If, like me, you love a good musical; appreciate a good dose of jazz hands; and go weak at the knees for perfect harmony, please, read on.
If, however, you do not love a good musical; think jazz hands belong back with Kirsten Dunst in Bring It On; and couldn’t care less for a good choral arrangement; probably don’t read on, and definitely don’t go and see this movie. Or do, just have a stiff bottle of whiskey first.
Pardon me while I talk about myself briefly… many moons ago, I had the great pleasure of being in a theatrical performance of Into the Woods. I played the Baker’s Wife but, unfortunately, I don’t look like Emily Blunt, nor did I get to kiss Chris Pine. Also, halfway through rehearsal I realised that the Witch was actually a way cooler character and decided that I’d much rather play her, but alas, we can’t always get what we want.
So, given my background, you’ll understand that I was insanely excited about the film adaptation. I watched the trailers a dozen or so times, I read all the articles, I read all the reviews and, come the release date, I dragged my long-suffering other half to see it.
While he swears the contrary, I’m 95% sure that he slept through most of it. Although he will admit to the fact that he, well, hated it and the only thing that got him through was “the hotties”. That’s fine, that’s cool. We can’t all have impeccable taste in film and theatre.
Anywho, I digress. Here’s what was great about it: Director Rob Marshall was true to the script and music. Faultlessly so. There wasn’t a single thing, on paper, removed or added from the original theatrical version. The music was perfect, the cast was pretty damn good, the special effects were fantastic.
But. And this is a large but…
It was just so… Disney.
Into the Woods is a very complex show. It’s also absolutely hilarious. It’s dark and twisted and sinister and sexy. It’s a complete piss-take of all the fairy tales we grew up with as children. It’s less Disney’s Cinderella and more Roald Dahl’s Revolting Rhymes. It’s black comedy to it’s core and it’s an in-your-face testament to the old adage “Be careful what you wish for”.
Yes, a few of the funnier, more slapstick one-liners shone through. But the really dark, sordid comedy was left sitting in the corner of an empty stage saying, but what about me? I’m the reason you come to see Into the Woods!
I can’t help but wonder if another film house had picked up the rights, would it be different? Darker? Bleaker? Or perhaps the magic of such layered comedy is something that just can’t really be translated on screen? One can only imagine. Yes, I did get gooey over the music, wistfully gazing at the screen with a dew of long-lost memories fogging up my eyeballs. But I do wish I’d seen more than a whiff of black humour.
But I guess, in the grand scheme of musicals into movies, the lack of seedy humour in the Into the Woods film sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the dear-lord-did-I-really-just-watch-that? flop that was Russell Crowe as Javert in Les Miserables. But that, my friends, is another story…
