Hilariously, 2017’s Beauty and the Beast fixes most of these plot holes in the first five minutes. This is a confident film that bursts out of the gate strong and barely ever falters. Emma Watson makes a great Belle, and by making the townsfolk actually unlikable, she doesn’t seem so much of a brat at the start.  The Beast is wonderfully realised – we’re able to truly see Dan Stevens’ performance through the VFX – but more importantly, I actually understand why they fall in love, what they see in each other.  Luke Evans’ Gaston easily rivals his animated counterpart, whilst Josh Gad makes LeFou a much more interesting character. Also, I’m once again impressed at how smoothly Kevin Kline has slipped into supporting roles over the recent years.

The production design is as lavish as you’d expect, but through the clever use of particular lenses and colour, it never becomes overwhelming. The cinematography is great except for one particular disappointment: “Be Our Guest”. A flurry of quick cuts and a camera that won’t sit still, this scene was simply too much (not to mention the fact I’m less than enamoured with the new Lumiere design). That being said, “Belle”, “Gaston” and “The Mob Song” are easily as good as the original versions, and Menken’s score is deliciously grandiose but never overwhelming.

I love the subtle changes that have been included to fix the more awkward parts of the cartoon, whether it be Belle’s agency or the couple of homophobic punchlines that felt really awkward when I rewatched the film on DVD the other day.

It’s clear that Disney threw a tonne of cash at the film, yet the budget never overwhelms the performances. Bill Condon is a fantastic director (with the right material) and you’d be pleased to know that this is closer to Gods and Monsters-Condon rather than Twilight sequels-Condon.

With every Disney live-action remake that’s announced, we all cringe, yet so far they’ve done a decent job. The Jungle Book, Cinderella and Maleficent all had their moments, even if I’m yet to meet anyone that’s seen Pete’s Dragon. (I have; it’s mostly forgettable.) Of their upcoming slate, I think Mulan is in the perfect position to blow us all away. For me, this Beauty and the Beast is a definite improvement on the 1991 feature, and barely puts a foot wrong.

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And for most of the film, I was unsure. Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone – you get these two on a screen together and the film’s bound to be great, yeah? Gosling is effortlessly cool whilst Stone is effortlessly likable, and these two very pretty people are at the top of their game right now. Sure, the direction by Whiplash‘s Damien Chazelle was strong, but still I had this nagging feeling that I was only enjoying La La Land because it was different.

Then the final act happened, and I was sold. It was only in that portion that the film truly excelled, and showed us something different, and I loved it.

Importantly, the songs were excellent. They are spread unevenly throughout the film – sometimes the singing is bunched together, other times we get nothing but dialogue for close to half an hour – but above all, I was pleased to discover that they weren’t very literal. I don’t have an aversion to musicals, but I do have a problem when a song’s telling me something the story’s already made clear. Here, however, the lyrics are worthy of multiple listens.

And then there’s the choreography. Provided by Mandy Moore (no, not that one), it’s really, really impressive. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Gosling and Stone aren’t the world’s best singers/dancers, but that’s the way musicals work these days in Hollywood. Doesn’t stop me feeling sorry for all the truly excellent singers and dancers out there who are relegated to background roles though…

Stone plays an aspiring actress, Gosling plays an aspiring jazz musician. Together, they’re mourning the death of their art. The film itself is a love letter to Old Hollywood, and there’s a particularly impressive role in here for singer/songwriter John Legend, who is kinda making fun of himself, but not quite.

At 128 minutes, the film isn’t short, but it flowed effortlessly for me. The only negative is that the first and second act aren’t anything particularly fresh. But who can really complain when the talent in front and behind the camera is so good?

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Never have I seen an Australian film so daring, yet so conventional. Bran Nue Dae is a musical, with all of the common traits associated with the genre – people spontaneously burst into song (which always challenges my suspension of disbelief), we have two young lovers who are separated, some nasty competition for our young Romeo and a some near pantomimic humour to round things off nicely.

But the content is remarkable. Bran Nue Dae is a film about being an Aborigine in Australia. Set in the 60s, it deals with Christian indoctrination, alcoholism, corporal punishment and racism generally – all through musical comedy. Credit is due to the writers, who have crafted a tale that is celebratory rather than patronising or depressing. It’s one thing to write a downbeat tale about the woes of any given minority but it’s another to use positive reinforcement to drive a message home (Juno was another recent film to successfully navigate this tricky journey.)

Young Willie is sent away from his home town of Broome to Catholic school in Perth where he is to train to become a priest. Father Benedict (Geoffrey Rush) wants nothing but the best for his flock, but unfortunately ‘best’ translates to being a good Christian white man. Willie very quickly decides he needs to make his way back home to the girl he loves (Rosie – Jessica Mauboy) and the people with whom he belongs, so after breaking out in song (as you do), he breaks out of school.

Along the way he’ll come across many who’ll want to tell him how he should act. He escapes Father Benedict only to meet other homeless alcoholic Aborigines, a couple of white stoner hippies who gladly leap from one ideological state to another and a woman who wants nothing more than to have wild sex under the Condom Tree.

This is a brilliant piece of Australian film, the likes of which I’ve never seen before. Within the first ten minutes we’re bouncing along to a song that promotes – in no uncertain terms – the use of condoms. There’s drug use, binge drinking and swearing, yet this has to be one of the best Australian films aimed at a teenage audience I’ve seen in years – more importantly, it’s aimed at young Aborigines, too. Bran Nue Dae encourages young people to make the right decisions – but on their own terms. It’s never preachy nor does it provide a definitive template of the way in which we should live our lives.

The supporting cast are fantastic. Rush is perfect as Father Benedict, Deborah Mailman gives an edgy performance as Roxanne, Missy Higgins is great as one of the idealistic hippies and Ernie Dingo is perfect as Uncle Tadpole, the man who escorts Willie on his journey home. The song and dance numbers are great and none outstay their welcome. The film is a bit like one long video clip – its rushed nature may keep some viewers at arm’s length (though it’s not on par with say, Moulin Rouge).

Bran Nue Dae is one of the most important Australian films in decades. It might make audiences feel more than a little uncomfortable, but maybe that’s the point. It’s a film that deals with Aboriginal issues without resorting to the two easiest knee jerk arguments, either by condemning white people for destroying the indigenous population’s spirit and way of life, or blaming Aborigines for simply not ‘trying harder’ to be more white. It takes a much more original and intelligent route – everyone has work to do, and there’s no one way to do it.

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Arriving in London by ship in the dark of night, Sweeney Todd appraises the world of his youth – There’s a hole in the world like a great black pit and the vermin of the world inhabit it and its morals aren’t worth what a pin can spit and it goes by the name of London – before setting out to find accommodation off Fleet Street above the pie shop of Mrs. ‘The Worst Pies in London’ Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter). Gradually learning what has become of his beloved wife and daughter in his absence, Sweeney sets a course to wreak bloody revenge. There is much more to it than that of course, but the revelations are best left unspoiled for the uninitiated.

That Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is a musical may come as a surprise to some, leading to controversy about the marketing of the film which certainly seems to have knowingly downplayed this fact. The other surprise is perhaps not surprising at all – Johnny Depp, master of the acting trade and hero to thespians everywhere, can sing as well as act. Sure, he is not Pavarotti, but his earthy, at times almost gutteral, presentation of his lyrics suits his character to a tee. Bonham Carter also manages to maintain the illusion in spite of moments of singing awkwardness, and her Mrs Lovett is the perfect foil for the schemes of Todd. Additionally, their songs are well choreographed amidst the London of our nightmares, meaning the awkwardness of some screen musicals is never an issue – it seems natural that Todd and Lovett would sing and dance in this manner in these settings.

The advantage film has in comparison to a stage performance is the freedom to make this a most bloody experience. Every death is brutal and the final body count allows for a lot of gore – not something Burton ever shirks away from presenting in glorious reds against his background of greys and black. The use of colour amidst the gloom maximises the impact of these moments, before allowing the audience to settle again with the comparatively strangely reassuring drabness of his world. Perhaps the strongest feature of the film is its use of a colour palette so bleak it infuses every scene with flavour.

With a rather satisfying outcome for most characters, songs that can in the most part be hummed along to and a visual style that effectively enhances the experience of seeing Sondheim’s stageshow brought to the screen, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is an excellent conversion of its source to film. Winning performances by its leads allow its rather repulsive characters to engender audience good will in spite of their obvious flaws, yet the balance of their charm against their acts will leave many appropriately uncomfortable. Recommended, but not for those who don’t appreciate a little bit of claret.

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At times resembling an extended video clip, Julie Taymor’s film is visually stunning. The cinematography is beautiful, even in the quieter moments, and when things get trippy it looks even better. Every frame is fantastic. Taymor directed ‘The Lion King’ stage musical, so it comes as no surprise that she knows how to put on a big show.

Of course, it helps when you’re stealing the music from The Beatles, but it’s somehow done with style. All the songs ‘fit’ perfectly within the narrative, sometimes in an abstract manner, and sometimes rather literal, as in ‘Dear Prudence’ or ‘Hey Jude’. Some songs like ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’ take on an entirely different meaning. All the singing is fantastic, and puts much of the celebrity-driven Hairspray to shame. The two leads, Evan Rachael Wood (Lucy) and lesser-known Jim Sturgess (Jude) have fantastic voices, and their love story is the central focus of the film. Other highlights include cameos by Bono as the trippy Dr. Robert singing ‘I am the Walrus’, Joe Cocker as the pimp singing ‘Come Together’, and Eddie Izzard with a brilliant version of ‘Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite’. The score tying it all together is also great and the sound design is wonderful.

One of the best aspects of the film is its ability to eschew the normal cringe-worthy moments of musicals. I’m not entirely sure how, but those awkward ‘oh no they’re about to sing’ moments seem to be missing from Across the Universe. This could be because of the deliberate blurring of diegetic and non-diegetic aural elements, or simply its use of montage.

I loved this film. The plot is rather thin on the ground, but how can you complain when ‘I Want You (She’s So Heavy)’ features a bunch of cookie-cutter soldiers struggling to carry the Statue of Liberty across a Vietnamese swamp?

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How do you judge a screen musical? If you don’t walk out humming the tunes to yourself (or belting them out loud) has it failed? Hairspray’s a whole lotta fun – bright, colourful and a little dim-witted, like all musicals, though perhaps the song writing department is its major let down.

Nikki Blonsky is radiant as Tracy Turnblad, the girl that dreams of one day singing and dancing on the Corny Collins Show. This is Baltimore in the 60s, and whilst civil rights are going through a period of change, the high rating show only features black dancers on designated ‘Negro days’. Not only does Tracy’s rather plump form not conform to the stereotypical TV ideal, she seems to be all in favour of integration, so she’s gonna have a hard time getting famous (but no trouble getting infamous). Tracy’s parents are played by Christopher Walken and John Travolta (the latter in drag), and they are merely adequate where they could have shined. Their duet is rather dull once you get past the idea that Walken is serenading Travolta, which is a pity cos it had the potential to be a true showstopper. Amanda Bynes plays Tracy’s best friend, and am I making it up or is there a tradition of rather significant supporting roles in musicals being almost devoid of singing? I suppose she wouldn’t be a very good friend if she stole the limelight too often.

Michelle Pfeiffer is superb as station manager Velma Von Tussle, and she positively annihilates her so-so performance in Stardust with her supremely confident and obnoxious turn. James Marsden is certainly showing another side of himself here – it’s taken me a while to shake his portrayal of apparent dickhead Cyclops in the X-Men movies. Finally, Zac Efron is sickeningly just like the type of poster you’d find on a teenage girl’s wall.

I enjoy seeing a comedy take on serious issues rather than sit through a pretentious and/or dull Oscar-hopeful drama, and Hairspray very simply points out how silly segregation was by virtue of its own silliness.

I haven’t actually seen John Water’s original film, but I’ve gathered that it is the most accessible of his features; though I’m sure this musical version is still toned down. This film had me grinning like an idiot, even if I didn’t retain much after I left.

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A busker and part-time vacuum cleaner repairman (Glen Hansard) sings songs of love and loss on the streets of Dublin, seemingly baring his soul each time he picks up his guitar. A Czech immigrant (Markéta Irglová) approaches him, asking about the girl he must have lost, and eventually convincing him to fix her broken Hoover. As they get to know each other in subsequent days, they discover a shared love of music, and that they have a lot more in common than might otherwise be expected.

If the premise sounds simple, this is actually one of the strengths of this great film. Shot with handheld cameras for only $160,000 and using family and friends as extras and their homes as sets, the most striking aspect of the production is that it all feels so real. The characters aren’t played by recognisable actors, although Cillian Murphy was originally slated to star, and the cinematography adds to the illusion that we are voyeurs in the real life of a pair of musicians. Rarely is handheld camerawork a plus in a film (the recent The Bourne Ultimatum is a great example of how not to use it), but here it really adds to the texture of the story.

Carney’s characters are fully fleshed out people with real problems – not the kinds of problems romantic leads in Hollywood productions face, but rather gritty issues like whether they have enough money to eat. His guy and girl must seek multiple income streams, and they never really have the opportunity – until they meet each other – to let themselves dream of more. Hansard and Irglová are absolutely believable, never once misplacing themselves, and the true measure of their success is that it’s hard to imagine anyone else playing these parts.

Where Michael Winterbottom’s 9 Songs attempted to use music as illustration and failed dismally, the songs played by both Hansard and Irglová fit into the narrative seamlessly, truly adding value to the characters and their story. Although their particular brand of folk pop may not appeal to everyone, the emotion in the lyrics and the intensity of delivery should sell even the most hardened.

In using original music to illustrate the growing bond between Guy and Girl, writer/director Carney creates a magical, utterly charming world, where the daily concerns of life disappear for the few minutes the audience has the pleasure to spend with his characters. Once transports the viewer in a way major studio productions almost never do, and will be loved by anyone lucky enough to see it.

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Fans of the ‘D will be used to seeing a fair amount of recycled material now (considering their shift from HBO TV show to CD album to touring) and The Pick of Destiny doesn’t exactly expand the universe, but rather treads the same territory with a little bit more flair than before. That’s not to say it isn’t entertaining. Considering I’d heard the soundtrack months before, and seen their live show two weeks prior to the release date, it was astounding that the film hooked me all the same.

The music is fantastic. As anyone’s who’s heard the band before will know, originality isn’t exactly their strong point. We jump from Stones to Sabbath to Zeppelin with almost alarming frequency, but it all combines into some glorious metallic rock opera monstrosity, full of (rather effeminate) macho posturing and over the top delivery. The Pick of Destiny is a glorified pisstake of rock and roll, and specifically metal, but it’s a loving homage at the same time. You can’t truly appreciate metal until you acknowledge and embrace the silliness of it all. Thus we have J. B. praying at the altar of Dio and mastering the secrets of the powerslide. There’s barely a dud moment and the film moves at a cracking pace. Surprisingly, the narrative only occasionally darts into gross-out territory, which is refreshing after the craze of the last eight years or so since American Pie.

Obviously, this is Jack Black in his element. High Fidelity may have seemed pretty true to life but this is J. B. sans acting, excluding the fact that he’s always hamming things up. Thankfully Kyle Gass is in much better form here than previously. He always seemed kind of flat next to such a scene-stealer, though of course he often had the difficult role of playing it straight next to a hyperactive maniac. Here the two of them mix up their formula with a relationship that has at least the simplest of dynamics.

I get why this wouldn’t be everybody’s cup of tea but the fact that it failed at the U.S. box office (I can’t seem to find any exact figures on their budget) is a travesty considering Date Movie grossed almost US50 million.

Long live the ‘D.

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In the 1990s, Rent the musical became one of the biggest sensations of the time. Telling its story of friendship and love amongst the artists, junkies, and HIV-infected population of an East Village slum area, this remake into a film has been criticised for being irrelevant to modern society, a criticism that is only partly fair. After all, the homosexual, drug-addicted, and financially strapped are often still marginalised in the 00s. The other problem with this approach is that it just plain misses the point. Rent uses the calamitous events within the space of one year in a group of societal outcasts as the tool to examine the strength of their relationships to one another. If we were only to use current society as the form to examine our own lives, the vast body of cinema that has gone before would be immediately irrelevant, and did I hear someone say something about the relevance of gay cowboys in Wyoming in the 50s?

The music of Rent is remembered for being upbeat and vibrant, and having witty, abrasive lyrics, and is no disappointment. From the anthemic ‘Seasons of Love’ which featured on the trailers, to ‘La Vie Boheme’, ‘I’ll Cover You’, ‘Life Support’ and ‘I Should Tell You’, they are uplifting, moving stories that succeed in adding depth to the traditional narrative, and in being easy to listen to and enjoy. It is no secret that the original Broadway recording of this soundtrack was a very popular album, and the reason is clear. If you find yourself tapping your foot or humming the tune as the action unfolds onscreen, one couldn’t blame you.

The performers are, almost without exception, brilliant. At the hands of many of the original stage cast – the only two who didn’t survive to the screen adaptation are Daphne Rubin-Vega and Fredi Walker, replaced by Rosario Dawson and Tracie Thoms respectively – the characters feel lived in in a way not often seen in a time of performers completing one ‘job’, then moving on to the next. There is no question there is advantage to having played the characters before, these singer/actors know them inside out, and they are pitch-perfect. Dawson is the only real disappointment, her voice at times wavering and weak, although her non-singing moments are some of the best she has committed to screen, and her rendition of ‘Out Tonight’ is stunning.

It is amazing to see Anthony Rapp carry a film like this, after knowing him only for his turn as the cult-leader Jacob in Road Trip. Jesse L. Martin is probably the most successful of the original stars (although Taye Diggs made a blip on the radar in the 90s); now well-known to television viewers as Detective Ed Green in ‘Law & Order’, this role is far removed from that tough-guy persona, and his AIDS-infected MIT dropout is unexpectedly funny and moving.

Rent is filled with wonderful music, fun moments of cameraderie and moving sequences of death and relationship difficulties. These people are all what mainstream society would call ‘broken’ in some way, but they make the best of their lot, which isn’t much. They fall in love, just like we do, and their desires and dreams affect them in just the way a ‘middle american’ longs for the object of his. Rent is a different screen offering in a time obsessed with comic book adaptations and remakes of 60s television shows, and if you let it, will move you.

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Now that I’ve finally watched all 168 minutes of The Sound of Music what can I say? Well, I’m older, that’s for sure. 168 minutes older. And I’m not entirely sure that I’ve learnt or achieved much in that time. Why is it that all the ‘classics’ are so damn long? I recently purchased ‘1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die’, and whilst I’ve seen 340 or so of them, it seems that the majority of the 660 remaining are over two hours. This bothers me. I’ve maintained (quite vocally) for a long time that 100 minutes is the perfect running time for a film. Many of my favourite films are around that length, and I don’t see why every filmmaker shouldn’t aspire to this wonderfully round number. The entire Lord of the Rings could have been done in 100 minutes thusly: little people-ring-evil flaming vagina-giant elephants-volcano-the end. (Note I only had ONE ending?)

Okay so maybe that isn’t very realistic, and to be honest I was behind The Fellowship of the Ring 100 percent, but the fact remains The Sound of Music was way too long. The repetition of songs probably had something to do with it, as leitmotifs very quickly turned into that annoying mosquito that won’t leave you alone at night. I do appreciate the significance of the repeat performances: as ‘Edelweiss’ turns from love song to requiem for a country under occupation, and ‘Climb Every Mountain’ from finding one’s path to the determination of the Austrian people to survive. It’s brilliantly conceived and constructed, there’s no doubt about that. But I worked once in the stage crew for ‘Oklahoma!’ (yep, that was me opening and closing the curtains in Act Two), and I could have sworn there wasn’t quite so much repetition.

Apparently this is a Rogers and Hammerstein musical. Not that you’d notice this from the opening credits, which state that it’s ‘a Robert Wise production of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s The Sound of Music’, with ‘music by Richard Rodgers, lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II, additional words and music by Richard Rodgers, from the stage musical with music and lyrics by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II’. Geez, those guys got robbed. Where’s the recognition?! They should have taken their grievances to the guild.

Whilst I had never seen the movie in its entirety, I had seen most of the musical numbers. It turns out that the bits holding the songs together are rather tedious to be honest. It probably doesn’t help that Herr Von Trapp has let the colour drain from the house, his children and his life since his wife passed, but all the same there wasn’t much to attract my eye. The camerawork is disappointingly static most of the time, not including that famous aerial zoom in on Julie Andrews at the beginning, and the choreographed bicycle dance, which was very impressive. Unfortunately, during the former all I could think of was Chevy Chase bellowing ‘the hills are alive with the sound of Griswold!’, and during the latter how they should all really be wearing bike helmets.

I was actually quite thankful for the hooded top I purchased prior to watching The Sound of Music, as it meant I had something else to do whilst the film was running. You see the stupid thing had random bits of red camouflage material stitched on it, so I sat there with the quikunpik and took them off one by one. And you know what? I didn’t even finish by the time the credits rolled, so either the film wasn’t nearly as long as I’ve been suggesting, or I really shouldn’t have bought a jumper that involved so much manual labour.

The performances in The Sound of Music are fantastic of course, even if they feature a little too much ‘stage-acting’ for my liking. Julie Andrews was immortalised in the role of Maria, and she’s not even dead yet, so that ain’t half bad. Plus Maria has some mad freestylin’ skillz, since she apparently constructs a song to help the kids remember the notes of the scale off the top of her head. I’d like to see Rabbit from 8 Mile go head to head with her. I didn’t even recognise Christopher Plummer, so used am I to seeing him with grey hair, and he’s quite charming – kind of a quarter of Mr Darcy, insofar as he warms up a lot quicker.

Much as I am disrespecting the memory of the filmmakers and those millions who love(d) the film worldwide, I really can’t imagine that this is the ‘timeless classic every family should share’, as suggested on the DVD cover. I had considered watching this with my younger sisters, though I’m glad I didn’t, as at least one of them would have disappeared after twenty minutes to watch the latest Hillary Duff film. And before anyone suggests it, my complaints aren’t merely ‘typical of the MTV generation’. I can sit through slower paced films, and I do have patience (you’ll notice The Conversation is in my top ten), but The Sound of Music was overkill. It could have been much shorter, and also could have made better use of the medium. Too often it felt as if a stage production was being filmed, rather than an awe-inspiring piece of cinema, which is what the tale deserved.

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