Top Five Songs: A Little Night Music

A Little Night Music has an exquisite score.  It’s meticulous, sumptuous, heartfelt, clever, and funny, and it’s one that pops up to say, “Hey, what about me?” any time I start thinking another Sondheim score is my favorite (not that I’m saying it is my favorite, just that it keeps the competition fierce.)  If I could only have five songs from this show, here’s what I’d choose.

(Pictures are from assorted productions.)

“Now” – The whole “Now / Later / Soon” sequence is fabulous, but you can’t beat Fredrik’s intro.  This fussy, pedantic number, which weighs the pros and cons of ravishing his young wife, is a riot.  It establishes Fredrik and his situation with Anne in a marvelously entertaining manner.

Best line:  “In view of her penchant / For something romantic, / De Sade is too trenchant / And Dickens too frantic, / And Stendahl would ruin / The plan of attack, / As there isn’t much blue in / ‘The Red and the Black.’”

“In Praise of Women” – Carl-Magnus might be my favorite character; this self-important, deluded philanderer is so amusing.  It’s fun to hear his mental gymnastics as he tries to quell his suspicions that his mistress is cheating on him, and I love his condescending “praise of women.”

Best line:  “God knows the foolishness about them, / But if one had to live without them, / The world would surely be a poorer, / If purer, / Place.”

“Every Day a Little Death” – Anne and Charlotte make a good team, since Anne is so naïve and Charlotte is so cynical.  I really like Anne’s wake-up call here as Charlotte opens her eyes to the reality of men, marriage, and infidelity.  The round is gorgeous, and Charlotte’s internal struggle between love and scorn is terrifically compelling.

Best line:  “He smiles sweetly, / Strokes my hair, / Says he misses me. / I would murder him right there, / But first I die.”

“Send in the Clowns” – Come on, I had to do this one!  Overexposure aside, it really is an excellent song, even more so in context.  Desiree’s quiet, wistful regret is beautifully heartbreaking, and I like the way she compares her ease onstage with her tumultuous real life.

Best line:  “Isn’t it rich? / Isn’t it queer, / Losing my timing this late / In my career? / And where are the clowns? / There ought to be clowns. / Well, maybe next year.”

“The Glamorous Life (Film Version)” – A bit of a cheat maybe, since this version isn’t in the show, but it’s so amazing that I couldn’t leave it out.  I adore everything about Fredrika’s ode to her famous mother, especially the stiff-upper-lip way she insists she’s okay with Desiree touring, gallivanting, and never being home.  The melody is so sweet and lovely, and the lyrics get me every time.

Best line:  “Ordinary mothers needn’t meet committees, / But ordinary mothers don’t get keys to cities. / No, ordinary mothers merely see their children all year, / Which is nothing – I hear. / But it does interfere / With the glamorous…”

Pacific Overtures (1976)

As a complete musical, this isn’t one of my favorite Stephen Sondheim shows (largely by default – when so many of them are exquisite, there’s a lot of competition for favorites.)  The book, while it makes an effort, is a little too obviously written by white New Yorkers to credibly tell a story about Japan.  Still, for its era, it does fairly well – just putting a show with an all-Asian cast on Broadway in the ‘70s couldn’t have been easy, and I appreciate where it’s coming from.

The show is set in 1853, on the eve of Commodore Perry’s arrival to a Japan that doesn’t open its doors to foreigners.  We see the response to the American ships from the great (the shogun and his court) to the small (Kayama, a samurai elevated to a higher position mainly to serve as a fall guy if things go south.)  A major theme is the divide between isolationism and expansionism – the pros and cons of each and the danger of adhering too devotedly to one.  The fruit born of change, the loss of tradition, and the clash that results when absolute change and absolute tradition try to reside in the same environment are all explored as Japan starts to let the West in.

There are definitely problems.  The book relies a bit too much on othering the Japanese, lingering on “exotic” details without incorporating them organically into the story.  Additionally, while the westerners are variously depicted as pushy, ignorant, and greedy, the Japanese characters don’t have a terribly active presence in their own story.  They do a lot of fretting about the approaching ships, but they don’t have many practical ideas about how to prevent their arrival, and when the Americans do land, the Japanese are mostly steamrolled by them.

The ending is more of a meditation than a resolution, but I don’t mind that.  It’s a show that’s more interested in the questions it raises than the story it tells, and that’s okay.  It doesn’t make a lot of definitive statements about good or bad, right or wrong, wise or foolish, but rather presents its scenarios without much moralizing and simply asks us to think about them.  And again, considering when it was written and the cultural background of its authors, it really does try to look outside the Eurocentric bubble.  Americans are involved, yes, but more than anything, their inclusion is about the wide shadow they cast, and the focus remains firmly on the eastern society with whom they come into contact.

All in all, a mixed bag.  The show’s one unimpeachable quality, however, is its score.  I just love the songs in this musical.  From the sensationally witty rhymes of “Chrysanthemum Tea” to the cheeky innuendo of “Welcome to Kanagawa,” from the lovely simplicity of “Poems” to the cross-cultural cacophony of “Please Hello,” from the reminiscent “Someone in a Tree” to the sinister-yet-achingly-beautiful “Pretty Lady,” I can honestly say I adore every one of them.  This was one of the first Sondheim scores I ever heard start to finish, and while the whole may not come together as cohesively or skillfully as some of his more famous works, all the songs are excellent on their own.  I imagine I’ll do a Top Five post one of these days on the score, and even though the show only has eleven songs in it, I’ll not sure how I’ll narrow them down.

Warnings

Some sexual content (including discussion of prostitution,) thematic elements, and some violence.

A Few Doctor-Companion Thoughts

Obviously, the only way this show has been able to exist since 1963 is that the Doctor and his companions change periodically.  The Doctor regenerates, so he’s covered, but the companions have to leave.  New Who’s S.O.P. for companion exits is usually a tragic forced separation, and there have been a few deaths over the years; however, that still leaves plenty who’ve chosen to go of their own volition.  While some can’t hack it anymore and others decide to stay and help a rescued world rebuild, another big reason to jump ship is that they’ve fallen in love.

As far back as One’s era, companions have stayed behind somewhere because they’ve found that special someone.  Depending on how it’s handled, this can feel organic or tacked on, and at least once the companion’s preferred beau is presented as a sort of human substitute for the Doctor.  Though both are always sad to part, the companion says goodbye hand-in-hand with a new love, while the Doctor departs with a hole where they used to be.  Sure, sometimes there’s still another companion or two in the TARDIS, he’ll meet someone new before long, and once a companion has moved on, he rarely stops to look back.  That doesn’t change the pain of each parting.

In the final Amy/Rory episodes of series 7, when the Doctor feels them drifting away, I was struck by how this recurring situation parallels a common asexual worry:  being discarded by a friend in favor of a romantic partner (anyone single might recognize this, but it feels particularly true to me as an ace.)  Honestly, the way that era plays up that false “Doctor vs. Rory” bid for Amy’s affections follows the same theme.  I think it’s clear that the Doctor has never felt that way about Amy, and I don’t think she feels that way about the Doctor, but the show’s insistence on the comparison is about more than Rory’s insecurities.  Almost from the start, it’s telling us Amy can’t have Rory for a lover and the Doctor for a best friend.  Ultimately, one has to win out, and though she’s sad to be pulling away from the Doctor, she sees life at home with Rory as real, grown-up life.  We see this tug-of-war in series 8 as well.  Clara can’t sustain being a TARDIS traveler and Danny’s girlfriend at the same time – despite her efforts, something’s got to give, and if her actions in “Dark Water” are any indication, that something is the Doctor.

In this way, settling down with a romantic partner is viewed as a positive step, maturity-wise, that traveling with the Doctor isn’t.  Life with him is life on pause, and while it’s sad to say goodbye, there’s a sense that supplanting him is natural, inevitable; they’ve grown out of him.  This gets to me because, though he’s lived so much longer, he never grows out of them.  They’re the ones who choose to leave because the relationship they have with him isn’t.  He means a lot to them, of course, but he can’t win out over “the real thing.”  And the thing is, I think they are enough for him.  There have been other forays – Rose and River, and you could argue Eleven-Clara a bit – but at no point does his affection wane because he’s found something “truer” than what he has with them.  If the Doctor and Rory are both in danger, Amy will save Rory first every time.  I don’t think the Doctor would choose so consistently between Amy/Rory and River.

I’m not saying, by the way, that the Doctor is ace.  I tend to see him that way, with some incarnations tending more towards heteroromantic than others (especially Ten,) but it doesn’t really matter.  The point is, for all the talk in recent years about the Doctor as the man who’s always running, who never looks back, whose companions gets hurt from their time with him, he’s not the one who leaves.  Whenever it comes to it, he’s the one who gets left behind.

Top Five Childhood Rereads

Great books are great books, period.  I became a voracious reader at an early age, taking eager trips to the library and literally checking out as many books as I could carry.  Today, many of the novels and series I consumed are fond pieces of nostalgia, but some are every bit as enjoyable to read now as they were when I was 10, 11, or 12.  Here are five books I still love.  (Note: I didn’t start A Series of Unfortunate Events until high school, so it’s beyond the range of this post.)

 

 

The Giver by Lois Lowry (1993)

 

Cards on the table – I couldn’t bring myselfto see the movie in theaters.  The book is too important to me, and the film looks too wrong.  Maybe someday…  This was one of my first dystopian novels, and I was pulled entirely into its world.  I love Jonas’s messy, complicated journey, his gradual awakening to the possibilities of the extremes his gray society has pared away.  The message, that colors and snow and love are worth pain and ugliness, is gorgeous.

 

 

Belle Prater’s Boy by Ruth White (1996)

 

This was assigned reading in 6^th grade, but I’ve read it on my own numerous times since then (don’t bother with the sequel, though – it’s not bad, it’s just not masterful.)  Gypsy and Woodrow are such rich characters, and I adore every bit of their friendship, from the jokes to the secrets to the stories.  The story of Woodrow’s missing mother and his desire to find her fascinates me, and I like the thoughtful way the book deals with Gypsy’s feelings about her beauty.

 

 

Tangerine by Edward Bloor (1997)

 

I bought this one through a book order on a whim, and I haven’t come across anything else quite like it.  The eerie atmosphere of the town is terrific, and the darkness within Erik is startling.  Beyond that, the book is stuffed with vibrant, memorable characters and excellent dialogue.  It’s also one of the most thoughtfully diverse books I read as a kid – Paul, the protagonist, is disabled, and the multiple characters of color feel informed but not defined by their race.

 

 

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle (1962)

 

So I love the entire Time Quartet, but I picked this one because my memories of first reading it are still so vivid.  It’s unapologetically smart and almost audaciously inventive, fastidiously detailed and beautifully written.  The fantasy shines, the themes are striking, and the characters are odd, rough, and wonderful.  Meg is absolutely a character I needed at that age, and Charles Wallace remains the most compellingly-written child genius I’ve ever encountered in fiction.

 

 

Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson (1977)

 

(I just realize four of my top five are by female authors.  Awesome!)  5^th-grade reading this time.  Like Gypsy and Woodrow, Jess and Leslie’s relationship is spectacular.  I’m captivated by their time together, and of course the world they create.  In a dingy nowhere town, amidst bullies, poverty, and distant fathers, they bring the impossible to life.  What could be better than that?