![]() As if some added realism would offset–or at best allow–the genre’s supposed excesses, rather than neuter them with irony. It’s an idea that has clearly taken far too much of a hold when a film like La La Land (2016) thinks that “what if there was a Hollywood musical where the performers couldn’t sing or dance?” is an interesting question to ask. So it’s not surprising that people’s feelings bursting out into songs is seen as silly. Their escapism is no longer about absorbing you in, sincerity must always be diffused with self-aware humour, pointing to its artifice before the audience can. ![]() Because they are films from a time gone by: in the early post-war period musicals made up about a sixth of all Hollywood productions, but now they seldom produce more than two a year. That’s why Singin’ in the Rain (1952) and The Wizard of Oz (1938) feel like Christmas films even though they really have nothing to do with the season. ![]() The technical perfection cleaning off all the rough edges and open artifice of the performances, both in the style of acting and the fact they start singing, create a sense of familiarity and distance a kind of nostalgia. To me, there is no warmer, more cosy genre than the musical, especially ones from the so-called Golden Age of Hollywood. Don’t Tell Me The Light Are Shining Any Place But There ![]()
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