Scary Movies

When Adri was around 6 or 7, she used to like watching “scary movies,” and that didn’t mean stuff like “Halloween” or “Scream” or what have you, but rather selections from the old Universal Monster movies oeuvre of the 1930s and 40s. An hour and twenty-minute black and white stuff such as “Bride of Frankenstein,” “Creature from the Black Lagoon,” “The Mummy,” etc.

I had enjoyed these films as well when I was her age, watching them every Friday night on Creature Features on WGN in Chicago during the summers when I was allowed to stay up late enough to view them, usually on a small black & white 10-inch TV in my bedroom with the lights out. It was fun. It was fun to be scared just a bit watching these over-the-top movies that relied more on atmosphere and lighting rather than gore and terror.

One of her favorites, the one she wanted to watch the most, was “The Wolf Man,” starring Lon Chaney, Jr. and his scenery chewing performance. I think what drew her in was the transformation from man to wolf depicted in the cutting-edge special effects of the time: a slow stop-motion sequence that showed the sprouting hair and brow ridge form under the dangerous moonlight.

However, at one point her granny in Louisville told me that she shouldn’t be watching such movies, that they terrified her and she was having bad dreams. It surprised me given my interactions with her and discussions about this when she was with me, but I promised to address it the next time Adri was with me.

We did, because literally the first night she was back after dinner she asked if we could watch “The Wolf Man.”

“But I hear that it is scaring you too much, that you’re having bad dreams,” I said.  “Maybe we should watch “The Aristocats” instead.”

“Well, sometimes I’m afraid that the Wolf Man will come and get me, that’s all,” she countered.

I reminded her that it was just a movie, and she agreed, but then countered with “…but you never know.”

We watched something else that night and I told her we’d try something the next day.

I had an old gaudy ring that I had found as a kid at some second-hand shop. It was brass with a coiled dragon on top with “ruby” eyes… and it opened up with a secret compartment! It was great. I showed her the ring and told her it had magical powers, that it was able to ward off werewolves, mummies, and various other creepy ghoulies.

She looked at the ring with extreme skepticism, took it in her hand and examined it like she was some grad student working on her doctorate thesis in archeology before looking up at me slowly shaking her head and replied,

“But daddy, there’s no such thing as magical rings!”

“True,” I agreed, “but then there’s no such thing as Wolf Men, either, right?”

She sat for a few seconds in pensive silence, then slowly nodded and put the ring on one of her fingers, and that was that.

We watched “The Wolf Man” that day.

Adrianna always faced her fears head-on. She’d use reason and logic when necessary to tackle issues and problems she might have faced, but was also willing to make room for emotion and intangible factors when trying to explain and assimilate with the world she found herself in. She had both a complex brain as well as heart, and I miss her.

When Today Is A Long Time Ago

My favorite musical has always been Carousel (imdb - wiki - official R&H site). I'm not alone, since Time named it the best musical of the 20th Century, and Richard Rogers and Oscar Hammerstein considered it their personal favorite as well. In a genre replete with bright-shiny faces, comedy, and happy endings, Carousel is much-welcomed anomaly.

I know it's hard picking "the best" of anything. I have a hard enough time selecting "the top 10" of anything, be it movies, songs, books, albums, bands, or whatever. But for me, Carousel as best musical is kind of easy. This despite the fact that Carousel was a box-office flop as a movie, and despite the rather uncomfortable take it has on domestic abuse. The latter is a more serious reason to dismiss the musical, but for me, at least, the songs are just too strong, too powerful, too moving, and too well-crafted to toss this work on the apocryphal "junk heap of history" simply because Julie Jordan says that "It is possible dear, for someone to hit you, hit you hard, and it not hurt at all." If I could excise that line, I would. But I can't, and thus I'm left with the music.

The best song in the best musical is also a somewhat easy call: "Soliloquy." (lyrics). This is the song that basically captures the inner dialog Billy Bigalow is having with himself (is there any other kind of inner dialog?). In this single song we see the transformation of Billy from a self-centered braggart to someone actually concerned with the fate of his unborn child, realizing that he has a responsibility that must be met, etc. It redeems the musical, for without it Billy would simply be a lout.

The song's structure captures this. It starts upbeat, with Billy in full "I'm going to have a son who will be just like me, lucky boy!" mode, then slowly evolves in a more thoughtful, poignant tone as it dawns on him that he could just as well be the father to a girl as a boy. This all could have been handled in a trite, schmaltzy manner (and I guess some would argue that it was), but instead the song, to me, becomes the crowned jewel of the song catalog of Rogers and Hammerstein. Considering how many wonderful songs these men were were responsible for, this is saying a great deal indeed.

I may not cry at Beauty and The Geek, or during that scene in the last episode of the British version of The Office when Dawn finally goes to Tim or what have you, but I do sometimes (almost) cry when listening to Soliloquy. That has to count for something, no? ;-)

But wait. There's more. There's If I Loved You, You'll Never Walk Alone, The Carousel Waltz, When I Marry Mr. Snow, When The Children Are Asleep, June Is Busting Out All Over, What's The Use In Wonderin'... my god. What a line up. I'd put If I Loved You, especially, up against anything that's been written since as a love song, or rather a "if-I" love song.

So watch it sometime, even if you find the above-quoted line from Julie Jordan reprehensible. At least there's not rape (Seven Brides For Seven Brothers) or forced sexual servitude (Paint Your Wagon). But there is great music.