R.H. Greene

Rob Marshall is either the bravest director in Hollywood or the most foolhardy. Three of his five theatrical films — the musicals "Chicago," "Nine" and now "Into the Woods" — don't just invite comparison to the eccentric genius of other artists, they insist on it.

Originally a Bob Fosse stage project, "Chicago" was so imbued with Fosse's vitriolic spirit that even in Marshall's more straightforward hands the movie version felt like the missing piece in a triptych with Fosse's "Cabaret" and "All That Jazz."

"Nine" is the musical created from Fellini's masterpiece "8 1/2."

(Marcello Mastroianni in Fellini's "8 1/2")

Odd enough that someone thought Fellini's intimate but epic fugue on his own creative doubts and sexual fantasies should be adapted by others for Broadway; stranger still to re-import the hybrid back to the screen, in the workmanlike form Marshall gave to it.

And now we have "Into the Woods," a film placing Marshall in the long line of moviemakers defeated by Sondheim's difficult musical brilliance and penchant for challenging material. It's distinguished company, reaching back all the way to "A Hard Day's Night" director Richard Lester's re-invention of "A Funny Thing Happened (On the Way to the Forum)" as a kind of psychedelic Keystone Cops movie, and forward to Tim Burton's more adept but still wrong-headed Murnau-meets-Hammer-Horror approach to "Sweeney Todd."

Even director Hal Prince, the principal theatrical collaborator during Sondheim's most fertile and formative period, made an absolute hash of their shared stage success "A Little Night Music" in a film version later disavowed by both men, and mostly remembered for Elizabeth Taylor's chirpy and discernibly flat rendition of "Send in the Clowns."

Liz singing "Send in the Flat Clowns"

It's just possible that the real problem is that Sondheim's self-reflexive and deconstructive impulse (his musicals are almost always and to varying degrees commentaries on the Musical itself) makes his projects unfit for screen adaptation. In movies, we miss the artifice of the proscenium, the sweat on the actor's brow. But if any of Sondheim's late-period projects held out the hope of a successful movie version it was surely "Into the Woods," a droll recombination of the fairytale form's literary DNA into something like Sondheim's masterpiece "Company," set in a realm of magic beanstalks and slippers made of glass.

The characters are straight out of the Disney pantheon (or "Shrek"): Cinderella meets Rapunzel meets Red Riding Hood meets Jack and his Beanstalk, with a generic Wicked Witch, a couple of not so charming Prince Charmings, plus a peasant couple thrown in. But the issues at stake — marital fidelity, raising children, the fear of aging and death — are complicated, and filled with gray tones which Sondheim and librettist James Lapine masterfully etched across the fairytale's Manichean black and white.

What seemed audacious when Sondheim and Lapine conceived it in 1987 ought to fit comfortably into the era of "Sleepy Hollow" and "Maleficent," but in Marshall's hands, it does not. The good news is that though populated by what old school TV shows used to call a Galaxy of Today's Brightest Stars (Anna Kendrick as an appealingly unglamorous Cinderella; Chris Pine as the nymphomaniac Prince who stalks her; Meryl Streep quite moving in the Wicked Witch role made famous on Broadway by Bernadette Peters) this is mostly a very well-sung movie. There have been controversial excisions and revisions (enabled by Lapine, who is Marshall's screenwriter), but as an introduction to one of Sondheim's more beloved scores, "Into the Woods" makes for a solid musical primer.

WATCH: The "Into the Woods" trailer

But though Marshall has taken a lot of flack for daring to cut out characters (most notably the stage production's Narrator, who served as a kind of Greek Chorus in the original) and for softening plot points (Rapunzel died onstage), the big problem is that Marshall isn't nearly ruthless enough in rethinking "Into the Woods" as an honest-to-God movie. There are many moments (Johnny Depp ending a scene with a stagy howl at the Moon that virtually screams "and... fade out!;" the unseen death of a major character) where Marshall embraces the limitations of stagecraft when something bigger and more cinematic is needed, as if afraid to mar the pedigree of Broadway with Hollywood's debased visual stamp.

"Giants in the Sky," Jack's coming-of-age number, where he describes finding manhood in the sexual and physical dangers available above the clouds in the Giant's Castle, is a showstopper onstage, where we're willing to accept rhetoric in place of physical immediacy. Onscreen, it's simply frustrating for a character to suddenly appear and tell us he's just had the adventure of a lifetime, and that it's too bad we missed it.

The Woods themselves — both character and symbol onstage, a kind of living maze representing moral confusion — are lush here and geographically nondescript, like a particularly plush unit set, done up in a generic Lloyd Webber-meets-Disney house style.

Perhaps most unfortunately of all, Marshall seems constitutionally incapable of conveying the pervasive satiric impulse at the heart of the Sondheim/Lapine original, which could have been called "What Happens After Happily Ever After." Without ironic distancing, the film's second half, where the characters betray each other in decidedly contemporary sexual and self-interested terms, plays as non-sequitur.

It's possible to imagine a more idiosyncratic movie director who both understands and embraces the arsenal of cinematic effects available through editing, camera movement and design transforming "Into the Woods" into a rousing cinematic triumph — the young Terry Gilliam comes to mind. But Hollywood doesn't really embrace its daring cranks and visionaries very often, as Gilliam's difficult career demonstrates. Whenever possible, today's studios like to import genius at a safe remove, and then hand it off to a reliable journeyman who won't make waves or piss off the suits. The limitations of that approach are visible in every scene of "Into the Woods," and perhaps they explain its failure best of all. It's one thing not to be up to the task of adapting a work of odd brilliance. It's something else again to not even take it on.

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

It may not be rain on your wedding day, but these cakes are still a little too ironic.

[grabbing microphone]

HIT IT!

 

It's like loving journalism

... but not kerning!

It's a "good job"

that needs some learning.

It's the winner's cake

that SHOULD be burning!

And who would have thought? It figures!

It's calling someone "dumb"

When you can't spell the word

It's trying to show you care

While giving a beautiful turd

Heh.

And isn't it ironic, don't you think?

Thanks to Tracey, Julie, Dorothy S., Tony W., & Stacey, who really DO think.

 *****

Hang on, you know what ELSE has delicious irony? A fully armed and operational battle station with an exposed exhaust port.

Death Star Waffle Iron

Thanks to this waffle iron, you can recreate the Death Star's catastrophic destruction every morning with butter and syrup. Nomz. Just remember: Use the forks.

‘PEAK’ emissions.The emissions from air travel, local transport and accommodation for COP delegates are staggering

R.H. Greene

Rob Marshall is either the bravest director in Hollywood or the most foolhardy. Three of his five theatrical films — the musicals "Chicago," "Nine" and now "Into the Woods" — don't just invite comparison to the eccentric genius of other artists, they insist on it.

Originally a Bob Fosse stage project, "Chicago" was so imbued with Fosse's vitriolic spirit that even in Marshall's more straightforward hands the movie version felt like the missing piece in a triptych with Fosse's "Cabaret" and "All That Jazz."

"Nine" is the musical created from Fellini's masterpiece "8 1/2."

(Marcello Mastroianni in Fellini's "8 1/2")

Odd enough that someone thought Fellini's intimate but epic fugue on his own creative doubts and sexual fantasies should be adapted by others for Broadway; stranger still to re-import the hybrid back to the screen, in the workmanlike form Marshall gave to it.

And now we have "Into the Woods," a film placing Marshall in the long line of moviemakers defeated by Sondheim's difficult musical brilliance and penchant for challenging material. It's distinguished company, reaching back all the way to "A Hard Day's Night" director Richard Lester's re-invention of "A Funny Thing Happened (On the Way to the Forum)" as a kind of psychedelic Keystone Cops movie, and forward to Tim Burton's more adept but still wrong-headed Murnau-meets-Hammer-Horror approach to "Sweeney Todd."

Even director Hal Prince, the principal theatrical collaborator during Sondheim's most fertile and formative period, made an absolute hash of their shared stage success "A Little Night Music" in a film version later disavowed by both men, and mostly remembered for Elizabeth Taylor's chirpy and discernibly flat rendition of "Send in the Clowns."

Liz singing "Send in the Flat Clowns"

It's just possible that the real problem is that Sondheim's self-reflexive and deconstructive impulse (his musicals are almost always and to varying degrees commentaries on the Musical itself) makes his projects unfit for screen adaptation. In movies, we miss the artifice of the proscenium, the sweat on the actor's brow. But if any of Sondheim's late-period projects held out the hope of a successful movie version it was surely "Into the Woods," a droll recombination of the fairytale form's literary DNA into something like Sondheim's masterpiece "Company," set in a realm of magic beanstalks and slippers made of glass.

The characters are straight out of the Disney pantheon (or "Shrek"): Cinderella meets Rapunzel meets Red Riding Hood meets Jack and his Beanstalk, with a generic Wicked Witch, a couple of not so charming Prince Charmings, plus a peasant couple thrown in. But the issues at stake — marital fidelity, raising children, the fear of aging and death — are complicated, and filled with gray tones which Sondheim and librettist James Lapine masterfully etched across the fairytale's Manichean black and white.

What seemed audacious when Sondheim and Lapine conceived it in 1987 ought to fit comfortably into the era of "Sleepy Hollow" and "Maleficent," but in Marshall's hands, it does not. The good news is that though populated by what old school TV shows used to call a Galaxy of Today's Brightest Stars (Anna Kendrick as an appealingly unglamorous Cinderella; Chris Pine as the nymphomaniac Prince who stalks her; Meryl Streep quite moving in the Wicked Witch role made famous on Broadway by Bernadette Peters) this is mostly a very well-sung movie. There have been controversial excisions and revisions (enabled by Lapine, who is Marshall's screenwriter), but as an introduction to one of Sondheim's more beloved scores, "Into the Woods" makes for a solid musical primer.

WATCH: The "Into the Woods" trailer

But though Marshall has taken a lot of flack for daring to cut out characters (most notably the stage production's Narrator, who served as a kind of Greek Chorus in the original) and for softening plot points (Rapunzel died onstage), the big problem is that Marshall isn't nearly ruthless enough in rethinking "Into the Woods" as an honest-to-God movie. There are many moments (Johnny Depp ending a scene with a stagy howl at the Moon that virtually screams "and... fade out!;" the unseen death of a major character) where Marshall embraces the limitations of stagecraft when something bigger and more cinematic is needed, as if afraid to mar the pedigree of Broadway with Hollywood's debased visual stamp.

"Giants in the Sky," Jack's coming-of-age number, where he describes finding manhood in the sexual and physical dangers available above the clouds in the Giant's Castle, is a showstopper onstage, where we're willing to accept rhetoric in place of physical immediacy. Onscreen, it's simply frustrating for a character to suddenly appear and tell us he's just had the adventure of a lifetime, and that it's too bad we missed it.

The Woods themselves — both character and symbol onstage, a kind of living maze representing moral confusion — are lush here and geographically nondescript, like a particularly plush unit set, done up in a generic Lloyd Webber-meets-Disney house style.

Perhaps most unfortunately of all, Marshall seems constitutionally incapable of conveying the pervasive satiric impulse at the heart of the Sondheim/Lapine original, which could have been called "What Happens After Happily Ever After." Without ironic distancing, the film's second half, where the characters betray each other in decidedly contemporary sexual and self-interested terms, plays as non-sequitur.

It's possible to imagine a more idiosyncratic movie director who both understands and embraces the arsenal of cinematic effects available through editing, camera movement and design transforming "Into the Woods" into a rousing cinematic triumph — the young Terry Gilliam comes to mind. But Hollywood doesn't really embrace its daring cranks and visionaries very often, as Gilliam's difficult career demonstrates. Whenever possible, today's studios like to import genius at a safe remove, and then hand it off to a reliable journeyman who won't make waves or piss off the suits. The limitations of that approach are visible in every scene of "Into the Woods," and perhaps they explain its failure best of all. It's one thing not to be up to the task of adapting a work of odd brilliance. It's something else again to not even take it on.

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

The Israel Folau fiasco has sucked oxygen and money from rugby at a time it can ill afford it, following years of disasters for the sport. The resulting mess has highlighted just how far the sport has fallen, and how much is at stake, writes Mary Gearin.

IRONY Over a tenth of Italy's population lives in abject poverty.

Real women have curvy headphones.

It's also affecting everything from meat packing to crumpets.

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