Speaking of musicals, another one has made it to the silver screen. "
Rent" opened today, but I really can't get too excited about it.
Here's one take on it, and
here's another, perhaps a tad uncharitable, but that's not what bothers me about it. No, I have two issues with it: one, that all the songs I've heard from it sound dismal and depressing, and two, it reminds me of
something else completely (something with a much better tune).
As far as Hollywood productions go, the next movie I'm really looking forward to is "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe". If I want singing and dancing, I'll wait a few weeks for
another movie I'm fairly certainly I'll like.
It's almost like getting a Tony - Mark Steyn put my song from two posts ago in
his letters column. Even though the end part doesn't really work, I still like the line about the gendarmes and the Surete.
There's a thread at The Corner about
some French news anchor, and I think they're way off the mark. Mostly because they COULD be talking about
Stephanie Renouvin, who is obviously the most talented telejournalist in France today.
And if you don't believe me, look at all the other ones
at this site - apparently they don't have anti-stalking laws in France. Yes, look upon it and despair the state of television news in America.
It's not just any columnist who can combine current events with an encyclopedic knowledge of musical theatre, but Mark Steyn somehow manages to find new ways to do it.
Today's column is no exception - who knew that you could find an analogy to modern France in "West Side Story"? However, when he mentioned Mayor Debris, the first thing I thought of was the best musical on Broadway, "
The Producers". Yes, I pictured that French mayor as Roger DeBris, the worst director in Broadway, and the most flamboyant as well. Just how do you get a French mayor to
dress as the Chrysler Building? Anyway, he had one of the big production numbers in the show, and I think I remember the lyrics:
(with apologies to Mel Brooks -
tune)
Our migrants dispossessed
Live in banlieus so depressed
Where everything is concrete drab and grey
Not part of our polity
Now they're burning down our city
What can a Frenchman do but - what's the word?
-Pray?
Exactly!
No matter what they do on rampage
It's the truth
They're our youth
Let them play!
They're entitled 'cause they're full of rage
It's OK
Clear the way
Let them play!
People want justice when they're in the slums
How dare Sarkozy compare them to bums!
What's the harm in a little melee?
I thought it was neat
In the year
soixante-huit
Let them play, let them play, let them play!
Wait...
I see a line of burning Peugeots
With the flames rising high in the night
Just stay away from the Paris Metro
And I will sympathize with your plight!
There are gangs of armed youths destroying a bench
Culturally foreign, but their passports are French.
But that's not all! They torched the mall!
And the post office too, oh the things that they do:
Burn-burn-kick-burn, burn-burn-kick-burn, one-two-three-kick-burn.
Just let them be
They're not after me!
Let them play!
If in the end they rise up and rebel
Let them play, let them play, let them play!
It's all our fault, so it's just as well
Don't ask me how. Look, here's one now, what do you say?
-Rioting's joyous, with constant delights
-The police annoy us, they trample our rights
-So keep your gendarmes and your
Surete
-Just turn away... or
-Join the fray-ay-ay!
Am I the only one to find it amusing that her name is
O'Toole?
