I should point out, first, that I'm writing this the Music Man review to be disagreeable. True, I've seen only the 2003 remake; so when I noticed that the average Epinions rating of the remake was 2.5 stars, and the average rating of the 1962 hit version was 4.5 stars, I wondered if the fault was all mine. Had I chosen the wrong version, based solely on its giving the starring role to Ferris Bueller (now in his mid-30's, though still with the twinkle and verve he showed as a teen in Matthew Broderick's Day Off)?
But then I read several reviews of each version, and was told this: the difference between them is in the performances, which are said to be stiffer and more straight-faced in the remake. Now, I concede that the 1962 cast may have had triple the charisma, the hamminess, the vacational joy that the 2003 cast did. Still, those attributes are exactly why I _liked_ the performances of 2003's the Music Man, in which solid professional actors dived into goofy roles with eagerness, love, and a childhood look-at-meism.
I enjoyed, too, the re-creation, in colorful costume and sets, of the story's circa-1920 setting. Fun, also, was the choreography. How could I not enjoy the panoramically-seen dances of library patrons on mezzanines and shelves; of students on desks; of a lynch mob half-prancing through the streets? The songs, full of brass and drums, are clever, with sly rhymes and perky tunes and interesting chord changes.
The rotten part is the story.
**********
It's introduced wonderfully, I admit. A trainful of door-to-door salesmen tell us of the baffling modern world of 1920. They chat and assert and ask, they hold forth and trade lines, all in a jaunty musical rhythm, with spoken counter-rhythms and refrains, and a snappy beat. I could argue that rap music was invented in this number – a song about other new-fangled ideas like the Model T Ford, the fixed pricetag (no haggling!), and pre-packaged groceries.
The salesmen get to rapping about Professor Harold Hill, who makes a rich living selling band instruments (but nobody can make a living off those!) (and he doesn't even know the territory!). At River City, Iowa, population 2200, a small, neat, quiet man gets off the train. "I don't believe I caught your name", one of the salesman points out. "I don't believe I threw it", the small man replies, and as he ducks out, he slings his suitcase under his left arm. Turned outwards is his name: PROF HAROLD HILL.
I could've turned the movie off then and been happy. But see, I liked the movie's premise. "Professor" Harold Hill is a con man of sorts. He's not a thief: he collects money for musical instruments, lesson books, and band uniforms, and in fact he delivers said musical instruments, lesson books, and band uniforms. But to sell such high-ticket items to the denizens of tiny farm-area towns, he always does three shady things.
(1) Create a sense of emergency in the town, of a tide of juvenile deliquency so strong that only a prideful, exciting project for young boys – such as a boys' band! – can keep the streets safe from billiards, hand-holding, and suspect slang.
(2) Promise to train and lead the boys' band once the instruments come.
(3) Court the love and trust of the town's music teacher, so that s/he will not reveal how Hill doesn't know beans about playing an instrument or leading a band.
It's not illegal. Neither is pledging undying love to a moony-eyed girl and then dumping her two days after she has sex with you. Both schemes leave folks unhappy, though.
**********
Several things made this plot appealing to me. First, watching a talented con artist is fun: the easy confidence, the instant rapport and good humor, the form-fitting mood swings, the clever hidden schemes. Second, it's a movie, and we know as soon as we meet the music-teaching heroine (Marion the Librarian, played by Kristin Chenoweth) that she's going to be the sucker who plays him instead and wins his heart. She has nauseatingly sweet scenes with little kids, for one thing, but she also has tough-cookie appeal, rebuffing his usual pickup lines. Two con-artists taking aim at each other? Even better, I figured: predictable in outline, but with room for fun in the details. Just like Law and Order, only with more than one musical note, and without everyone treating human betrayal like this big bad thing.
As the movie unfolded, I found a more surprising angle: Marion knows she's being conned. She knows Harold's a fraud with no musical degree. She knows he's not planning to stick around. She likely even knows that he hasn't read Balzac and Shakespeare any more than her fellow townspeople, who she mocks for their narrowness ... but you know what? He's interesting and lively. He could be an exciting 10-night-stand, in a chaste way where improvised love songs and dance routines substitute for heavy petting. The Music Man would have us smile on this, and _that_, for 1962, was pretty darn special. Even in 2003 movies, it wasn't normal.
Not that I'm a fan of dishonesty. But I'm a fan of insight, and this is an important one: it is the job of the con artist to make us happy. Con men are rarely ugly or smelly or mumblers, even though ugly smelly mumblers can make extremely logical arguments. Con men should look like Ferris Bueller, so that we want to be in their company; and should tell lies with flair and enthusiasm, so that it is fun for us to believe.
I say "us" and literally mean you and me, because moviemakers are some of the biggest con men of all. We pay them to lie to us. We pay them to tell stories about people who don't exist, who act in ways that are just enough like real people that we believe them, but just enough _unlike_ real people that we wouldn't get equally good entertainment on a bench at the mall with our ears wide open. If the city-trampling monster has a zipper up her back, and the town church has FISHER-PRICE stamped (barely visible) on its steeple, we feel let down. But if the monster looks good, we won't get angry that we can't feel the heat of her fiery breath. We pay to watch the con man make a serious effort.
The Music Man does no such thing.
**********
The worst cheat is a scene also described in a review of the 1962 movie, so I know that the story's to blame. Professor Hill is in an ice cream parlor, being pressed for his (nonexistent) credentials by four city council persons. To distract them, he asks one of them to say "ice cream". Councilman does; Hill, pitching his voice on a low musical note, tells the councilman "Lower, like this". Councilman obeys, with perfect pitch. Hill does the same at different notes for the other three. Then he has them harmonize the word "ice cream" beautifully. Then he starts singing a popular song of the day, and they harmonize that. They get so into the song that they forget about Hill's credentials.
Winkingly, Hill tells two teens he's befriended that "From now on, you'll never see one of them without the other three". "But they don't like each other!", the girl protests. Yet he's right; and for the rest of the movie, every time the councilmen come after him, he distracts them by getting them singing, and runs away. They have lovely voices, and I honestly do like a good barbershop quartet *he says while listening to a goth-experimental rock album*. Still...
The Chappelle Show once had a skit about how white people really can dance, if provoked by a magic instrument called the "electric guitar" that speaks directly to white-person souls. Dave Chappelle escorted John Mayer (the "No Such Thing"/ "Your Body is a Wonderland" white guy) to business meetings and hair salons and restaurants, causing instant dance marathons or fight scenes within seconds of Mayer's first note or riff. It was amusing, sure; but no one thought it was a real office or salon. It was not an essential part of a 133-minute movie's plot. Con men are fun because they understand human nature so well. Real humans don't sing "iiiiiiice creeeeeeam" (several times), in public, for the benefit of a stranger. Or even, annoyingly, for me.
Nor does a real con-man suddenly convince his #1 enemy, the town mayor, to pay him for a shiny new trombone. Nor do real lynch mobs wait quietly outside while their victim sings a love song. But this is only why the Music Man is lazy and stupid – why it doesn't deserve to con you. I was annoyed at it before any of that.
Thing is, I'm from Iowa. I left it as soon as I could, sure; but I know that Iowa people are nice. Easy-going. They return a hi from a stranger without looking at him funny. I love Boston, and I'm coming to love Greensboro, and I find more people in both places to hold real, nerdy conversations with; but Iowans are friendlier. Other ex-Iowans agree with me. So what do I hear, not ten minutes into the movie, but a song called "Iowa Stubborn", about "our special chip-on-the-shoulder attitude", "cold as our falling thermometer in December"; how "you can have your fill of all the food that you bring for yourself".
Is the author an Iowan, with just a different perception? No, he doesn't even know how to pronounce "Keokuk". Yet in another song, he assumes Iowans mispronounce "Rabelais" and that this makes 'em hilarious. But Marian is deep because she wants money, nice things, and the odd chat about Beethoven.
We also learn that all women except Marion and her mom are cheap, mean-spirited gossips. We learn that people in small towns, even back when small towns were healthy and self-sufficient, have always been low-energy, desperate for the smallest burst of fun. We learn, at the climax of this festival of pitch-perfect spontaneous harmonies, that small town rubes don't know a really awful band when they hear one. Yes, and Kansas is a land of black-and-white; we learned that from L. Frank Baum. A lifelong New Yorker.
So that is how the Music Man makes us root for the con artist. Not by making him devilish and clever. Not by letting his woman-to-be stay interesting; she's a snob, and in a movie full of excellent conversational singers, Chenoweth's the one singer whose voice is airy, removed, floating above the song in hopes of being admired. No, we're supposed to root for the con man because Iowans (and women) are so pathetic that betrayed hope is the best they deserve. That's not a lie I wish to pay for.
Epinions.com periodically updates pricing and product information from third-party sources, so some information may be slightly out-of-date. You should confirm all information before relying on it.
- Add to My Yahoo!: 
- Add to Google Homepage: 
© 1999-2009 Shopping.com, Inc.