As anyone who has spoken to me for more than approximately ten minutes can tell, it’s pretty common knowledge that I am insatiably attracted to any television show or film with a song-and-dance number. As a child, I was convinced that ‘Where Is Love’ from Oliver! was the best song I had ever heard; I saw a lot of of myself in Greta from The Sound of Music.
*WANT WANT WANT*
It’s how I got into Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and even how someone tried to tempt me into watching Indiana Jones…y’know, because there’s a snippet of a Japanese production of Cole Porter’s classic Anything Goes. And so, it’s obvious that Glee has been ideal watching for one Anna Hallissey.
I was one of those saddos who downloaded the whole of series one before the rest of the UK really knew what it was, and, on the whole, I have been rather impressed. Ultimately it’s utter shite smattered with cheese, what with Will Schuester’s ‘lessons’ becoming more saccharine than golden syrup-filled sugarcubes, but hey, that’s what escapism’s about, after all.
Today I watched the season finale. And, being the emotional mess that I am, I unsurprisingly wept like an infant. We see character functions that Vladmir Propp could recite in his sleep (that’s right, I’m getting all Media terminology on this shit), ridiculously predictable plotlines, and no purpose for Mike and Matt, the token silent boys in New Directions. Sure, it wasn’t groundbreaking television, but that’s what Lost is for. Glee is uplifting. It perfectly demonstrates the point I have often upheld that life would be much better if it were a musical. We would all be able to express ourselves in unprecedented ways, and if we were miserable, hell, we’d sing and all our troubles would just melt away. I don’t know about you, but that seems like a pretty fucking awesome place to me.
To cope with the loss of Glee (well, until next season), I have been dosing myself up on High School Musical-esque movies. I’ve reached the realisation that musicals could, in fact, be back. I know we will never return to the joys of the Golden Age of Hollywood. Never again will we see superstars like Grace Kelly, Fred Astaire or Frank Sinatra dominate the genre, with an elegance that is still astounding today.
Does exactly what it says on the tin.
Instead, that baton has been passed to a younger generation. I’m not suggesting that we should remake High Society with children (because let’s face it…that would be some fucked-up shit), but instead not condemn films like ‘Starstruck’, ‘The American Mall’ or ‘Spectacular’. A friend recommended these to me, and sure, they are AWFUL, but there is a certain degree of charm. They’re keeping a dying art alive.
Don’t get me wrong, recent attempts at blockbuster musicals have been far from appalling. Just look at Chicago, proudly sporting 6 Oscars, or the undeniable brilliance of Moulin Rouge. Hairspray brought back a sense of family fun that the two previous films lacked, and don’t even get me started on how amazing Enchanted was. But hit movie-musicals are few and far between, as the Hollywood machine is set to either shit rom-com or shit horror mode for the majority of the time.
I guess what I’m trying to say (in a very long-winded manner) is that while the classy wonder of the musicals of yesteryear may be disappearing, the role of the musical is still yet to fade. Sure, it’s been left in the hands of a teeny-bopper market, but Glee has proved that this genre is still accessible to everyone. My mum watches it, her 10-year-old pupils watch it, uni students watch it. Clearly corny escapism and jazz-hands still have a big place in all our hearts. Well, until they make the Footloose remake, anyway. Heads will fucking roll.
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