Ahoy, squirts! Quint here with another review of THE PRODUCERS. This one has been in the mailbox for a few days... I was buried shoulders deap in my Holiday Guide and Harry and Moriarty were off making millions in the stock market. I am now somewhat recovered from that monster of an article and can give this review to the world. I am very curious to see this flick. I love Mel Brooks, despite DRACULA DEAD AND LOVING IT, however I never got to see the stage version of THE PRODUCERS. So, the movie will be my first exposure to the Ferris Bueller/Nathan Lane version of Brooks' story. Enjoy this review from someone familiar with the play!
“The Producers” review
On the 18th of April, 2001, I was celebrating the final weeks of my high school career by going from one coast to another and ending up in New York City. After seeing Gary Sinise in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” a lackluster “Chicago,” the Alan Cumming/Dominic West/Jennifer Ehle staging of Noel Coward’s “Design for Living” and enjoying my way through “Rent” for the sixth time—out of a cumulative 12 as of now—my family was lucky enough to get our hands on four tickets to the final preview night of “The Producers,” which would go on to win a record 13 Tony Awards. The show, a bright, pretty, startlingly naughty stage version of Mel Brooks’ 1968 directorial debut, brought the house down with an offensive but loveable book and score, powered by the incendiary duo of Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. I thought it worked the jokes of the original film much better by having them barrel at the audience at every chance, combining slapstick, unsubtle entendres and what Brooks described his original film as “rising below vulgarity.” It was a perfect show.
Two years later, I had tickets to the traveling production’s stop in San Francisco, this time with a fifth-string cast. It was still very funny, but I had noticed a major flaw in the show itself—it’s almost a one-time deal. The music is not exactly awe-inspiring, the result of Brooks humming melodies into a tape recorder and having professionals sort it out into something reasonable. (Thanks to imdb for that big of useless trivia.) Unlike my more preferred musicals—I go for something a little more “meta,” such as the transcendent “Urinetown” and “Avenue Q”—the tunes are mostly forgettable. The jokes as well don’t hold up once you already know them all. Like “Hairspray,” the show is choreographed within an inch of its life, and that can lead to an uninspired product.
Don’t get me wrong, the play was and still is a great night at the theater. But it doesn’t hold up as well as it should. Ditto goes for the movie. It’s a great, refreshing product, but I feel like I’m just watching them go through the motions. Audiences will eat it up, just like the one at the press screening tonight in Los Angeles, but critics might pick on its transparent theatrical staging. The director/choreographer Susan Stroman—who also directed the recent “Music Man” revival and the dance show “Contact” and choreographed “Center Stage”—has opted to direct the film as if she simply nailed a camera five feet from the stage and let everyone do their thing. It oddly works, but it may put off those looking for something more cinematic. Hell, Showtime’s recent “Reefer Madness: The Movie Musical” was more cinematic than this. In addition, the original cast, except for two big differences, reprise their roles, and we should be thankful for this.
(For fans of the show, I will later include a quick list of what was cut between the show and the film.)
Before jumping right into the meat of the review—sorry about the long introduction—let me just preemptively say that I am not a homosexual, so don’t try the musical theatre is gay angle in the TBs. It’s an art form, just like anything else, and I believe that tearing down a movie or a play simply because it’s a musical is incredibly closed-minded and unfair. If Tom Cruise can battle aliens, people can break out into song. And I am oddly combative tonight. Why is that? Thanksgiving weekend is here, I suppose. Old people and mashed potatoes.
And I ain’t no plant, neither.
“The Producers” tells the story of the slimy schmoe Max Bialystock (Lane), a down-on-his-luck Broadway producer who has just flopped with “Funny Boy,” a musical comedy version of “Hamlet.” Distraught, he comes up with a scheme with his nebbish, neurotic accountant Leo Bloom (Broderick)—they can raise $2 million and lightly finance a theatrical disaster that will without question flop and run off to Rio with the additional money. Their thinking is that nobody, not even the IRS, would be interested in perusing the accounting books for a failed play. So they decide to find the worst play imaginable, one belonging to Nazi Franz Liebkind (Will Ferrell). The play, “Springtime for Hitler: A Gay Romp with Eva and Adolf Through the German Countryside.” They also hire the worst director in town, the marvelously gay Roger DeBris (Gary Beach) and his common law assistant Carmen Ghia (Roger Bart). Their financial backing comes from Max’s tried-and-true process of providing his “services” to little old ladies. They also hire a buxom blonde Swedish goddess Miss Ulla Inga Hansen Bensen Yonsen Tallen-Hallen Svaden-Svanson (Uma Thurman) to be their receptionist-slash-secretary—her response? “Okey-slash-dokey!” When they finally get their show onto the Shubert stage, everything is set for a financial and critical disaster. Or is it?
The first thing anybody is going to notice about the film is how noisy it all is. With all the blaring trumpets, obnoxious old women and Lane-Broderick trying to constantly one-up each other, it’s probably the loudest movie since “The Rock.” If you are not a fan of wacky comedy, this is not the one for you. Brooks has always gone for cheap jokes, and since this, while an adaptation, is still written by the man—book, music and lyrics—it is still very much his style.
By cutting the big opening number “King of Broadway”—it was recorded but cut--Max’s intro, we are left in the first 20 minutes with a cipher of a character. His entire backstory and ideology lies in this song, my favorite from the show and by far the best choreographed, and so after “Opening Night,” another 15 minutes pass by somewhat awkwardly until the duet “We Can Do It.” With Lane left with less of a character, it’s no challenge for Broderick to swoop in and steal every one of their scenes together. It must be commended that onstage and in this film, Lane and Broderick never really try to do impressions of the original film’s Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder. These are their characters, and we should be grateful for them.
Uma as Ula is given a much bigger role than in the 1968 version to present a love triangle situation, although it becomes clear very early she has her sights on Bloom. She is a vastly better choice than the original choice, Nicole Kidman. Her freakishly tall Swede is sensual in a way that only those huge fans of “Kill Bill” know.
The biggest surprise, at least to me, is how well Will Ferrell works as the loud, nutty and insane Franz. In summer of 2004 when everybody was sucking Ferrell’s stupid “Anchorman” dick, I was sitting in the theater repeatedly mumbling, “Not funny. Not funny. Except for Carrell, not funny.” So imagine my surprise when a comedian who I dislike—yelling is not necessarily talent—gets a great role that is ripe for his style. Listen during the end credits to a reprise of his marching song “Guten Tag Hop Clop” done in a soft modern contemporary version. ([Whispers] “Buy Mein Komph. Available at your local bookstore. And Borders. And Amazon.com.”)
Gary Beach and Roger Bart reprise their over-the-top homosexual roles, but just like the original stage production, Bart threatens to run away with the entire show. It’s a glorious performance from a man rising in the character roles in Hollywood movies and TV shows.
The film is also chock-full of special cameos, such as Jon Lovitz, Michael McKean, Andrea Martin, Debra Monk, Jai Rodriguez, Richard Kind and Brad Oscar—the original show’s Franz and first replacement for Max Bialystock when Lane’s contract ran out. Stay through the credits, in addition to Ferrell’s song, to an original sung by Lane and Broderick and a final curtain call with a very special appearance by Brooks himself.
The film has its share of lagging moments, especially during “We Can Do It” and the borderline-tedious love duet “That Face,” which could benefit from over a minute of cuts, simply moving into the bright dance number. “I Wanna Be A Producer,” as well, goes on for about a minute too long and becomes overly gaudy. It’s fun to have three times as many showgirls for this number and old women for the sex number “Along Came Bialy,” but sometimes it comes across as just a little too much. That said, this is a very fun show that all should see if they are not familiar with the show. I wouldn’t put the soundtrack in my CD player often, but the show and the film are a part of musical history and should not be ignored. The most offensive aspects of the show have been cut, so this is more of a jolly vulgarity, but it is still worth your Christmas time when it is released.
Now, if only Killer Films can get moving on their film version of “Urinetown.” I guarantee a good time.
Songs cut from the show:
-The opening number “King of Broadway” (“It’s good to be the king.”)
-The slave accountant in “Unhappy” (“Oh I debits all the mawnin’/and I credits all the ebenin’/until them ledgers be riiiiiiiiiiight.”)
-Franz’s intro song “In Old Bavaria”
-A portion of “Along Came Bialy” (“How about we play a game that doesn’t involve any sex?” “Like what?” “The Jewish American Princess, and her husband.”)
-A middle segment of “Springtime for Hitler” (when he kicks FDR)
-Max and Leo’s “Where Did We Go Right?” (“There was no way we could lose/Half the audience were Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeews.”)
