Skip to main content

Meredith Willson: "The Music Man"

 "The Music Man" is a classic rom com -- classic in the Shakespeare/Austen/Nora Ephron tradition.


Boy meets girl; hatred bubbles up; hatred becomes love.

Meredith Willson's heroine enlists our sympathies in a canonical "I Want" song:

My white knight....
Not a Lancelot, nor an angel with wings....
Just someone who loves me, and who's not ashamed of a few nice things....
My white knight...
What my heart would say if it only knew how!
Please, dear Venus....
Show me now.....

Marian wants to notice the world: "Let me walk with him--where the others ride by." She'd like to ponder "what makes Shakespeare and Beethoven great." She'd like a guy "to sit with me in a cottage somewhere in the state of Iowa." Shrewdly, Meredith Willson makes the final big number a number *about* noticing: Once Marian has committed herself to Harold Hill, she can note "the bells on the hill," "the birds in the sky," "the love all around." 

I never heard it singing....
No, I never heard it at all....
Till there was you....

I love Sutton Foster, but if you ask me, "My White Knight" belongs to Rebecca Luker, now and forever. (Sorry, Barbara Cook.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YT_EdH6YcP8

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...