Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Before we delve into the topic proper–I’ve got movies on the brain again–a quick sidebar for you behind-the-music aficionados: have you ever wondered how exactly you’d clean a mouth packed with bling? This is probably most relevant to the world of hip-hop, which for some reason was blaring through preset #1 on my car radio today, and I think it’s a valid concern, if only for a niche audience. Do you brush and floss like normal people, or do you just bury your face in a motorized jewelry cleaner? Reasonably you’d go with the first option, but toothpaste can’t possibly be good for gold plating. Note to self: pursue this line of inquiry during my next dental appointment.

Alright, smooth segue. We’re actually closer to the main discussion than you’d expect. I’ve been thinking about music in movies, specifically in the form of musicals, after finishing Across the Universe this weekend. It’s a drama powered primarily by the Beatles, and the initial reaction is that it’s a well-made, albeit unwatchable flick. For me, the problem lies in the genre itself, along with a realization that there’s a limit to the amount of escapism I can tolerate. I cruised through Once recently without incident and enjoyed the featured music. More importantly, the lead characters were singing and performing because they were musicians in the narrative, and I guess that’s what musicians do.

But a musical is a different animal entirely, with everyday people breaking into song without the slightest provocation. It’s just plain weird, and in this case there are two layers of escapism present. On the one hand, you have a story about a dockworker from Liverpool who, after finding his estranged father at Princeton, falls for an American war protester. Fine, I’ll buy into the fiction. But immediately characters large and small croon melodiously while disembarking the subway, running from the campus police, and emerging from the bathroom, and it’s, like, man! Go ahead and flush the goddamn toilet without the three-part harmony.

One layer of escapism is perfect for me. Two layers, I’m pulled right back into reality. Let’s take The Matrix, for example. Pure science fiction, so I need to accept the world peddled by the Wachowskis. I do, and I find the movie engrossing. But if Laurence Fishburne suddenly pirouetted out of a phone booth, his arms raised high, key of D major on his lips, and started warbling about “more more Morpheus” or some such tripe, we’d have a serious problem. It’d be too much. If I pulled the same shit in public and burst into song while swiping my credit card at Target, or washing my hands, or ordering from the menu, I’d likely be arrested. This would be after learning kung fu, but definitely before taking out an entire brigade in a fancy office lobby.