it for herself” but I haven’t believed anything Glinda said since she mentioned she didn’t know the slipper’s power.  Two, what kind of logic is that?  I think Glinda wanted the Wicked Witch off her back after that whole dead sister thing, and used Dorothy as a scapegoat to get a paid vacation.  When Dorothy passes out in the poppy field Glinda doesn’t even show up!  She waves her wand from some magic bubble in the sky.  Again, she could have boomed out like the voice of God “click your damn heels.”  I think Dorothy would have been justified in telling Glinda “I was almost killed several times, my dog was threatened, I was roofied by poppies, and the Wizard is a fraud, and THE ENTIRE TIME THE SHINY FOOTWEAR WAS A ONE-WAY TICKET HOME.  Die!!!”  Dorothy’s killed before, she could have taken Glinda out for sure.  And that’s another thing; how many times can you “accidentally” kill people before you’re a plain old murderer?  The Wizard isn’t much help either.  He belittles education, and doesn’t give them diddly squat when you really think about it.

When it’s all said and done what’s the moral of The Wizard of Oz?  Live at home with your family until they die, of course!  After that trip to Oz you think Dorothy’s ever leaving home?  She says at the end she isn’t.  Dorothy probably lived with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry till they died, never married, never had kids, and probably turned into the female Norman Bates.  She probably laid in bed, next to their corpses, whispering “there’s no place like home.”  Thanks Hollywood, you made a sweet little girl a stark raving psycho.  Oh, and the movie also says you can survive a twister by just laying on your bed next to an open window.  And hey, how did Professor Marvel know where Dorothy lived?  Dude’s a creep!

Again, this review is written in jest.  I love The Wizard of Oz, but that doesn’t mean it can’t get a friendly ribbing.  Please don’t send me angry comments unless you’re aware I’m joking.

Ronnie Rating:

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The Wizard of Oz

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We pay tribute this week to a bright-eyed moppet with sausage curls and a dimpled smile. When Shirley Temple Black passed away earlier this year, I knew I had to honor her in some way despite never watching her films previously. I have fond memories of watching commercials for the Shirley Temple Collection of films, but there just wasn’t anything that struck the fancy as a small child. Several of these movies are personal favorites of my mom. Today’s starting film, especially, traumatized my mother as a child and I understand why!

Star (Temple) has lived with lighthouse keeper Captain January (Guy Kibbee) ever since he fished her out of the sea. Her mother perished in the ensuing ship wreck. Beloved by everyone, Star’s world is turned upside-down with an uppity truant officer demands Star be removed from January’s care.

Shirley Temple’s become the punching bag for any child too perfect to exist in nature. Where Margaret O’Brien was always overly prim and proper, or Jane Withers wasn’t afraid to get dirty, Shirley was the angelic foundling. Knowing more about her films than her performances in them, I noticed the tropes of the Temple formula right away: Temple plays an orphan generally raised by a man and in conflict with female-based society; or, gender aside, Temple is at odds with the wealthy while enjoying the world of the working class.

Captain January would make an excellent essay to analyze from today’s standpoint. The truant officer uses the motivation of getting Star put into school and properly raised as an impetus to get involved, but is that really the reason she’s so gung-ho about taking Star away from a man she presumes is a miscreant? What about the concept that Cap is a single man raising a child? Or a single man who always hangs out with another captain, Nazro (Slim Summerville) and refuses to marry the local widow (Jane Darwell) who makes no bones about her love for him? I think the officer was concerned about Star living in such an alternative lifestyle. And really it is alternative, my analysis aside. Star isn’t treated like a child by the menfolk of this town (for all the men there’s only three women…I don’t like those odds). When she goes in to town to run errands, Star talks like a sailor in training and gets respect. She’s a tomboy who thinks needlepoint has nothing to do with the call of the sea, and she’s right! Temple is firmly an innocent child whom you laugh at when she declares “tea and Chinamen” come from China – from the mouths of babes – and yet engages in light breakfast conversation about death!

Temple is delightful as Star, even if she acts as a surrogate wife to January. If you think I’m stretching with that, Graham Greene called Temple’s performance “coquettish.”  He isn’t far off because Temple, at times, comes off as flirty, especially when she’s in the dress her mother wore. That scene, more than any other, is the weirdest of the bunch because it’s the one moment where Star acts like an adult, moving away from the love of life in the moment she conveys before and after. And it’s a bit odd how she baldly tells Jane Darwell’s Widow Croft that she’s the “lady of the house.” This won’t be caught by small children, but adults might be taken aback by it.

One thing that time can’t change about Temple’s movies are their exuberant optimism. Temple acted as a balm for the harshness of the Great Depression, and what better way to preserver than know a little girl could wake up every morning with a song in her heart. The opening song, “Early Bird” is a sweet introduction to our character, complete with some fun camera trickery of Temple turning a corner and coming out fully dressed. The showstopper that people best remember Captain January for is “At the Codfish Ball” where Temple dances with Buddy Ebsen. Temple was perfect at lock-stepping with the best of them and she effortlessly glides all over the docks with Ebsen, who, at one point, actually starts climbing barrels with her in his arms. I was curious if anyone else noticed Temple’s tendency to glance to the sides during the Ebsen number. Is she looking at a coach or just taking in the spectators?

Guy Kibbee and Temple are a beautiful match with a true tenderness and affection for each other. When Star is ripped from January’s arms, Kibbee’s face is heartbreak personified in a way that Temple’s crying can’t transcend. As January plaintively says “Don’t cry” to Star, it’s as if he’s saying to the audience it’s totally okay for us to wail our eyes out. The studio was in a pickle with the ending since the script originally called for Cap to die, fading out like the lighthouse that now runs on electricity. No way Star would hear about the death of her beloved Cap, so instead practically the entire town ends up working on the yacht of Star’s aunt and uncle. It’s hokey, but at least our two characters are reunited and I was perfectly fine with that.

Captain January is a great introduction to the world of Shirley Temple. It’s a movie that’s aged decently with a legendary musical sequence and some impressive acting from Temple (even though she’s upstaged by Kibbee). If you’re looking to get your kids immersed into Temple’s films this is a great place to start.

Ronnie Rating:

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Shirley Temple: America’s Sweetheart Collection, Vol. 4, Captain January / Just Around the Corner / Susannah of the Mounties

Frances Hodgson Burnett’s tale of a little girl trapped in an all-girls boarding school after her father dies holds a special place in my heart, but it’s not for this version of the Little Princess. I’ve always had an abiding love for the 1995 reboot of Burnett’s novel, changing the indefinite article from The to A Little Princess. You could say this minor title change sums up the differences between the two films, and it’s hard avoiding comparisons. Either way, Shirley Temple’s magnificent shadow ends up dampening the glow of Burnett’s work, installing far too many characters and lessening the suspense of the overall story.

Sara Crewe (Temple) and her father travel to England where Sara is left at the Miss. Minchin Seminary while her father goes off to fight in the Boer War. When her father allegedly dies, Sara is left penniless. After of ruining the school’s reputation, Miss. Minchin (Mary Nash) keeps Sara on, but forces her to work as a servant.

The Little Princess, both versions and the novel, work because of the fairy-tale nature of the story: Cinderella turns back into a pumpkin and has to prove she’s the owner of the glass slipper all over again. Where the 1995 version excelled was in giving Sara Crewe agency over events. When she loses everything, she openly defies Miss. Minchin and it’s her spirit that keeps her afloat. The reason this never gels in the 1939 version is Temple’s gigantic persona. You know things are going to work, no matter what. How can they not work?  We’re talking about Shirley Temple here! Having known the machinations of the plot, it’s compelling having Temple go on a fruitless search for her father, leaving a bit of ambiguity that she wishes her father was alive, but with all the aid and encouragement, disbelief is hard to held. With the addition of several characters acting as intermediaries on Sara’s behalf, the character becomes little more than a figurehead for innocence and faithfulness.

It’s not to say Temple is poor in the role, just lacking in any technique. There’s no reliance on previous Temple tropes like singing – although there is a song and a dream sequence – or her acting overly precious, although the final images is meant to kick you in the ribs with pure sweetness. Temple is best in the moments where she struggles to acclimate to her new status, although her scrunched up face isn’t a believable indicator of tears now matter how many times she tries. The princess image fits well on her, explaining why there’s a lengthy dream sequence of Sara as a literal princess complete with ballet where she’s the prima ballerina.

This is Temple’s picture, completely, but Sara, as a character, is little more than a masthead. The final act, wherein Sara searches for her father with the aid of Queen Victoria, a statement already conjuring up images of England and its struggles as opposed to father/daughter fidelity. Add a final image of Sara saluting the Queen as “Rule Britannia” plays and the movie is little more than a propaganda film masquerading as a children’s literary adaptation.

The rest of the cast is okay, but they’re all dry in comparison to Temple. Sara is the bright center of the film, leaving the other characters to either help or hinder her. Mary Nash marks her second appearance in a Temple feature after playing nearly the same character in Heidi. The remake attempts to give definition and backstory to the character of Miss. Minchin, but this version leaves her a materialistic matron of villainy out to stop Sara no matter what. The nice guys: played by Anita Louise, Richard Greene, Cesar Romero, and Arthur Treacher are colorful – the latter two – but bland overall. Marcia Mae Jones, another Heidi alum, returns as the spoiled Lavinia, a character you love to hate.

The Little Princess is a fun, opulent movie, even if its exuberant in its virulent patriotism (understandable considering the era, but hard to ignore overall). Shirley Temple does what  she does best, although she isn’t as colorful as the more despicable characters. This is a classic for a reason, but it’s worth it to watch both versions.

Ronnie Rating:

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The Little Princess

The Shirley Temple Sweetheart Collection

Shirley Temple: America’s Sweetheart Collection, Vol. 5 (The Blue Bird / The Little Princess / Stand Up and Cheer!)

When I spoke to Jane Withers last May she talked quite a bit about filming Bright Eyes and her struggles working with Shirley Temple. I hated to admit to her that I hadn’t seen the finished product, and she, of course, urged me to get to it!  I doubt Jane is reading, but if she is, I finally watched Bright Eyes! The first feature written expressly to showcase Temple was not at all what I expected. Outright kooky at times, the script comprises a sweet and sour element, one that includes a rather brutal death and some audacious humor. There’s a messiness to Bright Eyes that Captain January cleaned up and moved away from.

Shirley Blake (Temple) and her Mary (Lois Wilson) live in the home of the wealthy Smythe family where Shirley’s mother is the maid. Terrorized by the Smythe’s daughter, Joy (Withers), the only solace Shirley finds is hanging out with her deceased father’s aviator friends led by her godfather, Loop (James Dunn). When Shirley’s mother dies, a custody battle ensues between Loop and the Smythe’s benefactor, Uncle Ned (Charles Sellon) whose dubbed Shirley “Bright Eyes.”

I defer back to my mother who swore that the scene of Mary Blake being viciously mowed down by a car, the camera panning to the smushed cake she was carrying for Shirley’s birthday was from Curly Top. Hate to break it to ya, ma but this happens in Bright Eyes. Temple’s world of butterflies and rainbows, “where bon-bons play on the sunny beach of Peppermint Bay” comes crashing down around the half-hour mark, but really trouble brews long before Mary’s fatal date with a Buick (or whatever type of car it is).  Smythe matriarch, Anita (Dorothy Christy) reprimands Mary for hanging out with aviators and taking too many phone calls. All of this is a smokescreen to fire Mary after the holidays. Like with Captain January, we again have an upwardly mobile woman condemning a lower-class “servant” for their alternative lifestyle. Mary is a single widow who frequently fraternizes with men, taking her daughter in tow.

Director David Butler based the story of Bright Eyes on personal experience, when his parents hired a Scottish woman to work as their maid. The woman would work for them on the condition they let her daughter live there, as well. None of this sounds particularly deal-breaking, but it’s the 1930s. The Smythes, characters so ridiculously pretentious they turn the name “Smith” into something snooty, are prime examples of Depression-era excess. They’re so heartless they can’t take pride in a woman struggling to raise her child alone. And yet, they’re the biggest hypocrites around, stuck at the mercy of Uncle Ned, for whom their way of life wouldn’t exist without his money. The Smythes, for all their nastiness, are certainly colorful and provide much of the film’s humor. Withers, especially, steals all her scenes and it’s easy to see where the rumor was started (although never confirmed) that Temple’s mother wanted Withers’ scenes cut to prevent upstaging Shirley.

Withers’ Joy (irony in hair ribbons) is a sociopath in the making, perfectly suited to play Edward G. Robinson’s daughter in a gangster picture if the fates aligned. This is a little girl who embodies all the things I wish little girls liked – albeit without the fear of being murdered in your sleep. Joy enjoys dolls and playing mommy, but she also wants a machine gun for Christmas and tells Temple she’s going to “kill” a doll before ripping its head off. My personal favorite moment comes on Christmas Day when Joy screams she “wanted a wheelchair!” By the end of the movie the audience probably wishes that on the little girl. Withers actually told me a story about feeling terrible for hurting the doll and wanting to repair it after filming. Only two years older than Temple at the time, Withers looks like a menacing giant when standing next to the little girl, helping the audience sympathize and fear for the curly-headed princess. For all this, though, Withers keeps you watching her more than Temple, maybe because she’s just so foreign compared to everyone else in the movie. Withers never fits in with her upper-crust parents – speaking in slang and refusing to conform to lady-like standards of her class – nor is she as ambitious or endearing as Temple and her gang of misfits. She’s a puzzle piece refusing to fit, but fit she will if she has to stomp on someone to make it so!

As mentioned above, Bright Eyes was the first feature written to promote Temple and even though she gets her landmark song, “The Good Ship Lollipop” to sing here, the ensemble cast around her can’t be ignored, especially Sellon and Withers. Watching Captain January first helped me see this as an early version of what Captain January capitalized on, although that was, itself, a remake of an earlier movie starring Baby Peggy. Both movies feature a young orphan girl, although we see her with a mother for half the film, torn between two different ways of life. And in case you ignored the idea of Temple as surrogate wife in Captain January, it’s very evident here. Loop gives Shirley a ring to wear, and Shirley ends up being wooed by two different men, one offering security (and love), the other offering love and acceptance. Actually, Withers herself did this role in a starring feature of her own!

Temple is darling and she’s a natural when placed against all the other actors. When playing opposite Wilson she’s the perfect daughter, and playing opposite Dunn she’s the perfect god-daughter/housewife. We are privy to a few of Shirley’s flaws, such as not wanting to pray for Joy or laughing when Joy’s heart. These are moments any child’s endured and without them we’d think Temple was a robot. The trio of parents for Temple are pretty bland: Wilson, Dunn, and Judith Allen as Loop’s ex-girlfriend. They’re all just the neutral center by which Temple sings her songs. They’re so humdrum, they let the Smythe’s stick out more because they have unrestrained emotions. Charles Sellon, especially, is hilarious as the angry Uncle Ned. His temper tantrum, complete with knocking items off a table and shaking shrubbery – in an attempt to upset the clean, fake world of his family – is a fantastic bit of physical comedy mixed with the subtle.

Overall, Bright Eyes, is my favorite Temple feature, so far. Temple’s enchanting, as always, but she’s really outdone by the supporting cast.

Ronnie Rating:

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Bright Eyes

The Shirley Temple Sweetheart Collection

Shirley Temple: America’s Sweetheart Collection, Vol. 2, Baby Take a Bow / Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm / Bright Eyes

After the massive success of Bright Eyes, it’s understandable that the studios saw an easy formula they could copy onto future releases, and we’ve already watched it play out in two other features. But, with an easy-to-follow recipe in place, there’s added room for laziness. Curly Top is pure paint-by-numbers, following Bright Eye’s basic premise with the added use of music, turning this into a full-fledged performance showcase for Temple. Unfortunately, lightening doesn’t strike twice with a generic story, uninspired characters, and a third act where both features disappear entirely. No one expects lightening to strike twice, but Curly Top stands up on a chair and demands it like Joy Smythe throwing a temper tantrum.

Elizabeth Blair (Temple) and her sister, Mary (Rochelle Hudson) live in an orphanage where they continually cause trouble, Elizabeth especially. When wealthy millionaire Edward Morgan (John Boles) comes to visit he takes a shine to Elizabeth and decides to adopt her. However, to prevent Elizabeth from feeling indebted to him, he tells her and Mary a mysterious man named Hiram Jones is their benefactor and they’re staying with him for the summer.

This was the first adaptation of a Mary Pickford film Temple would take on, although the marketing at the time never played up the Pickford/Daddy Long Legs connection. Why do I get the suspicion Jane Withers also adapted this later on? Either way, the idea is sound. Edward is a man whose grown complacent and lonely with his money, desperate for a home and family. Why not buy a pre-made one at the orphanage? There are a few throwaway similarities to Annie, the Daddy Warbucks connection notwithstanding. The sequences in the orphanage itself, along with Temple’s performance of “Animal Crackers in My Soup” and the dour Mrs. Higgins (Rafaela Ottiano) will remind you of Ms. Hannigan and the tiny red-headed Annie, albeit without the child abuse.

The difference is Elizabeth is quickly adopted…and the movie slows to a crawl. A script with almost five writers (two credited and three uncredited) leaves plenty of different elements inserted in the hopes conflict will arise from them. Elizabeth’s time in the orphanage could set up high stakes on their own. Are her and Mary going to be thrown out from the only home they’ve ever known? No. Edward arrives and whisks them away, effectively ending said conflict. With Elizabeth and Mary living in the lap of luxury, the script wanders around Elizabeth learning how to be a lady, while Mary enters into a romantic triangle between Edward and a pilot named Jimmie (Maurice Murphy) that’s supposedly to entertain the adults watching. The third act is where the script wakes up…and does a complete 180 into the old “Let’s put on a show” routine with Shirley performing to please the orphans.

This leads me to Curly Top’s central flaw: the lack of sympathy for Shirley’s character. You sympathized with the little girl in Bright Eyes and Captain January because the life she grew up with, the life she was happy with, is threatened. With no imminent threat to her way of life here and the fact she benefits greatly from her new lifestyle, leaves no reason to root for her. It’d be like if Star in Captain January left the Captain and became so happy with her rich aunt and uncle she forgot all about the old man who raised her. Better yet, she goes back to the town and sings a song to Cap about how awesome her new life is! When she puts on the show for the Curly Top’s orphans, it’s like she’s gloating! A simple problem of using the show to save the orphanage or something could have made Shirley come off smelling like a rose, instead of turning her into a poster child for the wealthy.

There’s also little reason, out of all the other girls in the orphanage, Elizabeth’s picked from obscurity. Edward says, “She’ll have all the lovely things in life, because she has a right to them!” So, the does that mean the rest of the little girls don’t? Why does she have the right? Because she’s Shirley Temple, the movie’s star, that’s why! The script isn’t shy about this fact, giving no proper reason for Shirley’s specialness, and returning to the lack of conflict turning Elizabeth into a pint-sized saint. Annie was defiant and had a quest outside of being adopted. Elizabeth’s problems were minor beforehand, and nonexistent after. The rest of those little girls can expect a life of degradation and sadness, but thank goodness the dimpled girl everyone lurves got the golden ticket. Really, is there any reason we all shouldn’t hate her? If this isn’t obvious enough from a script standpoint, director Irving Cummings enjoys putting the camera close on Temple’s face for no reason other than reminding us how cute those darn dimples are!

Temple gives it her all, even if she’s endlessly mugging for the camera. The character of Elizabeth allows her to rest on her laurels, and she does better work in Captain January. Rochelle Hudson, post-Imitation of Life, is enjoyable as Temple’s big sister. Imitation of Life saw Hudson out of her depth, or at least unbelievable opposite such names like Claudette Colbert, but opposite Temple Hudson compliments her, inhabiting both mother and sister. John Boles, who went on to star in at least two more Temple movies, is fun as millionaire father figure Edward. There is the requisite “creepy moment” familiar to all Temple movies (at least the ones I’ve seen), and here it’s when Boles sings as portraits in his house come alive with Temple in them. It’s a moment you expect of a romantic leading man serenading his love, but weirdly enough is just expected of this film.

Curly Top isn’t the worst movie, but it’s Temple’s worst. There’s potential in the narrative, but the inept script isn’t interested in taking it beyond convention. It takes an active character and turns her into a passive angel of perfection which is all well and good, but leads to a rather lackadaisical story.

Ronnie Rating:

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The Shirley Temple Collection

The Shirley Temple Collection: Volume One (Captain January, Curly Top, Heidi, Just Around the Corner, Little Miss Broadway, Susannah of the Mounties)

Heidi is one of two book adaptations Temple immortalized, although A Little Princess wins out as my favorite adaptation, both book version and film. My only previous experience with author Johanna Spyri’s novel was a 1990s Wonderful World of Disney version that didn’t withstand the test of time. Unfortunately, Temple’s version didn’t pique my interest either. A showcase for Temple is exactly that, but where Curly Top’s story was generic enough in the story so as not to overshadow the star, with an adaptation of a popular novel there’s no room for star thrusting, leaving the narrative and Temple to duke it out for supremacy.

An orphan named Heidi (Temple) is left with her grandfather (Jean Hersholt) in the Swiss Alps. Struggling to melt the old man’s heart, Heidi is torn between the mountains and the glittering world of Frankfurt where she becomes the companion to an invalid child named Klara (Marcia Mae Jones).

 I read an abridged version of Spyri’s novel as a child so I can’t comment on the specifics of what was omitted from this version. Suffice it to say, at less than 90-minutes there’s a lot of truncation. There’s two halves to Heidi, part one dealing with Heidi’s time in the Alps and growing to love her grandfather, who in turn grows to love her. The second half starts after Heidi is kidnapped by her aunt (Mady Christians) and taken to Frankfurt. For me, the second story had activity and a set focus compared to the earlier half with her grandfather. Because the movie is forced to tell these two stories in an hour and a half, it almost seems like the first half is rushed in order to get to the second half and payoff. Much of this is due to Heidi coming to the Alps and spending time learning how to live there before quickly – within fifteen minutes or so – acclimating to the environment. The only true high point to it all is when Grandfather reads a story to Heidi, seguing into “In Our Little Wooden Shoes.”

When Temple gets to Frankfurt the movie turns into a “nature girl turns good” story akin to Bright Eyes. The appearance of Marcia Mae Jones as Klara, returning after Princess, strengthens the connection. Unfortunately, the same problems plaguing the first half follow Shirley, but this time they’re masked better. Again, Heidi is taken to a place she doesn’t know, learns to love it, and just as soon as she comes to enjoy her life she’s absconded with again.

The multitude of times Heidi is kidnapped becomes laughable, and the motivations of the “villains” are equally dubious. It’s not enough to make Aunt Dete a villain, a logical point, but they add the villanious Fraulein Rottenmeier (Mary Nash), Klara’s babysitter as a central antagonist for the latter story.  As if her name doesn’t speak volumes, her lone characteristic is she’s EVIL. Why is she against Heidi? Especially if it takes Klara off her hands?  This need for explanation would bother me so much, but the third-act climax revolves around Rottenmeier kidnapping Heidi – again! – and selling her to the Gypsies. It all comes off as a big F-you to Klara’s family and a weird continuation of the hatred for Heidi.

And who could hate Heidi? Temple’s persona was that of the foundling angel, but here Heidi becomes Heidi Christ, right down to curing Klara’s inability to walk – in the book it was simply a psychosomatic illness, but the script has it come off like a serious disability. Heidi’s ability to master any task set in front of her, playing matchmaker to a couple in the Alps, there’s nothing Heidi can’t do and that puts the audience at a distance from her. The close-up of Heidi at the end, as she prays for everyone she’s met, bluntly reminds the audience this is Temple’s film first, and Heidi’s second. Part of the movie’s slowness must be attributed to how large Temple’s shadow is, and the fact the script never makes Temple into a character. Temple isn’t Heidi, Heidi is Temple.

This could also be the reason Temple is the weak link in the cast. When Heidi is funny with the animals, singing, and generally providing cuteness, Temple soars. Older than when she started acting (she was nine at the time of release), there’s an ease and familiarity to this role. She’s comfortable striding into a room and delivering her brand of merriment. When she’s tasked with conveying sadness or stress, she has a tendency to start yelling her lines – coupled with a script content to overuse cries of “grandfather, grandfather.” Jean Hersholt is amazing as Temple’s grandfather, turning in a robust performance in a role that could be one-note. Marcia Mae Jones, whom Mrs. Temple feared would overshadow Temple like Jane Withers, is also exemplary as the invalid Klara. Klara was a character I never identified with, especially with her demands and belief she deserved everything in the world. Jones picks up where Temple leaves off, creating a character who has flaws and attributes in balance.

Heidi’s appeal is understandable, especially to fans of the original novel. Temple in the role left me cold, with her yelling angelic character feeling empty, too perfect to exist and thus elevated above us for much of the movie. The supporting cast bring Temple down to Earth, but everything about this movie is created to enhance its star. If this wasn’t an A-list picture created solely to please its actress there could be a greater depth. If anything, Temple would be better suited as the spoiled Klara.

Ronnie Rating:

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Summer might be over but there’s still magic to be found in cinema. Summer Magic was originally planned as a vehicle for Disney darling Annette Funicello, but the success of starlet Hayley Mills made her too irresistible to pass up for this Meet Me in St. Louis throwback. A heartwarming tale of a small-town family making good, this is a great example of what Disney was crafting in the 1960s.

Margaret Carey (Dorothy McGuire) is a widow forced to move her children from Boston into the country. Margaret’s resourceful daughter, Nancy (Mills) ends up getting the family a deal on a large country fixer-upper, thanks to the home’s kindly caretaker (Burl Ives).

Summer Magic is the inverse of Meet Me in St. Louis, understandable considering the screenwriter is Sally Benson, the author of the stories that became that Judy Garland classic. Benson sticks to what she knows; where Judy Garland’s family was threatened with moving from St. Louis to the harsh world of New York, the Careys are content to move from Boston to the country. Both movies play out as vignettes, episodic moments from a quaint life, more pronounced here because we only ever see the Careys in the country. This does make the film feel a tad aimless. The Careys are embraced with open arms and quickly acclimate to their new surroundings.

Mills is at her most enthusiastic as Nancy Carey, a girl whose big ideas are as boundless as her imagination. Her English accent never entirely goes away, but her romantic yearnings and enjoyment are entertaining. Her relationship with Burl Ives’ Osh Popham is darling, especially in light of the Careys losing a father and husband, necessitating their move in the first place. Ives takes pity on the family, covering their expenses and letting them live in the house rent-free under the landlord’s nose. Popham is lonely and the beautiful rendition of the title song lets the adopted family, with Popham are replacement patriarch, come together.

This emphasis on adoption and familial creation drives the third act when a plot starts to take form. The Careys are tasked with caring for their cousin Julia (Gidget Goes Hawaiian’s Deborah Walley), a sentiment Nancy isn’t keen on, stating that in some cases adoption is an “unfortunate investment.” Cue the unfortunate investment herself, Cousin Julia. I wasn’t keen on Walley’s Gidget but she fares better as the snooty city cousin who requires baths and is a prim contrast to Nancy’s athleticism and intelligence. Their eventual reconciliation and undying love for each other plays false, conjured out of thin air, because there’s little impetus for it other than the presumed threat of Julia going home to her parents. After that, Nancy becomes a completely new character, competing with Julie over guys and singing a rousing song called “Femininity.”

Disney in-house songwriters, Richard and Robert Sherman are legendary….but Summer Magic isn’t their best work. The title song is lovely, and the opening track, a jaunty jig called “Flitterin'” sets the appropriate tone. The latter tracks, “Ugly Bug Ball” and the aforementioned “Femininity,” end the film on a jarring tone. Walt Disney wasn’t a fan of the former song until Robert Sherman explained the point of it. No offense to Robert, but I’m siding with Disney. The whole experience, song, set-up and ensuing scenes, play as if htey belong in a zany 1960s comedy, complete with a sitar; the video footage of bugs spliced in shows insects I’m fairly certain aren’t indigenous to Maine. One can’t complain against “Ugly Bug Ball” when played against the insufferable “Femininity.” I’ve never heard such an overtly sexist song in a Disney movie, at least not one which wears its heart on its sleeve. You can say the time period plays into it, but there’s no other song that even sounds like it, another lyrical interlude out of its time period. With lyrics like “hide who you are” and “compliment his masculinity,” it’d be easy to say this is the misguided advice of children, but it gets the girls what they want.

Summer Magic is a warm throwback to simplicity and country living, themes repeated often during this decade. Hayley Mills’ average All-American sweetness enchants and Burl Ives is a cuddly father figure. The songs aren’t anything special, but if you enjoy Meet Me in St. Louis, you’ll enjoy this quasi-continuation/sequel.

Ronnie Rating:

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“Filigree, apogee, pedigree, perigee!” Our Halloween tribute to all things witchy goes Disney with a look at Bedknobs and Broomsticks. In the wake of Mary Poppins several Poppins copycats were greenlit. United Artists tried their hand four years after Poppins, losing Andrews but retaining Dick Van Dyke, with Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Disney was at a loss by the 1970s with how to capitalize on the success, both financially and critically, after Poppins author P.L. Travers infamously refused to sign away the rights to later novels, so they turned to author Mary Norton and her apprentice witch, Eglantine Price. The finished product certainly feels like A Mary Poppins Halloween, with little differentiating Price and Poppins, but Angela Lansbury, David Tomlinson (taking center stage after his phenomenal supporting turn in Poppins), and the music of the Sherman Brothers does a lot towards taking an aimless series of events and turning them into wholesome family fun.

In the midst of WWII, three children are evacuated to the home of Eglantine Price (Lansbury), a woman whose training as a witch leaves her little time to care for kids. When her sorcery correspondence course is canceled, Eglantine and the children travel via bed to visit Dr. Emelius Brown (Tomlinson) and get the missing component for Eglantine to graduate as a full witch.

Bedknobs and Broomsticks marks the end of an era for Disney live action films. It was the last film the Sherman brothers would create the music for (they’d return for The Tigger Movie in 2000); the last Disney film nominated for an Oscar until The Little Mermaid in 1989; and it was the final film overseen by Roy Disney, Walt’s brother. With everything coming to an end a lot was riding on this film, and it’s easy to see it as the culmination of a time period of creativity…while resting on what had worked so well before.

Compared to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, a movie whose popularity I don’t get, Bedknobs and Broomsticks has great songs and a fun story, albeit a very scattered one. The introduction of the children and Eglantine acts as a subversion of the Poppins formula; Eglantine isn’t a fan of the children, but remains that staunch, dominant, “practically perfect” character. Really, Eglantine’s only flaw is she’s an apprentice witch and the only spell she masters is turning people into rabbits. The set-up between these two disparate groups is fun, although it’s never explained where the parents of these children are (it’s presumed they’re dead), and the movie doesn’t find it important enough to make us care for these children. Are they traumatized victims of war? Who knows!

The Sound of Music must have been fresh in their minds, another famous musical starring Andrews and set during WWII. Where Sound of Music acknowledged the war as a serious event, without getting too downtrodden, Bedknobs and Broomsticks turns into farce by the third act when the Nazis wander into the film and get their butts kicked by an army of armor led by Eglantine. Wackiness is the prevalent tone in the movie, but the introduction of the Nazis at the end lacks any true suspense other than they’re Nazis. The movie plays on 1970s audience knowledge of Nazis as the villains and thinks there’s no other reason to root for Eglantine. I’m not saying we need to watch the children wallow in their grief, but context would be nice.

That brings me to the biggest problem Bedknobs and Broomsticks suffers from: a lack of plot. I enjoy the first half of this film: Eglantine’s learning witchcraft and how to raise children, the introduction of Emelius Brown and his brief flirtation with Miss. Price. The best songs are also frontloaded into the film’s first half hour: “Portobello Road,” “The Age of Not Believing,” and “Eglantine” are the best of the lot. Several songs, including “The Beautiful Briny Sea” were cast-offs from Poppins and it’s easy to hear shades of “Chim-Chim-Cheree” in songs like “Portobello Road.” After that the movie meanders under the loose reminder of Eglantine looking for the final component in the “Substituary Locomotion” spell she needs to be a full-fledged witch. With that small piece of information the movie wanders into an animated sequence involving an island of talking animals who play soccer, and ultimately staring down the Nazis in a big showdown. There’s not much momentum in the second and third acts because most of its reliant on the animation, pushing the human characters into the background. The third act contains some fun moments but the children’s relationship to Eglantine isn’t strengthened and then the movie ends. Director Robert Stevenson helmed several Disney features including Poppins and The Love Bug, two other movies that suffer from pacing issues. Poppins, for all its merit, is too long, and at almost two-hours the same pacing issues plague Bedknobs and Broomsticks.

Julie Andrews originally refused the part of Eglantine, finally coming around after Lansbury had signed. The role wouldn’t have stretched Andrews any further than Poppins, and after the disastrous work of Sally Ann Howes in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Lansbury retains the English authoritarianism without outright imitating Andrews. Lansbury plays Eglantine Price as a woman who needs to be won over, whether it’s the children earning her love or her earning the ability to practice witchcraft. She’s hardier than Andrews, unafraid to have her hair out-of-place. David Tomlinson works well next to her; his zaniness tempered by her formality.

This is as much Tomlinson’s picture as it is Lansbury’s. He’s the unsung character actor of Disney live-action film. Tomlinson moves away from the staid Mr. Banks and is just as believable as the frivolous Emelius Brown. He continues to work well with child actors, and can pull off acting alongside animated characters during the soccer match on the Island of Naboombu. The three child stars are also well-cast, although they all rock the “‘ello guvnor” accent. Imagine if Dick Van Dyke’s Bert was shrunk down and put in triplicate; Ian Weighill as Charlie plays the kid with a chip on his shoulder, transforming into a pleasant child for reasons never explained, Cindy O’Callaghan is darling as Carrie, and Roy Snart steals the show as little Paul, the youngest who can never seem to keep a rabbit.

For all Bedknobs and Broomsticks issues with storytelling and pacing, the frivolity of the story is never diminished. The vignette technique never pulls together like Mary Poppins, and there’s far too many similarities to that earlier work recycled here, but Lansbury and Tomlinson create a somewhat different animal. It’s a very fun romp through the wild and wacky world of witchcraft, so jump on the bed and let’s go!

Ronnie Rating:

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Disney cooked up “a whale of a tale” in 1954 with their epic adaptation of Jules Verne’s novel, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Their fifth live-action movie at the time, 20,000 boasted the biggest budget for a single film under the Disney banner and required the use of other studio backlots and the only CinemaScope lens held by 20th Century Fox. The proof is in the pudding; not a dollar is wasted and is in abundance upon the screen. But there’s only so much that amazing set design can yield. The story itself is a lumbering 127-minute giant with enough filler to make a hearty meal.

Sailor Ned Land (Kirk Douglas) and Professor Aronnax (Paul Lukas) investigate a mysterious “sea monster” that ends up being a submersible created by the reclusive Captain Nemo (James Mason). When Nemo takes Land, Aronnax, and Aronnax’s manservant Conseil (Peter Lorre), the group discovers the mysteries underneath the ocean blue.

It’s well-documented how the rise of television brought about “roadshow” films with CinemaScope aspect ratios and brilliant Technicolor, all hoping to work as inducements for audiences to spend their dollars in a movie theater. With Disney, they best known for their animation and being a studio catering to children. Their live-action department hadn’t yielded any huge hits (try to name the first four Disney live-action films), and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea’s success cemented the validity of their live action department. After this film bigger stars were attracted to work on projects, and (unfortunately) the animation arm of the studio went from releasing 2-3 features a year to about 1-2.

20,000 Leagues is a prestige picture and adventure film for kids and the balance works rather well. For every fight with a giant squid there’s Ned’s interactions with Captain Nemo’s seal, Esmeralda. The only fans sure to miss something is the musical fans. Sadly, the film boasts one song, Douglas’ rendition of “Whale of a Tale,” a jaunty sea shanty that invigorates the opening. After that the audience gets to sit back and revel in the splendor of the production design. Nemo’s submarine, the Nautilus, is exquisite. The steampunk design of the sub itself, and the opulence of Nemo’s suite within enhance the already magical and futuristic aura. The opening of the windows to see under the sea is like the curtain opening before an epic stage show. There’s also some wonderful underwater photography going on as Nemo and crew explore the fathoms below.

But the excessive eye candy on the set plays like a distraction from how slow-moving the sub (and the movie) are. The film’s structure settles into a complacent “Big Action Scene” followed by lengthy dialogue exchanges before seguing into another “Big Action Scene.” Every moment is telegraphed and elevated to an event which only makes the moments where nothing happens, or at least nothing on a scale as the action, boring. Most audiences remember the giant squid battle, and for 1954 it’s a fun sequence. The CinemaScope lens prevented close-ups, so when the crew is flailing in the arms of the giant squid, you see everything and can suspend disbelief enough to assume it’s really happening. But that’s the film’s lone memorable moment, and it’s probably difficult for fans of the movie to recall much outside of that lone moment.

As I mentioned previously, this was the first time serious stars came down off their pedestals to work for a studio catering to children. Both Douglas and Mason were coming off some serious troubles; despite what time’s done, Douglas’ work from Ace in the Hole till this wasn’t successful, while Mason was nursing the loss heard round the world after failing to secure a Best Actor win for A Star is Born (still an insane snub). Reviews of the movie cite Mason as ham-fisted in his portrayal of Nemo but that couldn’t be further from the truth. If anything, I was turned off by Douglas, who required his character be given additional fighting sequences and an introduction with two buxom women on his arm in order to perpetuate his image as a ladies man. Disney may have been a studio making kid’s films, but that’s no reason adults couldn’t see Douglas as a man who knew how to get women, apparently. Douglas’ Land is the typical muscular male with a quick fist and biting wit. However, the script almost forces Land into an antagonistic relationship with Nemo, turning him into a children finding ways to annoy the parent. Mason plays Nemo stoically. He’s given more meat than Ned Land’s “wine, women, and song” persona, and Mason’s given some good material regarding his hatred of a world unready for the discoveries he’s uncovered.

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea is a whale of a tale and its production design is unparalleled, but it’s a long slog with several start/stop moments.

Ronnie Rating:

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The 1970s wasn’t a good decade for Walt Disney Studios. With the horrors of Vietnam and the Civil Rights Movement behind us, how could the family friendly studio whose work never commented on the situation try to stay relevant? Why, by commenting on the situation in their own special way. Unfortunately, blending Disney and the “turn on, tune in, drop out” generation was never a good mix to begin with and Superdad is the evidence. Starring infamous television star Bob Crane as a mild-mannered suburban father, the film comments on the rise of shiftless teenage layabouts, but provides a plot just as shiftless as the characters it’s mocking. Add in a blatant Charles Manson figure and you have the makings of the weirdest, most pointless Disney film ever.

Charlie McCready (Crane) is worried his daughter Wendy (Kathleen Cody) is headed down the wrong path thanks to her lazy friends whose idea of ambition is spending all their time at the beach. He decides to send Wendy to a better university, in the hopes that she’ll meet new people. He fakes a letter saying Wendy has received a scholarship, but when Wendy discovers the ruse her father’s played on her, she decides to play on his greatest fears by joining the counterculture.

By this point in time Disney had perfected the art of taking suburban family stories and injecting enough magic and whimsy to give them the appearance of being unique; The Shaggy Dog is about the changes of adolescence through a young boy transforming into a sheepdog, for example. It would have been great if, like I’d assumed, the title “Superdad” had been literal; taking Charlie and turning him into a superhero of some kind, juggling the world’s changes while maintaining an interest in his daughter. Nope, the script is content to have Charlie be a boring lawyer of unknown ilk who just doesn’t like those darn kids and their mangy mutt.

The narrative is rather cut and dry and there’s nothing particularly interesting about a man determined to get his daughter away from her friends by sending her to a different college, is there? He sends her to a new school and thus new people are met, right? The script realizes it’s ridiculous and injects pointless scene upon pointless scene into an already aimless narrative. We get a few beach scenes done way better in works like Beach Blanket Bingo, complete with a musical performance that sounds like something rejected from The Brady Bunch; Charlie’s attempts to bond with his daughter, where the only source of humor (presumably) is Crane screaming like a girl and jet-skiing poorly; a subplot involving Bruno Kirby (channeling Frankie Valli in his film debut) and his multiple jobs; and the aforementioned Wendy dating a murderer plotline. None of these are important or hold any weight in the overall narrative. They’re weak attempts to get us limping from moment to moment before the film dies a merciful death.

Let’s not forget this was Disney’s attempt at commenting about the generation gap that had sprung up post-Vietnam, but unfortunately the film sat on a shelf for a year before being dumped to its death in 1973. It’s doubtful a year’s difference would change the film’s impact because the script knows nothing about what was going on in the world at either point in time. No one expected Disney to comment on the sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll elements of the 1970s, but nothing about the experiences presented rings true. The teens don’t talk like real teens; their problems aren’t authentic. The script is written by an old fuddy-duddy who dreams about knowing what “kids today” are all about, but never stops to ask them. Superdad feels like a 1950s movies that got lost in the 1970s. The film ends with a marriage, as if to say the counterculture’s fun to experiment with, but kids really want to fall into domesticity like their parents.

Even the simple premise about a father wanting to understand his daughter goes nowhere. Charlie’s sole intent is to separate Wendy from her friends. Mind you, we see nothing implying these kids are a bad influence; despite being the 1970s his only problem is the kids don’t have jobs. Be lucky they’re not lighting up doobies and dropping acid, Dad! Charlie sends Wendy to a new university, but can’t fathom that the university has changed! No, really?! Too often Charlie bemoans the fact Wendy isn’t married, so the entire reason for her attending school comes off like Charlie hopes she’ll obtain her “MRS. Degree.” The tacky wedding at the end could have tied things together nicely, as well as given us a much needed moment of bonding between Charlie and Wendy (you know, what the film is purportedly about), but instead Wendy gives a speech about how her friends and new husband Bart (a dimpled Kurt Russell) will take care of her. Charlie is just passing his child off to someone else.

As if things aren’t weird enough, the final third of the movie takes a dark turn into drama with Wendy being engaged to a counterculture painter. Unfortunately, she can’t dump him as he’s threatened to kill himself and, it’s HEAVILY implied, he’ll kill her too. Keep in mind, the Manson family trial was on-going by now, and the movie isn’t shy about making the character look like Charles Manson with a dash of painter Bob Ross, possibly to avoid being sued. Considering Manson’s “family” was comprised of middle-class, young white women, Wendy comes off like the perfect victim for this guy. Other elements, such as the actor’s wild-eyed stare and cadre of followers, implies he’s rocking some type of cult-like atmosphere. But there’s never any set-up to the scene, or payoff at the end. Because Wendy ends up marrying anyway, the only sigh of relief is that she’s not going to end up dead in the desert after her honeymoon.

Bob Crane was always going to be a bad choice, an even worse one for audiences today. Crane had hoped Superdad would revitalize his career, post-Hogan’s Heroes, like it had done for other TV actors like Fred MacMurray. Unfortunately, Crane’s sex addiction was out of control and he was reprimanded several times for his poor conduct on-set, including plastering his trailer walls with photos of half-naked women. If you want to talk about bad influences for teenagers, no worse example than this film’s star! It’s difficult watching this movie and not imagining Crane partaking in what was REALLY going on in the 1970s. The biggest letdown is how distant from everything Crane is. There’s no chemistry between him and Cody, or him and Barbara Rush who plays his wife, and you can tell Crane feels this is beneath him. Crane would be gruesomely murdered five years later, leaving Superdad to be a minor footnote in an otherwise minor post-television career.

The rest of the cast is okay, but the movie lets them down. Rush, despite having the chemistry with her on-screen daughter Crane lacks, is severely marginalized. Kathleen Cody is blonde-haired sweetness, while Kurt Russell seems happy to be there.

Superdad hasn’t received a wide-spread DVD release. Currently, you can only own it on DVD if you have enough points through the Disney Movie Club or purchase it through third-party sellers. (Although who would feel the urge to own this on DVD is anyone’s guess). You can stream it on iTunes or Amazon, and it pays me that I paid $2.99 for this! If you have a morbid curiosity to watch Crane in a family film – and there’s plenty of room to make off-color jokes – than, by all means, seek it out.

Ronnie Rating:

Listen to the latest episode of the Walt Sent Me Podcast where co-host Todd Liebenow and I discuss Superdad

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A double post to catch me up, and another Christmas first-time viewing!  Tonight’s film is the Jim Henson 1977 movie Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas.  I’d heard people rave about how fantastic this television movie is, that it was one of Henson’s best, and how hard it was to find.  I wanted to watch this last year but could only find it on YouTube.  Thankfully, the movie hit Netflix Watch Instantly this year so everyone who wants to watch this can.  I should preface this by saying I’m a Henson fan, but not a die-hard Muppet fan.  I love Labyrinth and Fraggle Rock and I’ve seen only a few Muppet movies, mostly I grew up on Muppet Babies.  I like the Muppets, but I don’t LOVE the Muppets.  That’s essentially how I felt about Emmet Otter, I liked it, but I didn’t love it.

Emmet Otter (voiced by Jerry Nelson) and his Ma (voiced by Marilyn Sokol) are dirt poor, scraping away doing odd jobs for little money. Emmet really wants a guitar for Christmas which of course the family can’t afford.  By Emmet and Ma hear about a talent show where the winner will get $50!  Emmet wants to use the money to buy his Ma a piano, while Ma wants to buy Emmet the guitar.  Both make sacrifices to get what is needed to win and learn the true meaning of family and Christmas.

This is one of two Gift of the Magi tales I’ve watched in these 25 Days, the first being a segment of O. Henry’s Full House (a quick reminder that My Month With Marilyn will be continuing as soon as Christmas is over!).  This was definitely a more creative take, obviously with puppets and animals being the key difference.  The duo of Emmet and Ma is a happy one, yet they each want something that they assume they’ll never get.  In order to make the other happy on Christmas, they have to sacrifice something of the other’s.  Emmet has to put a hole in his mother’s washtub to make a washtub bass, while his mother has to sell Emmet’s tools to buy a dress.  If you’re  a Gift of the Magi fan you’ll love this.  I also loved the opening song “The Bathing Suit That Grandma Otter Wore.”  It’s pretty a song about how fat Grandma Otter was and I was chuckling throughout, definitely a hilarious way to open the film.

Sadly, I just wasn’t as engaged with this movie as I thought I’d be.  I’ve mentioned this in regards to the Muppets before, but a lot of the enjoyment derives from how young you were when you watched this, the nostalgia factor.  Having just watched this for the first time I wasn’t as prepared for the homespun, Southern feel of this movie.  The song, written by Paul Williams, all seemed to sound the same (I’m not a country fan to boot), and there just wasn’t a feel for the narrative.  I didn’t know if this was a comedy, a drama, or what.  The film opens with a hilarious song but the rest of the songs don’t have that feel.  This reminded me a lot of Disneyland’s Country Bear Jamboree, a similar story filled with nostalgia for some that I just don’t enjoy.

I liked this for the Henson factor, in that many of the voice talents can easily be placed to their Muppet counterparts.  One of the members of the Nightmare Band is Animal, Emmet is Robin, etc.  I know die-hard Henson/Muppet fans will flock to this if they haven’t discovered it already, I was just looking for a quick exit which thankfully it has at 50 minutes.

I was sad that I didn’t enjoy Emmet Otter and his Jug-Band Christmas, it just didn’t get to me in time.  I’m nostalgic for a lot so I know how it feels when someone doesn’t “get” what I love, and that’s how I felt about this.  I think if I had seen this as a child I would love it and I might give it a second chance next Christmas.  Right now, I’m on the fence.

Grade: C-

Originally published December 4th, 2012

I decided to watch all three film adaptations of Little Women as a subset of my 25 Days of Christmas.  I’ve seen them all separately, but this will be the first time I watch them in a small time-span allowing me to note similarities and differences in tone and presentation.  I’ve seen the 1994 version just a month or so ago, so in this first review I’ll mention things in comparison to that film as it’s been over two years since I saw the 1933 version.  With that being said, I enjoyed this Mervyn LeRoy adaptation like I did the first time I saw it.  The only drawback is June Allyson as Jo, but the rest of the cast is fantastic; particularly Margaret O’Brien, Elizabeth Taylor and Janet Leigh.

The four March sisters struggle in 1860s Massachusetts after their father goes to war.  Tomboy Jo (Allyson) yearns to write, and finds herself discovering a new friend in Laurie (Peter Lawford).  Her sisters Meg (Leigh) and Amy (Taylor) seek material comforts, while little Beth (O’Brien) wishes to do good in the world.

Little Women never fails to warm the cockles of my heart.  I can watch it anytime of the year and it’s good, although I find myself watching the 1994 version the most.  The 1949 version feels the most like a Christmas film, from the opening credits in cross-stitch to the snow-covered paths of the sets.  More than the earlier and later versions, this feels like a Christmas classic in love with the simple things, like giving and family.  The focus on one location, the March house, but also Jo’s house in New York, is evocative of director Mervyn LeRoy.  I’ve seen several of his films, and they feel like stage plays, this one included. If you’ve seen any version of Little Women the plot remains the same, leaving the characters to sink or swim.  For the most part, the characters are the best here than in the 1994 or 1933 version (I reserve the right to change that opinion once I revisit the 1933 version).

You have a mix of up-and-comers in Leigh and Taylor, mingling with film veterans like Mary Astor in this version.  In the interest of getting Margaret O’Brien in the cast, the fundamental change to the source material is in making Beth the youngest.  This is a key change, transforming the entire tone of the movie because (and this isn’t a spoiler considering Little Women is such a classic, but you’ve been warned anyway) by having Beth die it’s the death of innocence.  Little Women itself is a novel of struggle and self-sacrifice which feels harsher here because O’Brien is so young.  O’Brien was only 12-years-old in this film, but she walks the line between wise beyond her years and precocious child.  I think a lot of what rises Beth above the angel of innocence is in O’Brien’s performance.  Her facial expressions are perfect for every situation in a way you don’t witness in most child stars.  She has such serious concentration while playing the piano during Jo’s play that you can’t help but laugh.  Later, when she gets the piano as a gift she becomes utterly dazed in her expression and tone-of-voice that it’s funny, but also extremely moving that she’s stupefied to discover someone would be so kind to her.  How can you not be kind to this child?  She’s the master of getting the audience to tear up, especially during her final scene with Jo.  I defy you not to tear up during the video below

The 1949 version of LittleWomen, more than any other, gets me to love characters I normally hated.  I don’t care for Beth particularly, but Margaret O’Brien made me love her.  Similarly, I’ve never been able to stand the character of Amy!  A lot of that has to do with how despicable they make her in the 1994 version. In this version, I found myself laughing heartily, and finding out Elizabeth Taylor could be quite the comedienne.  In the original book, and in the 1994 version (I believe it’s the same in the ’33 one as well), Amy is the youngest.  Making Amy the second youngest worked in this film’s favor because Amy isn’t as much of a petulant child as she is in the 1994 one.  Taylor was 17 when she made this and between the blonde hair and garish make-up, she stands out.  The Technicolor makes the make-up look fake on Taylor, especially since the other actresses have modest to none.  It’s funny to watch Taylor play Amy since the character is in love with having a lavish lifestyle, and thinks she’s above others (she wears a clothes pin on her nose to make it pert).  Art imitating life.  The first half of the film, when the March sisters are going about their routine, allows for Taylor to show her comedy best.  I especially laughed at her doing Jo’s play complete with crazy expressions.  A running joke has Amy eating all the time which I can identify with!  A lot of humor comes from those scenes, like the one with the popovers and the Hummel children (“one for you, one for you, and one for me”).

Janet Leigh is also utterly gorgeous as Meg in this interpretation.  She’s the oldest of the group, although June Allyson looks significantly older.  A difference between this one and the 1994 interpretation is Meg actually gets a story!  The romance between her and John Brooke (Richard Wyler) is developed well, although it all seems controlled by Jo who doesn’t want Meg to leave.  Other differences I noted: Jo mentions her desire to be a boy as it won’t limit her dream.  In the 1994 film Jo mention being a boy, but they feminize her more to compensate.  Beth survives scarlet fever without Marmee’s help.  I’m assuming they changed that one to promote motherly love, and the need for the  family being the best medicine.  I also loved how this version doesn’t create any animosity between Jo and Amy.

In the 1994 version the love triangle between Amy, Jo, and Laurie is messy and incredibly selfish.  There’s no selfish motives out of any of the characters in here.  Jo and Laurie love each other, but Jo doesn’t want to get married.  Laurie isn’t in love with the March family because they allow him to escape his staid existence; he loves them as his own family, Jo especially.  When Laurie and Amy do marry, it’s out of love and Jo understands; there’s no need for competition between the sisters.  At the end of the day they still love each other, and I think that’s a brilliant message to pass down to young women.  I enjoyed Peter Lawford as Laurie, but he felt a bit stiff at times.

The only problem I had with this version is June Allyson.  For starters, she’s 32 playing fifteen.  That’s quite a leap considering Janet Leigh was 22!  Allyson looks far too old in the part, especially when she’s contrasted with the younger girls, and the Technicolor only highlights her age.  She also seems to be playing the character the same way Katherine Hepburn did in the 1933 one.  There’s nothing about the way Allyson plays the role of Jo that made me feel she embodied it.  I kept saying “she plays a good Katherine Hepburn.”  When the film veers into Jo’s adventures in New York I found myself tuning out because Allyson isn’t particularly interesting.

Overall, I enjoy the 1949 version of Little Women, and I would consider buying it to place it right next to the 1994 one.  I love O’Brien, Leigh, and Taylor far more in this version than in any of the others.  It’s a solid blend of humor and heart that never feels too sweet, or too tragic.

Ronnie Rating:

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My final Film Class Wednesday movie is the fantastic Wizard of Oz.  This is a movie reviewed to death, so read my repost where I present a rather humorous take on the movie.  Something to note, this was also the closing-night film during this year’s TCM Film Festival.

It’s difficult reviewing a truly beloved film since there are few unexplored avenues you can go down without blandly reiterating how amazing it is.  For today’s review, let’s go funny.  There are a few things I’ve always wanted to discuss about The Wizard of Oz, mainly things which bother me.  So with that, I present this review of The Wizard of Oz.  Keep in mind, I love this movie, but that doesn’t mean it’s infallible.

First, my general thoughts about Dorothy and her journey.  I adore The Wizard of Oz; it’s unique, and I doubt we’ll ever see another one of its kind again.  The Wizard of Oz is one of those rare films that has the ability to transport you to an entirely new place and you believe in it wholeheartedly.  There have been mystical or fantastical places depicted in film since the medium’s inception, but The Wizard of Oz makes you believe Oz exists. When Dorothy opens the door of her house and enters the Technicolor world of Oz, it feels more real to you than boring Kansas.  Kansas is a lonely photograph, complete with sepia tone (which I love over the typical black and white), but Oz is the vibrant heart of a mystical world found only in your dreams.  As an adult, you’re able to notice the mastery of the set design.  The construction of the set feels obvious, and yet you wouldn’t mind walking around in it.  Judy Garland inhabits the liminal space between childhood without being childish.  I notice when a young adult is trying too hard to be a child, but Garland never makes you feel that.  It’s a class act, and no amount of description conveys how fantastic she is.

With that being said, let’s discuss some things.  First off, Dorothy should have died within the first twenty minutes!  When the twister comes (by the way, the movie Twister has put me in a bad habit of capitalizing the word ), knocking out Dorothy’s window and bonking her on the head, she should have died from blunt force trauma alone let alone traveling via a tornado in a house built of planks!  I blame Toto for all this.  I know he’s cute, but that dog is either a diabolical mastermind or the biggest douchebag in the world.  First, he bites Almira Gulch (Margaret Hamilton) and gets taken away.  He comes back, causing Dorothy to run away and run back home where she should have died in the aforementioned twister.  The dog gets stepped on and taken away at least eight more times forcing Dorothy to defend him.  Then, at the end, he jumps out of the hot air balloon so Dorothy has to stay in Oz!  I want a movie told from Toto’s perspective because this dog does not have Dorothy’s best interests at heart.

Going back to Dorothy landing in Oz itself.  I’m confused about the governmental structure of this city.  It’s revealed there are three witches (of the North, East, and West.  Guess they redistributed the South?) who all seem to control some undefined territory?  Or maybe they’re like Mafia enforcers who patrol various areas and threaten to move in on each others property?  (I guess then they’d be like modern-day gangs/drug cartels.)  If that’s the case wouldn’t Oz be in a constant state of civil war?  Glinda (Billie Burke) supposedly has a lot of power, and yet she refers Dorothy out to the Wizard whose power is grander than her’s.  So do the witches act as mayors then?  I’m wondering if Sam Raimi’s Oz the Great and Powerful answers any of these questions (Addendum: It doesn’t and it’s a terrible film not worth wasting your time with).  And why was the Witch of the East skulking around Munchkinland in the first place?  It’s obvious the Munchkins aren’t aware of her presence – unless we’re supposed to believe they were hiding from her.  And how stupid was the Witch of the East that she doesn’t see a massive house coming? Munchkinland looks as big as my house, so a full-size house plummeting from the sky shouldn’t be hard to miss.  Once Dorothy actually gets to the Emerald City we see all the one-percenters living the high life (who else could they be?).  As the song “The Very Old Land of Oz” says: “they get up at noon, get to work at one, take an hour for lunch, and at two they’re done!”  So does their economy run purely on the odd stranger allowed entry to have their hair primped? (Keep in mind, visitors have to get clearance from the guard.)  Is that why the Munchkins are terrorized daily, because they don’t make enough money?

The actual ruby slippers are a pre-Hitchcock MacGuffin if ever I’ve seen one.  Other than getting Dorothy home they aren’t good for anything but being hip footwear.  They supposedly protect Dorothy from the Wicked Witch, but I don’t trust anything Glinda says (I’ll get to her in a minute).  Since the Witch doesn’t do anything violent to Dorothy herself we don’t get a chance to test that theory either way.  And the ruby slippers are either the best kept secret of Oz or everyone’s stupid.  Glinda says she doesn’t know why the Wicked Witch of the West wants them.  “They must be very powerful, or she wouldn’t them so bad.”  How does Glinda not know their power, yet she makes a point of reminding the Witch Dorothy has them on?!  Thanks a heap Glinda!  If you had kept your fat piehole shut Dorothy could have made it to Oz without any problems.  I think you wanted her to irritate the Witch both of them off your back!  “Hey Dorothy, this is the Wicked Witch of the West.  Oh, my God, look at Dorothy’s ruby slippers that were once your dead, rotting sister’s.  Aren’t they awesome?”   Gregory Maguire’s Wicked explains all this better than me.

This brings me to Glinda herself; the sadistic “Good” Witch of the North.  Not only does Glinda sic the Wicked Witch on Dorothy, she rubs salt in the wounds by telling Dorothy “the sooner you get out of Oz altogether, the safer you’ll sleep.”  She’d be sleeping fine if you hadn’t mentioned the damn shoes!  Or better yet, at any moment you could have told Dorothy “click your heels, say ‘there’s no place like home’ and I don’t have to look at your face!”  She tells Dorothy at the end “you wouldn’t have believed me.  She needed to learn it for herself” but I haven’t believed anything Glinda said since she mentioned she didn’t know the slipper’s power.  Two, what kind of logic is that?  I think Glinda wanted the Wicked Witch off her back after that whole dead sister thing, and used Dorothy as a scapegoat to get a paid vacation.  When Dorothy passes out in the poppy field Glinda doesn’t even show up!  She waves her wand from some magic bubble in the sky.  Again, she could have boomed out like the voice of God “click your damn heels.”  I think Dorothy would have been justified in telling Glinda “I was almost killed several times, my dog was threatened, I was roofied by poppies, and the Wizard is a fraud, and THE ENTIRE TIME THE SHINY FOOTWEAR WAS A ONE-WAY TICKET HOME.  Die!!!”  Dorothy’s killed before, she could have taken Glinda out for sure.  And that’s another thing; how many times can you “accidentally” kill people before you’re a plain old murderer?  The Wizard isn’t much help either.  He belittles education, and doesn’t give them diddly squat when you really think about it.

When it’s all said and done what’s the moral of The Wizard of Oz?  Live at home with your family until they die, of course!  After that trip to Oz you think Dorothy’s ever leaving home?  She says at the end she isn’t.  Dorothy probably lived with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry till they died, never married, never had kids, and probably turned into the female Norman Bates.  She probably laid in bed, next to their corpses, whispering “there’s no place like home.”  Thanks Hollywood, you made a sweet little girl a stark raving psycho.  Oh, and the movie also says you can survive a twister by just laying on your bed next to an open window.  And hey, how did Professor Marvel know where Dorothy lived?  Dude’s a creep!

Again, this review is written in jest.  I love The Wizard of Oz, but that doesn’t mean it can’t get a friendly ribbing.  Please don’t send me angry comments unless you’re aware I’m joking.

Ronnie Rating:

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