• The Boy Friend

2/1/24 (Thurs)

Ken Russell’s 1971 adaptation of the 1954 mega-hit musical, which was itself a pastiche of 1920s shows (Rodgers and Hart’s The Girl Friend would seem a pretty obvious source). Those shows tended to be forgettable fluff with lame stories, bad puns and interchangeable songs designed to show off the talents of its stars, an approach that the story-based Oklahoma! had rendered archaic by the mid 1940s. Few of the flapper-era shows were revivable by that time without significant rewriting. The original The Boy Friend is tuneful and fun but depends on a knowledge of what is being parodied, in this case the British variety of 1920s musicals, which would have been well within living memory for 1950s audiences. The plot, if you can call it that, is about a girl’s finishing school in Nice where the lovers who have presented themselves as poor discover in the end that each is actually rich and titled. The story is intentionally silly and delivered in mocking style, acknowledging its own irrelevance while offering lively characters and memorable tunes.

Film musicals were still alive if sputtering in the early 1970s, and Russell must have been looking for something enjoyable after the controversy over his provocative previous work. He evidently did not believe the campy original would translate to film (raising the question of why he turned to this show in the first place), so he did an even campier version where the musical is being performed at a seaside resort attended by a big American film producer there to scout out talent. The musical scenes in the show proper thus mix with backstage clashes within the troupe as the performers try to outdo one another to catch the producer’s eye. When the lead breaks her leg, the stage assistant is catapulted into the main role. (That parallels real life: the lead in the original London stage production fell ill just before the opening and was replaced by a minor performer, Anne Rogers, who rode the role to stardom.) She falls in love with the male lead, who to her frustration shows no interest in her.

The stage show portrayed here is a cheap resort entertainment, but many of the musical sequences appear as impossible Busby Berkeley-style production numbers in the dreams of various characters, anticipating the film of Chicago in a way. (Those numbers thus parody the 1930s, which goes against the intentions of the original.) Russell lets his imagination go wild, out-Busbying Busby, helped by over-the-top costumes by his then-wife Shirley Russell and spectacular set designs by Tony Walton (whose ex-wife Julie Andrews had starred in the Broadway run). The numbers are thus totally separated from the plot that they were ostensibly written for, not that it matters. Memorable scenes in a film full of them include a dance on a colossal spinning LP, a bizarre bacchanalian dance in Greek outfits, and elves scampering among colorful giant mushrooms (which the cameraman must have ingested before filming this). It was sensory overload at its best. Christopher Gable, the former Royal Ballet dancer who also plays the lead, is given credit (or blame) for the choreography, but it appears that a lot of people made contributions.

The famous film director supposedly looking for talent does not have an integrated role in the story. He has few lines and little interaction with others, acting basically just as an excuse for the plot. That shows a lack of imagination and cheapens the story. Russell stalwart Glenda Jackson also makes an entirely unnecessary appearance as the injured actress. She gives a backstage pep talk to Twiggy that is taken directly from 42nd Street, then is shown in the seats grimacing at the show. She is uncredited in the role, a smart move on her part.

The film script refers specifically to Singin’ in the Rain, and two songs from that movie (“You Are My Lucky Star” and “All I Do Is Dream of You”) are interpolated into the off-stage story – I wonder if that has anything to do with Debbie Reynolds’ earlier attempts to turn the property into a film. They clash with the tone of Sandy Wilson’s original score and are the only songs presented as character numbers (i.e., representing the character’s feelings) rather than numbers in the show-within-a-show. They should not be there.

Twiggy is cute and sings and dances surprisingly well. While her acting is hard to judge given the twee style here, she does what is needed. Tommy Tune is very gay but a notable presence in a role designed and expanded for him; the elf costume made his legs look scarily long. Twiggy and Tommy obviously enjoyed working together as they paired up again successfully years later in the Broadway hit My One and Only. Barbara Windsor and Moyra Fraser were the best of the rest, but all were perfectly fine in this enjoyable mess.