There are many things in this world that I hold in contempt: McDonald's, people who back out of parking spots while on a cell phone, annoying reality shows (see last entry), and anything involving Paris Hilton. However, there are but a few things that I save my purest, most unrefined hatred for, and one of those things just happens to be musicals. Yeah, remember The Sound of Music? Hate it. The Rocky Horror Picture Show? Hate it, too. West Side Story? Crap! Now I'm not talking about movies that feature music prominently like The Doors, or Ray. No, I'm talking about movies where people erupt into song while walking the dog, or kneading bread. It drives me totally nuts. Bonkers even! It makes no sense to my uncultured brain. Why then would I want to inflict upon myself the torturous experience of going to
the theater to see Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street? A woman, you guess? Actually, no, to tell the truth.
So, the day that all working class people look forward to finally rolled around (Friday). And the lassy and me were racking our brains trying to decide what movie to see when Sweeny Todd was tossed out (I've forgotten who suggested it now, and if it was me I wouldn't admit it anyway). Anyway, it seemed the thing to do, so Kelley bought the tickets online and off we went to the Alamo Drafthouse. We had ordered dinner and a round of drinks and had settled in rather nicely. So starts the movie with Tim Burton's typical showy opening credits. So far so good. The score is moody and the setting is dark and brooding. Johnny Depp's character Sweeney Todd sails into view and after a few words begins to...sing! I look at Kelley. Kelley looks at me. And we both groan. We had heard that the movie was based on a bloody Broadway musical, but I guess we both thought that it had been adapted to the screen as an ordinary movie. The kind where actors speak their parts.
So, our food shows up and we amuse ourselves by making funny faces every time one of the actors starts to sing. Soon we finish eating and the funny faces aren't so funny anymore. We drain the last of our drinks. She looks at me, and I say "You wanna get outta here?" Without a second thought we are up and heading for the door. We pay for our dinner and never look back, bounding into the night and giggling like 12 year old girls. Life is good, you see, because Kelley just so happens to despise musicals too. Maybe even more than me, if that's possible.
We've both always liked Tim Burton's movies. I was hooked on his style when Batman hit theaters in 1989. I loved Beetlejuice. And I could watch Sleepy Hollow over and over again. I wanted to like this movie. But I just couldn't sit through all of the wacky singing. I'd rather be strapped to a chair and forced to watch The History Boys again, and that was tantamount to self inflicted blunt force head trauma.
In the final analysis I still love Tim Burton, and I will turn out to see anything new that he produces. But I still abhor musicals, and I will continue to avoid them at all costs. You can bet your sweet tuchis that I will do my homework before running willy nilly into the theater again.