On Wednesday, April 3, 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr. arrived in Memphis, Tennessee, and checked into room 306 of the Lorraine Motel. He had planned to participate in a peaceful march with the city’s sanitation workers, who were on strike. However, by 7:05pm of the following night, April 4, Dr. King was dead, shot by an assassin as he stood on the balcony outside his hotel room. The Academy Awards ceremony, scheduled to air on the same evening as the sanitation workers’ march, was postponed to Wednesday, April 10. The show opened with Gregory Peck, then Academy president, giving the following remarks:

“This has been a fateful week in the history of our nation. We join with fellow members of our profession and men of goodwill everywhere in paying our profound respects to the memory of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Society has always been reflected in its art. And one measure of Dr. King’s influence on the society we live in is that, of the five films nominated for Best Picture of the Year, two dealt with the subject of understanding between the races. It was his work and his dedication that brought about the increasing awareness of all men that we must unite in compassion in order to survive. A lasting memorial that we of the motion picture community can build to Dr. King is to continue making films which celebrate the dignity of man, whatever his race or color or creed.”

Aides to Martin Luther King point to the area from where they heard the shot that killed King, lying on balcony, in Memphis, Tenn. April 4, 1968. This photo was released by Life magazine, which obtained it from photographer Joseph Louw, a TV producer who was in a motel room two doors from King’s when he heard the shot.(AP Photo) (cjc21200fls) 1992 Eds: Copyright 1968 Time Inc. MO MO

The nominated films of 1967, as Peck noted, truly do reflect the turbulent times in which they were made. Prior to King’s murder, the country had been rocked by the failed Tet Offensive in the seemingly endless Vietnam War, as well as President Johnson’s announcement that he would not seek reelection. King’s death was swiftly followed by that of Robert Kennedy, himself a civil rights advocate (and presidential hopeful); and the rest of the year 1968 brought more violence and killing.

Film-wise, at the 1968 Academy Awards, the top contenders split the awards just like the tragedies and conflicts mentioned above were dividing the country. Each of the following films won at least two Oscars: Bonnie and Clyde, Camelot, Doctor Doolittle, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, and In the Heat of the Night. Cool Hand Luke, The Dirty Dozen, The Graduate, and Thoroughly Modern Millie each took home one statuette. It was a big year for film with a lot of competition for the eventual Best Picture winner, In The Heat Of The Night (1967, Mirisch Corporation Production; United Artists). At the end of the night, In the Heat of the Night had won five of the seven categories in which it was nominated: Film Editing, Sound, Writing (Screenplay—based on material from another medium), Actor for Rod Steiger as Gillespie, and Best Picture (it failed to win for Sound Effects and Directing).

Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier) and Gillespie (Rod Steiger) work together to solve the murder of a prominent small-town businessman.

Based on John Ball’s award-winning novel of the same name, In the Heat of the Night was the first murder-mystery/detective film to win the Academy’s highest honor. It also features Sidney Poitier, the first African-American man to win an Academy Award (for 1963’s Lilies of the Field). Poitier is solid in his performance as Virgil Tibbs, the Philadelphia detective who finds himself embroiled in a murder investigation in a small, prejudiced Southern town. His most famous line from the film, “They call me MR. Tibbs,” is chock-full with implications regarding identity, racial inequality, and self-pride–all concepts that run throughout the film. The movie could not have been released at a better time, for the story of Virgil’s treatment by those who judge him by the color of his skin includes a hint of what life could be like if people were judged instead by “the content of their character.” In its own way, then, this film honors Martin Luther King, Jr.’s legacy of peaceful protest for racial equality and the dream of a better tomorrow.

For more thoughts on In the Heat of the Night and its significance, please check out the full post this weekend!

This week’s film, In the Heat of the Night, is the 40th winner of the Academy Award for Best Picture, so that means it’s time for a rankings update! May I just say that 1.) I can’t believe we are almost half-way through the BPs, and 2.) I very much appreciate the support of those of you who faithfully read the posts every week–even when the films might not be to your particular liking. Thank you for sticking with FlicksChick.com in its inaugural year as I bumble about, learning the art of this blogging thing!

This is the first rankings update that features The Sound of Music as the top film and Tom Jones as the bottom one. There are not too many negative things one can say about either Julie Andrews or a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical–especially one with such vivid backdrops, solid casting, and the historical setting of the Second World War (Sorry, Scarlett). As far as what I could say about Tom Jones…I just didn’t get it. I feel like anything positive I might find in the film should probably be credited to the novel instead (like the half-decent attempt at a plot twist at the end of the movie). But, hey, there’s gotta be a film to bring up the rear end of the list, right?

Without further ado, here are my current rankings:

1. The Sound of Music (1965)
2. Gone with the Wind (1939)
3. Ben-Hur (1959)
4. Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
5. You Can’t Take It with You (1938)
6. All Quiet on the Western Front (1929/30)
7. All About Eve (1950)
8. The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)
9. West Side Story (1961)
10. My Fair Lady (1964)
11. Casablanca (1943)
12. The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)
13. It Happened One Night (1934)
14. In the Heat of the Night (1967)
15. Rebecca (1940)
16. On the Waterfront (1954)
17. Around the World in 80 Days (1956)
18. The Greatest Show on Earth (1952)
19. Gigi (1958)
20. All the King’s Men (1949)
21. Hamlet (1948)
22. A Man for All Seasons (1966)
23. Mrs. Miniver (1942)
24. Mutiny on the Bounty (1935)
25. The Apartment (1960)
26. The Great Ziegfeld (1936)
27. How Green Was My Valley (1941)
28. The Lost Weekend (1945)
29. Going My Way (1944)
30. Marty (1955)
31. An American in Paris (1951)
32. The Life of Emile Zola (1937)
33. Cavalcade (1932/33)
34. Wings (1927/28)
35. Gentleman’s Agreement (1947)
36. Cimarron (1930/31)
37. The Broadway Melody (1928/29)
38. Grand Hotel (1931/32)
39. From Here to Eternity (1953)
40. Tom Jones (1963)

The intermixing of government and religion has spent a lot of time in the forefront of our society these days. From laws regarding religious organizations having to cover birth control for their employees to bans on immigrants from primarily Muslim countries entering the United States, religion and government conflict more than we often like to admit. In light of the close company government and religion traditionally keep, perhaps our present time is not so very different from that of this week’s BP, A Man For All Seasons. And in the story of Sir Thomas More as related in the film, we can see our own struggle to follow conscience and uphold personal religious convictions even when faced with possible government sanctions and/or ostracizing as politics and religion slog it out in the oftentimes murky waters of the law.

The devout More leads his family in prayers before he departs on a political(-ish) errand.

Speaking of law, in More’s eyes it is (or should be) his salvation. In refusing to sign the Oath of Supremacy that names Henry VIII “Supreme Head of the Church of England” and breaks the power of the pope and the established Catholic Church over his realm, More commits high treason. Convinced that his king is in error both legally and before God, More resolves to keep his true opinions to himself on the matter of the king’s desired divorce from his first wife because, as he tells the conniving Cromwell, “The maxim of the law is ‘Silence gives consent.’” Not explaining his apparent treason, then, should lead people to assume More supports the king rather than opposes him—at least, that is the conclusion More comes to after all his years of studying and practicing law. Cromwell mocks this reasoning by asking More if the English people actually assume his support of the king (which they obviously don’t).

But while More employs the rhetoric and semantics of the law as a shield between his “deviancy” and the government’s persecution, his main struggle is with the fact that there are two kinds of laws: man’s laws and God’s laws. Undoubtedly, More would support Henry’s altering the laws of England, but the nature of the changes Henry makes breaks God’s laws about marriage and the supremacy of the Church, in More’s mind. More cannot abide a man—regardless of his title or the extent of his power—naming himself as the head of the country’s spiritual matters. Nor can More condone Henry’s manipulation of the Church’s policies regarding divorce and remarriage that follow his usurping of the pope’s power. Reluctantly, then, More must take his stand against his lord. (Spoiler alert!) Vowing to the very end of his life that he is “the King’s obedient subject,” More dies for his beliefs, the law in which he trusted failing to save him.

More at his trial during which he places his faith in the law to protect him.

For Me Then…

I dislike More’s reasoning that people should assume his approval from his silence. If his conscience prevented him from taking the king’s required oaths, then he should have spoken clearly (earlier) regarding his specific disagreement on religious grounds. It seems to me that it was a compromise of values to hope people saw him as a supporter of the king’s new church and wife when the stand he was making in his own mind and heart indicated otherwise.

But, I cannot fathom the agony of More’s position or the difficult decisions he had to make. And for one who loved and honored the law, who was convinced of his innocence and believed that his countrymen and his sovereign could never violate the sacrosanct laws of England, it must have come first as a great shock and then a horrific sorrow to realize that the religion he held dear and thought he shared with his lord and his peers was being subjugated to the king’s selfish desire to produce an heir.

This is a very frustrating film, yet it does make one think. In our own time, what would my choice be if faced with a dilemma such as Sir Thomas More’s? When government oversteps the laws of the land and tramples on God’s laws, is silence the right response? I think not. But trusting in the law for salvation rather than God’s ability to save is incorrect as well.

We’re taking a musical break this week to focus on the historical drama A Man For All Seasons (1966, Highland Films, Ltd. Production; Columbia). If you’re a huge fan of musicals like I am, there’s one more upcoming BP winner for you (1968’s Oliver!) before we sadly have to take a decades-long musical hiatus. If I can digress a moment…in case you can’t wait until 2002’s Chicago to break the BP musical drought, you can always head to your local theater and indulge yourself with the new original musical, The Greatest Showman—not a perfect film by any means, but the songs are outstanding, and the film overall is a delight (Personally, I’m in love with it!).

But back to this week’s main focus…A Man for All Seasons lucked out a bit come Oscar ceremony time in 1967. The televised show was almost cancelled due to a strike by the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (the organization known as AFTRA), which oversaw live telecasts. The strike ended mere hours before the ceremony was set to air on live television, providing legendary Oscar host Bob Hope with plenty of fodder about people at home viewing a two-hour-long commercial brought to them with advertising from the Academy Awards’ sponsors. Hope also had some serious words to close the show that night: “If the medium is the message, our medium has a message for us all. Man has a great hunger for laughter, a great thirst for beauty, and above all man has a great need to see himself as others see him, and thus to gain a greater understanding of the emotions of which he is made. That really is what motion pictures do. They interpret human emotions, give them dimension, shape, form, and voice. Motion pictures are the full-length mirror in front of which the world can stand and see its unlimited capacity for stupidity or genius, for cruelty or kindness, for bigotry or brotherly love. It’s a vital work, a noble work; and believe me, ladies and gentlemen, I’m proud to be a part of it.” Besides capturing in part the impetus behind this website in particular, Hope’s parting words to the Oscar audience of 1967 connect well with A Man for All Seasons, for this film examines law and justice (both man’s and God’s), silence and speech, loyalty and betrayal—in essence, it brings to light some of the deepest struggles and emotions humanity can experience.

Sir Thomas More, Lord High Chancellor of England.

Based on Robert Bolt’s play of the same name and adapted by Bolt (a man who also holds screenwriting credits for Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago!) for the screen, A Man for All Seasons takes its title from the words of Robert Whittington, a contemporary of Sir Thomas More, the film’s protagonist. In 1520, Whittington wrote, “More is a man of an angel’s wit and singular learning. I know not his fellow. For where is the man of that gentleness, lowliness and affability? And, as time requireth, a man of marvelous mirth and pastimes, and sometime of as sad gravity. A man for all seasons.” Such a man of conscience, as More is portrayed in the film, found his beliefs mightily challenged when he became Lord High Chancellor of England during the reign of Henry VIII. Henry, depicted in the film as a fickle, selfish ruler, needed to have a son to ensure his succession. His first wife, Catherine of Aragon, his former sister-in-law, had yet to produce a son for her husband, although she did present him with a daughter who would become known as Bloody Mary during the years when she held the English throne. Henry’s desire to divorce Catherine and marry Anny Boleyn caused not only a political rift in his kingdom, but a religious one as well. Since the pope refused to grant Henry a divorce, Henry broke with the Catholic Church and proclaimed himself head of the Church of England. None of this sat well at all with More, a staunch Catholic. More’s dilemma of upholding his loyalty to his lord while refusing to compromise his religious beliefs is the basis for the drama of A Man for All Seasons.

King Henry VIII and Sir Thomas More share a tense moment regarding the king’s demand for a divorce from his wife.

Perhaps riding the wave of British popularity in America (you know, the aftereffects of the “British Invasion”), A Man for All Seasons took home six Oscars out of eight nominations in 1967, winning for Costume Design (Color), Cinematography (Color), Writing (Screenplay—based on material from another medium), Directing for Fred Zinnemann, Best Actor for Paul Scofield as Sir Thomas More, and Best Picture. The two awards it failed to win were Actor in a Supporting Role for Robert Shaw as Henry VIII and Actress in a Supporting Role for Wendy Hiller as Alice More.

For more thoughts on A Man for All Seasons and its significance, please check out the full post this weekend!

Apart from their seemingly endless capacity for pure entertainment, the films in the Star Wars franchise play with issues and themes that range from immigration, race, and gender to the conflict of good vs. evil, the dangerous effects of having absolute power, and the significance of personal responsibility. After indulging in a Star Wars binge over the holidays, I’ve been ruminating on these films quite a bit and have come up with a list of lessons I’ve taken away from the nine films that currently make up the series. Some of the items in the following list are a bit humorous; others I’m still contemplating as far as if/how they might work with a Christian worldview, yet I’ve included them for discussion purposes. Feedback is welcome!

1. Get to know your neighbors. To Luke Skywalker at the beginning of Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope, his neighbor is “Old Ben,” an odd hermit-like man who couldn’t possibly have done anything heroic or spectacular in his life. Little does Luke know that Ben is really Obi-Wan Kenobi. Who might my own neighbors be?
2. Don’t subscribe to the idea that there are lost causes. What would the universe of Star Wars be like if Luke had given up on his father, Darth Vader, and hadn’t clung to the belief that there was still good in him?
3. Be persistent. When the Empire rebuilds that Death Star, just shoot it down again and again until they get the idea that you won’t give up.
4. Be flexible. Situations change constantly and quickly, and so must you.
5. Always be prepared. Make sure your breathing apparatus and grappling hook are with you at all times and in good working order—just in case you have to swim underwater undetected or jump off a building.
6. Have faith that good always wins out in the end. It will.
7. Always go back for your friends. True friends will come back for you as well.
8. Make new friends. You never know when you’ll need them most.
9. Don’t give in to anger or be puffed up with pride. Those are sure and swift ways to the Dark Side.
10. Don’t listen to/believe flattery. (See #9)
11. One person’s junk is another person’s treasure. So, don’t offhandedly dismiss the rejected or roughed up things (or people!) of the world.
12. Listen to your feelings, but always let good and your understanding of it determine your course of action. Young Jedi are repeatedly instructed to tap into their feelings; however, in crunch time when the well-being of the universe is at stake, it is not just feelings that motivate the Jedi to heroic deeds. Rather, it is their knowledge of the Light Side of the Force, their love of what is good, and their belief that this good will be triumphant that leads them to put themselves at risk and confront the Dark Side.
13. There’s always a bigger monster out there waiting to devour you. Sometimes this can work out well when a larger monster gobbles up the smaller one that is attacking your vessel. However, this lesson also hints that evil is cumulative and will devour the one who entertains it if left unchecked.
14. Be teachable. How many of Anakin’s, Luke’s, Rey’s, and Kylo Ren’s problems can be traced back to a resistance to the humility that is required to truly learn from a master?
15. Failure is the greatest teacher. Yoda says this, so it must be true.
16. Always keep your arms close to your body. One of these days, I’m going to count how many characters lose their limbs in these films—especially their right arms, which traditionally can be symbols of strength or power.
17. Be ready and able to see past others’ disguises. This lesson gels nicely with the films’ emphasis on being oneself and living up to one’s own destiny. It’s best to be real.
18. It’s better to hang with a small group of outsiders who fight for a cause than a large group who unquestioningly runs with the status quo. As one memorable t-shirt says, “Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups.” Don’t be one of them.
19. Think outside the box. Being unpredictable and inventive are often precursors to greatness and vast influence, which can be used to spread goodness and defeat evil.
20. There are few things in this world more powerful than hope. “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love” (I Corinthians 13:13).

Hello, Everyone!

I spent a large part of this week binge-watching Star Wars films and started thinking today that I should delay the posts for the next BP, A Man for All Seasons, and do a special post on Star Wars since I can’t get it out of my head! You will be able to read about some insights I received from Star Wars this weekend, and the posts for A Man for All Seasons will be up next week. Also, we are only two films away from our 40th Best Picture winner (wow!), so I will post my BP rankings again in a couple of weeks. As always, thanks for your support!

Putting The Sound of Music on the top of my BP ranking list led me to ponder what exactly makes this movie so one-of-a-kind phenomenal—even when it was made during the “golden era” of movie musicals. Sure, the music is lovely and catchy, true to form for a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical. Yes, the acting is solid—the film is perfectly cast, and Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer will forever be Captain and Maria von Trapp, regardless of anything else they have done/will do in their careers or lives. Certainly, the film brilliantly moves between vistas showcasing the majesty of the Austrian Alps and the closeness of such settings as a backyard gazebo. And really, this last factor, I think, demonstrates just what exactly it is that makes The Sound of Music so wonderful and relatable: the greatness and the smallness of the story—in other words, the way the story and its conflicts involve the vastness of the natural world and humanity’s relationship to it and to its Creator, combined with the intimacy and complexity of human relationships in both the best and worst times. The Sound of Music includes all of these three main types of conflicts: Man vs. Nature, Man vs. Man, and Man vs. God. How the film portrays and then resolves each conflict lends to its superiority within the realm of motion pictures.

Man vs. Nature

The Sound of Music famously opens with a shot of the lovely Alps upon which Maria marches and frolics while singing the film’s title song. Nature in The Sound of Music is not a threat, but a place full of wonder and beauty in which God reveals Himself to humanity. “The hills are alive with the sound of music,” and many—Maria included—“go there when [their] heart[s] are lonely.” So the conflict between people and nature in this film has to do more with boundaries and challenges each person faces in his or her life. In the inspiring “Climb Ev’ry Mountain,” which the Reverend Mother sings to Maria to encourage her to return to the von Trapps, elements of Nature represent difficulties Maria needs to face in order to discover and fulfill the true purpose God has for her life. (Spoiler alert!) The von Trapp family’s greatest trial, escaping from the Nazis, culminates in their journey over the Alps into Switzerland—again, the mountains standing in as the family’s final challenge (seen in the film, at least) before fulfilling their goal of upholding their integrity and rejecting the Nazi regime.

Maria and the von Trapp children in the Alps, drinking imaginary “ti, a drink with jam and bread.”

Man vs. Man

On the surface, at least, The Sound of Music seems to mostly focus on conflicts between people. We see Maria vs. the nuns, Maria vs. Captain von Trapp, Maria vs. the von Trapp children, Maria vs. the Baroness, Liesl vs. Rolfe, the Baroness vs. the Captain, Max vs. the Captain, and the Captain vs. the Nazis (briefly Rolfe in particular). (Spoiler alert!) While almost all of these conflicts are resolved in the final sequence of the singing competition and the von Trapps taking refuge in the abbey, perhaps the greatest man vs. man conflict is Maria vs. herself. There are hints throughout the film that Maria’s past has been rocky and painful. She tells the Reverend Mother that she knows the mountains so well because she grew up on them and used to look over into the abbey’s garden, hear the sisters singing, and think that the abbey must be the most wonderful place in the world. To me, this seems like Maria was looking to find a safe place—the walled abbey full of women and music appeals to her because outside those walls there was some kind of danger. Furthermore, in the song “Something Good,” she presents the Captain with a couple of thought-provoking hypotheticals: “Perhaps I had a wicked childhood, / Perhaps I had a miserable youth.” Personally, I would like more details about Maria’s past because I think that would make her character even richer; however, since the film is vague on this point, we can only guess that Maria—utterly alone in the world—originally comes to the abbey to find a new family of sorts, women who love her but don’t understand her free-spiritedness and lack of discipline. The Reverend Mother enables Maria to avoid compromising her passions when she arranges for her to become the von Trapps’ governess, and we see Maria continue to seek to know herself and find her God-given purpose while in the von Trapps’ home.

Pretty sure Friedrich just put a frog in Maria’s pocket…

Man vs. God

“When God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window,” declares Maria more than once in the film. The main conflict between God and humanity in The Sound of Music is seen in Maria’s struggle to understand and follow God’s will for her life. For much of the film, Maria misunderstands that God can be served through an ordinary life involving marriage and children. She believes her role as governess to the von Trapp children to have come from God because the Reverend Mother assigned it to her; but she doubts that loving Captain von Trapp could have come from God because such a romantic love is something that stems from her own feelings and desires, which she doesn’t think can be involved in an “errand” for God. The Reverend Mother corrects Maria’s thinking, emphasizing that God uses human dreams and passions to help guide people to where He wants them to be and what He wants them to do. To truly follow God is to trust that He is able to use unconventional means in order to bring a person into the ministry which is intended for him or her, says this film.

For Me Then…

The Sound of Music is about a person’s journey to discover God’s plan for her life—the greatest conflict in the film. Sure, the music is lighthearted, and there are some awfully funny moments, but the depth of the film comes from Maria’s seeking to know God and obey Him, regardless of what her own self desires or what people think of the choices she makes. The fact that this conflict (and the others) plays out during World War II, probably the greatest crisis of modern times, only magnifies the personal dilemma Maria faces. Should she trust that God can care for her after her murky past and her current predicament of not really belonging with the family of nuns she chooses? Would God ask her to leave her comfort zone and embark on a life she knows nothing about—only to embrace that life and then have to flee from her beloved new home?

I think that, minus the specificity of some of these questions, Maria’s situation is mirrored in all our lives. It can be so difficult to determine what it is that God would have each of us do—I am especially feeling this right now as the end of grad school is fast approaching! Sometimes all we can do is believe, like Maria, that when one pathway is closed, another will be opened up for us. This is just one way that God reveals His plan to us. In truth, I could hum “Do-Re-Mi” and “So Long, Farewell” all day, but I should listen more deeply to the film’s message of God’s enduring faithfulness to His children and His delight in bringing them each into the life He has purposed for them.

“My heart will be blessed with the sound of music.”

After a little more than half a year, it’s finally happened: Gone with the Wind has been bumped from its top spot in my BP rankings and replaced with this gem, The Sound of Music (1965, Argyle Enterprises Production; 20th Century-Fox). What a delight of a film! Typically, I’ve been projecting these films (hooked up with a nice little sound system) in order to get a better feel for their “theater quality,” but for The Sound of Music this week, my sister and I just snuggled down in our pajamas on the couch under a bunch of blankets and relished this film’s story while the Christmas tree lights sparkled inside and snow flew outside. I’ve seen this movie a million times. It never gets old. I always get something new out of it. And, it never fails to uplift my spirit and calm my soul—two effects we rarely see in today’s movies, it seems.

For me, The Sound of Music would be “Exhibit A” in an argument regarding Oscar wins not being the determining factor for which film is the greatest of all time. At the 1966 Academy Awards, The Sound of Music only took home five Oscars of its ten nominations, winning for Sound, Film Editing, Music (Scoring of Music—adaptation or treatment), Directing for Robert Wise (who had won previously for West Side Story), and Best Picture. The film failed to win in the following categories: Actress in a Supporting Role for Peggy Wood as the Mother Abbess, Actress for Julie Andrews (who had won the previous year for Mary Poppins), Cinematography (Color), Art Direction (Color), and Costume Design (Color)—losing these last three categories to its toughest competitor of the night, Doctor Zhivago.

Julie Andrews and much of the rest of the cast were virtual unknowns when The Sound of Music began filming; yet as demonstrated by the outpouring of condolences after the passing of Heather Menzies Urich (who plays Louisa) last weekend, the von Trapp film family has become family to all of us who cherish this movie. The film itself hasn’t fared too poorly either. Enthusiastically embraced at the time of its release, it continues to capture the hearts of new generations of fans both domestic and international. In a special feature for the fiftieth anniversary edition of The Sound of Music, Julie Andrews discusses why she thinks the film made the immediate and lasting impression that it did, noting how the film was released amidst the turmoil of the Vietnam War and the Civil Rights Movement. People just needed this movie, she concludes. It reminds me a tad of Going My Way, 1944’s Best Picture winner. When times are seemingly at their worst, people look for escape, humor, comfort, and hope. The Sound of Music offers all these—and more.

The real von Trapp family.

Based on the Broadway play of the same name, The Sound of Music tells the story of a young woman, Maria, who wants to serve God as a nun, but who discovers that God desires her to serve Him in a different way. Through music—and an almost unending capacity to care for others—Maria transforms the hurting and cold von Trapp household, finding love herself as well. The Sound of Music is the Broadway/Hollywood version of the true story of Maria Augusta Kutschera and is based on the book she published in 1949, The Story of the Trapp Family Singers. You can check out more details about the real von Trapp family (and view some interesting documents relating to their American immigration) here: https://www.archives.gov/publications/prologue/2005/winter/von-trapps.html. Suffice it to say, The Sound of Music really “dolls up” the true story! But that fact doesn’t detract from the beauty and depth of this glorious film.

I just had to include this picture! The film von Trapp family (minus Christopher Plummer), reunited in front of their famous puppet stage.

For more thoughts on The Sound of Music and its significance, please check out the full post this weekend!

Merry Christmas, Everyone! I hope to keep this post short and sweet so as to allow those dedicated readers (and myself) ample time to spend with family and friends in the next few days. Not that My Fair Lady is particularly Christmasy, but it does possess some interesting themes that we can easily apply to this special time of the year.

For me, the part of this film that has always bothered me the most is the ending (spoiler alert!). Many other critics and reviewers have discussed the sexism that is seen in the film, so I won’t go into that too much here. But I’ve always been most perplexed and uncomfortable with what exactly we are to take away from My Fair Lady’s final line, delivered by the misogynistic Henry Higgins to his love-struck pupil Eliza: “Eliza? Where the devil are my slippers?” The film ends with Higgins pulling his hat over his eyes and slouching down in his chair as Eliza takes a few steps toward him—conspicuously not fetching his slippers. But are we the audience supposed to assume this odd couple ends up married, or do they simply live out their days in companionship? I’ve always assumed the former, but I have to say the thought of the strong-willed Eliza tethering herself to the eccentric and rather heartless Higgins doesn’t really bring me a feeling of satisfaction at the end of the film. Plus, rather than dwelling on the masculine-feminine conflict of the film, what I noticed even more during this most recent viewing is the social discrepancy between Eliza and Higgins and how that difference is almost a bigger deal than that of their genders.

Eliza and Higgins at their first meeting, the difference in their social classes well-defined.

Time and again in the film, both Higgins and Eliza comment on Eliza’s former squalor and ignorance. She supports herself (and often her alcoholic father) by selling flowers, a respectable but very tenuous profession. Higgins supports himself by having no formal occupation. He was born into money and moves rather easily in the social circles of the upper echelon (though his bookish peculiarities lead him to stand out from the general crowd of the elite). When Higgins takes Eliza in as his “project,” he lays out clear instructions for his household staff regarding Eliza’s treatment. She is not an equal—of Higgins or of the staff members. She is inferior in birth, dress, hygiene, employment—and most of all, in language. According to Higgins, Eliza’s dialect is a disgrace to the English language and must be changed in order for her to be accepted by people who matter, the upper class. Of course, high society’s acceptance of her is really a joke to Higgins—he plays a trick on his own class by making them think that Eliza is their equal when, in fact, she never can be. Additionally, Higgins risks Eliza’s well-being with his project, for strict consequences would be applied to any common person pretending to belong to the English upper class (and to the person who helped their pretense). One cannot doubt that Higgins’ punishment would be far less than what would be meted out to Eliza should they be discovered in their deception.

Eliza dislikes her training to become the “perfect woman.”

For Higgins, equality revolves around manners. He tells Eliza, “You see, the great secret, Eliza, is not a question of good manners or bad manners, or any particular sort of manners, but having the same manner for all human souls. The question is not whether I treat you rudely, but whether you’ve ever heard me treat anyone else better.” Somehow, in Higgins’ mind, speaking in the same way to everyone regardless of class promotes equality, yet he still clearly sees a gap between himself and the “deliciously low” Eliza that doesn’t depend entirely on gender or dialect. For Eliza, manners are also important, but in a different way. She tells Higgins’ mother toward the end of the film, “The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she is treated.” For Eliza, class depends on people’s treatment of each other—regardless of physical appearances, speech, or class labels. All humans are basically the same, in Eliza’s mind. The only difference is how people respond to others’ monetary situations, birth statuses, and intellectual capabilities.

Eliza, the lady.

For Me Then…

So let’s make this discussion of social levels feel a bit more festive. A little over two millennia ago, a baby was born in what was probably a cave used for sheltering smelly animals. His parents were poor, and the ruling elite soon took a violent disliking to Him. When He grew up, he hung out with stinking, doubting fishermen, tax collectors, and prostitutes. Yet his birth was announced by angels who told some very lowly shepherds: “I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.” Not just for the rich and powerful, not only for the well-spoken and influential, not merely for men. All humanity has been blessed by the incarnation of Jesus Christ. And in this wonderful season of family and gift-giving, it is a privilege to know this humble baby who grew up to give Himself as a sacrifice for all humanity. Jesus’ life work demonstrates what Eliza says about class: social distinctions are a human invention, for we are all equally lost and in need of the gift of salvation offered to us by the baby whose first night was spent in a manger. May we acknowledge and praise Him who has given us the greatest gifts of hope, joy, and Himself this Christmas. And in the words of Charles Dickens, “God Bless Us, Every One!”

When I was young, my grandmother would have all of us cousins over to her house on Thanksgiving night for a weekend-long sleepover. Those weekends were some of the highlights of my childhood—putting up the Christmas tree and decorations, enjoying candlelit pizza parties, adventuring to the zoo and parks, and so on. But that very first night, Thanksgiving night, we always congregated in the living room, usually all laid out side-by-side on the floor, and watched whichever classic movie was the special presentation on one of the main networks. And every year it seemed like the feature film was one of three: The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, or this week’s Best Picture winner, My Fair Lady (1964, Warner Bros.). I fell in love with all three. So for the next two weeks, I am in my glory with My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music, the only back-to-back musical winners of the Academy’s highest honor—and it’s pretty swell that these films happen to fall during these holiday weeks. It’s like coming home to my childhood.

At the 1965 Academy Awards, My Fair Lady and Mary Poppins dueled it out, with My Fair Lady coming out on top, for the most part (despite additional stiff competition from Zorba the Greek). Nominated for 12 Oscars, My Fair Lady took home 8: Music (Scoring of Music—adaptation or treatment), Art Direction (Color), Costume Design (Color), Cinematography (Color), Sound, Directing for George Cukor, Best Actor for Rex Harrison as Professor Henry Higgins, and Best Picture. Mary Poppins, although accomplishing the seemingly impossible feat of snagging nominations in both the Music (Music Score—substantially original) and Music (Scoring of Music—adaptation or treatment) categories (winning the former and losing the latter to My Fair Lady), was only awarded 5 Oscars for its 13 nominations.

Audrey Hepburn and Julie Andrews at the 1965 Academy Awards. Image by © Bettmann/CORBIS

Ironically, what was arguably Mary Poppins’ biggest win—Julie Andrews’ victory in the Best Actress category—might never had happened without some good old Hollywood off-screen drama. Impossible as it is now to fathom Andrews being passed over for anyone, back in the early 1960s, Audrey Hepburn possessed the more recognizable name of the two actresses. So, although Andrews had played Eliza Doolittle to perfection in the Broadway production of My Fair Lady, Jack Warner, the head of Warner Bros., went with Hepburn for the motion picture. He later explained his decision in his autobiography, saying, “With all her charm and ability, Julie Andrews was just a Broadway name known primarily to those who saw the play…I knew Audrey Hepburn had never made a financial flop.” Money, money, money. Well, I hope Warner got a good seat at the Oscars to see Andrews win for Mary Poppins—oh, and I also hope he was able to catch The Sound of Music the following year!

Audrey Hepburn herself is said to have thought that Andrews should have had the lead in the film version of My Fair Lady. Hepburn even considered walking away from the film, but was told that Andrews would not be asked to replace her if she did. Apparently, Elizabeth Taylor was next in line to play Eliza if Hepburn declined. I just can’t picture that at all! But that Taylor-as-Eliza scenario almost became a reality because when Hepburn was told she wouldn’t be doing the singing in the film, she walked off the set. Of course, she returned the following day and gave a very suave apology to everyone about her prior behavior.

Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady

Hepburn seems to have always been polished and sophisticated. Born in Belgium to an English banker father and a Dutch baroness mother, Hepburn appeared to be on the path to a career as a dancer. She was in school in England at the outset of World War II when her mother decided to take her to the Netherlands, believing (wrongly) that they would be safer there with relatives. After the German take-over of neutral Holland, several members of the family were imprisoned or executed, and Hepburn and her mother nearly starved to death, subsisting at times on tulip bulbs. Many accounts claim that Hepburn still danced to raise money for the Dutch resistance despite her poor health. After the war, Hepburn returned to England to pursue dancing, dabbling in acting as well. While in Monaco, she was discovered by Colette, the French novelist, who determined that Hepburn would be the star of her play Gigi on Broadway. Hollywood soon came calling; and with her Oscar-winning role in Roman Holiday (1953), Hepburn had arrived at stardom. She became one of only a handful of people to have won the “grand slam” of American show business: an Oscar, an Emmy, a Tony, and a Grammy (albeit, she completed this feat posthumously).

And I am just fine with her playing Eliza; for every time she swallows that marble during her “speech therapy” or tells Dover to “move his bloomin’…,” I’m back in Grandma’s living room, dying of laughter with all my siblings and cousins. Happy Holidays, Everyone! May you as well enjoy rehashing former family memories and making new ones this year!

For more thoughts on My Fair Lady and its significance, please check out the full post this weekend!