Showing posts with label Rex Harrison. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rex Harrison. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

All Creatures Great and Small ... and Whatever



"If one place is as good as any other, it's high time we decided. Otherwise when we get there, we won't know we've arrived."

Doctor Dolittle (Rex Harrison)

For most people living today, I suppose, the mention of "Doctor Dolittle" brings to mind images of Eddie Murphy in the 1998 movie that went by that title and was often labeled a remake of the movie that made its debut 50 years ago today.

In fact, though, the movie that was released in 1998 was merely inspired by the books by Hugh Lofting; very little of the material from the original books was used in either of Murphy's "Doctor Dolittle" movies.

The movie that marks the 50th anniversary of its American premiere today (it premiered in England a week earlier), however, was a more faithful telling of Lofting's stories — well, three of them, anyway. Lofting wrote nearly two dozen Doctor Dolittle books.

In the 1967 version Doctor Dolittle was played by Rex Harrison. He was a physician in Victorian England who had treated humans but shifted to treating animals — and lived with a veritable menagerie. His sister once served as his housekeeper, but as the animal population in the house grew, she delivered an ultimatum: Either he got rid of the animals, or she would leave. He chose the animals.

Doctor Dolittle claimed he could talk to the animals — and he did. Movie audiences saw him carrying on conversations with the parrot. (The parrot's voice was supplied by talented voice actress Ginny Tyler.)

Ostensibly Lofting's books were written for children, but there was a decidedly adult angle to the movie's dialogue. For example:

"I speak over 2,000 languages," the parrot told Doctor Dolittle, "including Dodo and Unicorn."

"Unicorn?" Doctor Dolittle asked.

"I had a classical education," the parrot replied.

Movie audiences in 1967 first saw Doctor Dolittle when Anthony Newley's character and his young friend brought a sick duck to see the doctor.

Then, when he was treating a horse, Doctor Dolittle offended the horse's owner, and he was scolded for it by the owner's niece (Samantha Eggar).

The horse's owner and his niece went on to play more prominent roles in the movie.

A friend of Doctor Dolittle's sent him a rare pushme–pullyou — a creature that looked like a llama with heads at both ends of its body — and the doctor took it to a circus (Richard Attenborough played the ringmaster), where it became the main attraction. At the circus the doctor made friends with a seal that longed to be reunited with her husband at the North Pole, and he tried to help her escape, dressing her in a woman's clothes. Fishermen observed the doctor tossing the clothed seal into the water and believed he had murdered a woman.

They had him arrested; the judge in the trial was the horse's owner.

Although the doctor was acquitted, the judge insisted on sentencing him to a lunatic asylum. His animal friends saved him, and they set sail in search of the Great Pink Sea Snail.

It turned out that Eggar had stowed away on board, and in making her case to be permitted to stay, Eggar's character proclaimed, "I promise to ask for no special privileges."

"I promise to grant none," Doctor Dolittle replied.

They decided their destination would be Sea Star Island, a floating island that was determined to be in the Atlantic Ocean at that time.

Well, that led to other adventures for the travelers — and probably contributed to the verdict of sneak preview audiences that it was too long. Trying to compress three children's books into a single movie was a bit ambitious. Cuts were subsequently made, but even at its final 2½–hour running time, it was probably still too long.

The movie ran into production problems that, in hindsight, probably were predictable — and many may have been nothing more than legends. For example, there were stories that a goat ate a script and a parrot learned how to yell "Cut!"

But there was no disputing the evidence of the bottom line. The movie made about $9 million at the box office; it cost $17 million to make.

There could be many reasons for that. Personally, I have always wondered if the fact that musicals' popularity was on the wane in the late 1960s could explain why "Doctor Dolittle" fared so poorly.

Nevertheless the studio launched an unprecedented campaign for Oscar recognition and was rewarded with nine nominations, including Best Picture. It even won two — for Best Song ("Talk to the Animals") and Best Special Visual Effects.

Monday, June 20, 2016

Culture Clash in the 19th Century



When I was a child, I had no idea there was a movie called "Anna and the King of Siam," which made its American premiere on this day in 1946.

I knew about "The King and I," the musical version of the story starring Yul Brynner and Deborah Kerr that was made about a decade later. My grandmother was a fan of musicals, and I remember watching that one with her on television when I was about 5 or 6 years old.

Set in the 1860s, "Anna and the King of Siam" told the story of an Englishwoman (Irene Dunne) who accepted a position teaching English to the children of the king of Siam (Rex Harrison). It was essentially the same story — minus the music.

Dunne's character got off on the wrong foot when she was greeted by the prime minister (Lee J. Cobb), who proceeded to ask her several personal questions. Dunne's character did not realize that was customary in Siam and took offense — only to be advised afterward to make amends with him on the grounds that she didn't understand. She took that advice, but things still weren't smooth. Dunne and her son had been promised a house of their own in which to live, but upon their arrival she learned that she was to live in the palace where she would be accessible for the king and any of his children at any time. The king did not remember making the promise of a house and, apparently, felt under no obligation to honor a promise he didn't recall making.

It was, I quickly determined, the same story — except that, apart from the music, "The King and I" was a much more light–hearted telling of what was a culture clash. I guess the music made it seem breezy. No problem like that in "Anna and the King of Siam" although as I understand it the king was portrayed as being much tougher and more traditional in that movie than he was in real life.

Both movies were based on the true story of Anna Leonowens, a British writer, educator and social activist who became the governess/teacher of the Siamese king's 39 wives and 82 children. I don't remember if the movie ever mentioned the number of children she taught, but I am quite sure I did not see 82 children in the movie — and very few of the king's wives were seen, either. There was one, sort of the top wife (Gale Sondergaard, in an Oscar–nominated performance), who knew English and interpreted for Anna, but, as I say, few others were seen.

While much of "Anna and the King of Siam" was fictionalized, one of my favorite scenes in the movie apparently was based in fact. In the movie, the king dictated a letter to American President Abraham Lincoln in which he offered Lincoln gifts of elephants to breed for transportation purposes — although the offer was actually addressed to Lincoln's predecessor, James Buchanan, or, since the king was mindful of the presidential election taking place when he sent the gifts, Buchanan's successor.

(Buchanan was not a candidate for re–election. Lincoln was elected to succeed him.)

In real life, Lincoln graciously declined the offer, explaining that the United States' latitude made it unfeasible to raise elephants here.

As a history buff, I always liked that part of the story. I can't tell you how pleased I was to learn it was true — mostly.

Anna was a bit of a feminist, at least as far as her times were concerned — and certainly as far as the place where she was living and working was concerned. Women simply had no rights in Siam, and no one, male or female, challenged the king on anything and in any way. But Anna spoke her mind to the king, and she frequently made sense. It just took him a little while to mull things over in his head.

Then, when he came around — like as not in the wee hours of the morning — he would wake her up to go over the details with her. She became perhaps his most valued adviser by the end of the movie.

But there were still times when Anna's European sensibilities came into conflict with Siamese tradition.

It was a story about a culture clash that still has valuable points to make.

In addition to Sondergaard, "Anna and the King of Siam" received four other Academy Award nominations and won Oscars for Best Dramatic or Comedy Score and Best Black–and–White Art Direction.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Cocky vs. Cockney



"The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she is treated."

Eliza Doolittle (Audrey Hepburn)

My grandmother loved musicals. Her daughter (my mother) loved some musicals, too, not all — but they both loved George Cukor's "My Fair Lady," the movie version of the musical adaptation of George Bernard Shaw's 1912 play "Pygmalion" that made its big–screen debut 50 years ago today.

At one time, "My Fair Lady" was the longest–running musical in Broadway history, and that, I suppose, was the premise for making it into a movie.

That, however, was only one of several aspects of "My Fair Lady." It worked quite well on the stage and screen as a musical, and, with music by Lerner and Loewe, how could it not?

But it also worked as the spoof of the British class system that Shaw intended it to be. In fact, you could watch it several times, or a group of people could watch it together, and each experience could be unique.

There were lots of movie musicals in the 1960s; that wasn't what made "My Fair Lady" unique. But it may have been the pinnacle of the genre — beautifully filmed, elegantly costumed, gracefully acted.

The cast was wonderful, led by Rex Harrison and the always–beautiful Audrey Hepburn, who always lit up the screen (even if her singing was done by someone else — which it was. Marni Nixon did the singing in "My Fair Lady" as well as "The King and I" and "West Side Story.").

I am not a fan of musicals, but I would agree that the music in "My Fair Lady" was exceptional. I think it still holds up half a century later.

"I cannot decide if I am happier when the characters are talking or when they are singing," film critic Roger Ebert wrote. "The songs are literate and beloved; some romantic, some comic, some nonsense, some surprisingly philosophical, every single one wonderful."

As I recall, my mother and grandmother were especially fond of "I Could Have Danced All Night," the song that Audrey Hepburn sang after the iconic scene in which Harrison said, "By George, I think she's got it!" and he danced around the room with Hepburn while the two of them, along with Wilfrid Hyde–White (in perhaps his best–known role as Colonel Pickering), chanted variations on "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain."

If you haven't seen the movie, trust me, it makes sense when seen in context.

On the other hand, wrote Ebert, "The dialogue by Alan Jay Lerner [who also penned the song lyrics] wisely retains a great deal of 'Pygmalion.'"

Not to mention, as I said before, Shaw's original intent.

As I say, I'm not really a fan of musicals, but I think my favorite piece in "My Fair Lady" is the one from the race track, in which the patrons, to a minuet–like tune and in voices lacking any emotion at all, sang "Ascot Gavotte." Shaw would have been proud.
"Pulses rushing, faces flushing,
Heartbeats speed up,
I have never been so keyed up.
Any second now they'll begin to run.
Hark! a bell is ringing,
They are springing forward.
Look, it has begun!"

The horses ran past the totally still and silent onlookers, who resumed their song after the horses passed them, again with no emotion.
"What a frenzied moment that was!
Didn't they maintain an exhausting pace?
'Twas a thrilling, absolutely chilling running of
The Ascot opening race."

Hepburn was the Cockney flower girl whom the cocky Harrison was going to pass off as a duchess. It was a clash of the titanic wills. As Ebert observed, "It is characteristic that, in a musical that has love as its buried theme, no one ever kisses or seems about to."

I can't explain why it was that way with the rest of the cast, but, with Harrison and Hepburn, I think it's largely because their relationship was largely adversarial. The audience knew the characters were in love long before they did — and even when they realized at the end that they did love each other, they couldn't completely shift gears.

Astonishingly, Hepburn wasn't nominated for Best Actress.

"My Fair Lady" won eight Oscars — including Best Picture, Best Director (Cukor), Best Actor (Harrison) — but Hepburn wasn't even nominated. Julie Andrews won Best Actress that year for "Mary Poppins."