Mon Oncle (1958)

The charming, pre-modernized streets of France.

In the list of most beautiful comedies, Mon Oncle may very well steal first place. This is simply one of the most imaginative, feel-good films I have ever seen. It is not only a feast of ingenious physical comedy, but it is also a statement against modernization and its overwhelming subsequent effects.

Now, usually, when I watch a comedy, I do not expect an abstract philosophical observation. If I do expect something of that sort, I usually enter the viewing a bit wary. But this satire is brilliantly executed; the statement is wrapped up in good-hearted humor, sublime music, and fantastic set pieces (all of which I’ll explain in detail below).

Jacques Tati, the film’s writer, director, producer, and starring actor, is often regarded as France’s comedy master. An obvious precursor to Rowan Atkinson’s memorable Mr. Bean character, Jacques Tati created the unforgettable Monsieur Hulot: a bumbling, lovable, trench coat-wearing fellow who causes accidental catastrophe as he tries to mold to the ever-changing modern world. After his first feature film, Jour de Fete in 1949 (in which Tati played Francois, not Hulot), the Monsieur Hulot series started in 1953 with Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot, and continued with Mon Oncle, PlayTime (1967), and Trafic (1971).

In Mon Oncle, the statement about modernization is instantly evident. The credits appear on signs at a construction site. The sounds of the engines of various construction vehicles are almost unbearably loud and obnoxious–then comes the antithesis. The film switches immediately from the loud, raw atmosphere of the construction site to an quaint, unmolested French neighborhood. The contrast is beautiful and sad; it forces one to realize that, although modernization has led to several inventions that are beneficial to mankind, too much modernist reconstruction can lead to the loss of meaning for existence.

If this was the sole purpose of the movie, it would perhaps be quite a drag. But this is not the case. This statement is not presented in the stark, dramatic form one would expect, but rather in a superbly choreographed comedy of errors. Tati, as Monsieur Hulot, is endearing and hilarious, conducting himself with silent whimsy and subtle naivete. His smile is sweet and sad, especially near the end of the film, and his awkward way of walking is absurd yet irreplaceable. No one can recreate Hulot. Jacques Tati, to put it simply, IS Monsieur Hulot. Inseperable and one.

Now, for the sets. Mon Oncle boasts some of the most brilliant, fantastic set pieces ever made for a film. The only sets I can think of that would rival the Arpel family’s ultra-modern abode are the buildings (made expressly for the film) in Tati’s PlayTime (1967) and the apartment complex in Rear Window (1954). As if this movie marvel wasn’t enough, Hulot’s own apartment building is one of the most beautiful, unbelievable film sets ever made. These are phenomena which mere words cannot effectively describe; they must be seen.

To hear the score of Mon Oncle is to have your heart warmed. The gently plinking piano is soon accompanied by a quintessentially French accordion. The visual partners to this piece are shots of mischievous canines rummaging their way through trashcans (the crashing of the can’s lid is synchronized with the music, and acts as a brief drum solo), and eventually moving from the lovely, unadorned streets of Old France to the coldly modern neighborhoods, where we meet the Arpel family and their neoteric residence.

On a side note…  For those who prefer newer comedy, I will say that the sight gags in Mon Oncle rival those in, say, Airplane (1980) and Hot Shots! (1991). They’re not as blatant, no, but (in my opinion) just as funny.

If you want to feel good, watch this movie. I will warn you, this film does not belong to the “Instant Gratification” class of comedy. The jokes are subtle; the humor is in the whole. That said, it is possibly the most heartwarming movie (to me) that I have ever seen. It helps us to remember that “old-fashioned” is not a dirty word.

Summary

The Arpel family is the epitome of ultra-modern. Their house is a fully automated, avant-garde, highly polished prison–that is, to their son, Gerard. He does not enjoy living in this glimmering steel cage; thus, he spends most of his time with his uncle, Monsieur Hulot, who leads a simpler existence than Gerard’s parents. However, Gerard’s parents believe the naive Hulot to be a bad influence on young Gerard. Thus, they attempt to make Hulot one of their own. Monsieur Arpel gets Hulot a job at his plastic factory, and Madame Arpel hosts a garden party (one of the funniest scenes in film history) in attempts to mold the bumbling Hulot into a person of order and class. After many failed attempts, the Arpels seem to have given up. But Monsieur Hulot may have a more positive effect on them than they’d like to think.

Information

Directed by Jacques Tati;

Written by Jacques Tati (written by), Jacques Lagrange (artistic collaboration), Jean L’Hôte (artistic collaboration);

Starring Jacques Tati as Monsieur Hulot, Alain Bécourt as Gerard Arpel, Jean-Pierre Zola as Charles Arpel, Adrienne Servantie as Madame Arpel, and Betty Schneider as Betty, Landlord’s Daughter;

Produced by Jacques Tati (producer), Fred Orain (producer, uncredited), Alain Térouanne (associate producer), Louis Dolivet (co-producer);

Music by Alain Romans, Franck Barcellini, Norbert Glanzberg (uncredited).

-luke

Singin’ in the Rain (1952)

That poor suit...

“Dignity. Always dignity.”

Well, it’s time for my long-long-long-overdue review of the 1952 musical masterpiece, Singin’ in the Rain.

This film is one of my favorites. It is so memorable. This is a film that looks like it was just as fun to make as it is to watch. It seems that Gene Kelly’s notorious perfectionism paid off, as he truly did create a near-perfect film.

I think this film was extremely ahead of its time. In whole, it’s a smart parody of the film industry, something which hadn’t really been attempted before (with some exceptions). It satirizes, of course, the industry’s colossal transition from silent to sound, but it also pokes fun at the big-budget musicals of the 40s and 50s (despite being one itself). Nowhere is the latter parody more evident than in the elaborate, irrelevant (and very long) Gotta Dance! number. It’s a brilliantly choreographed dance scene, with some of the most vivid colors ever captured on film. And entirely useless. In this way, it’s an exact replica of many films of its time.

The satire is very obvious, but there are some who don’t understand it. I believe this is the reason many people don’t like the film. They don’t understand that it does NOT, in any way, take itself seriously. It’s goofy on purpose.

That’s not to say, however, that no effort went into the making of this movie. From the facts I’ve heard about this film’s production, I’d say that it was probably quite a piece of work. Debbie Reynolds herself quipped that making this movie and surviving childbirth were the two hardest things she’s ever had to do.

Both Reynolds and Donald O’Connor were admittedly nervous–even frightened–by Gene Kelly’s tyrannical direction. O’Connor said that during the first few weeks of shooting he was terrified of making a mistake and being yelled at by Kelly.

Debbie Reynolds also turned in a good amount of effort. Being only 19(!) at the time of filming, she lived with her parents and commuted to the set. She had to wake up near 4:00 A.M. and ride three different buses to the studio; sometimes, to avoid all that trouble, she would simply sleep on the set.

Of course, you’ve heard the stupendous, epic stories of the troubles the crew went through to bring you that iconic title number. If you haven’t, take a seat, and let me tell you a story.

‘Twas a dark and stormy afternoon in Culver City, California… Well, not really. You see, studio technicians had to cover two city blocks with tarp to give the illusion of nighttime. Then, they equipped the set with overhead sprays. This is all the more remarkable when you consider that there was supposedly a drought in Culver City the day the sequence was shot.

As you can see, I’m talking too much. And, I’m sure it’s also evident by now that a lot of work went into this movie. Fortunately, their hard work and troubles paid off. Although the film cost a total of $2,540,800 (astronomical for 1952), $157,000 of which went to Walter Plunkett’s costumes alone, the musical masterpiece returned a $7,700,000 profit upon its initial release. At this news, MGM forgave and forgot about the film’s budget being overshot by $665,000, and the studio quickly became cognizant of their intelligent investment.

Summary

In 1927, the year of the world’s first “talkie”, famed silent actors Don Lockwood (Kelly) and Lina Lamont (Jean Hagen) are everyone’s favorite silent screen pair. The shrewish Lamont, however, believes their romance is true offscreen as well. Aided by his carefree friend and piano accompanist, Cosmo Brown (O’Connor), Lockwood tries nearly in vain to dodge her amorous advances. Things take a chaotic turn with the release of The Jazz Singer, which has the public screaming for talkies. In addition, Don falls for Kathy Selden (Reynolds), a chorus girl and aspiring actress, who is seemingly the first woman to resist his suavity. With the wild popularity of sound pictures still on the rise, it’s decided that the new Lockwood/Lamont picture will be a talkie. However, Lina’s incredibly screechy voice (which, as one reviewer put it, mere words cannot describe) is obviously a problem. In a stroke of genius, Kathy is brought in to secretly dub Lina’s speaking and singing voice. Simultaneously, of course, Kathy and Don fall very much in love. Thus, Don must make a decision: keep up appearances and thereby keep an audience, or reveal the real star of the show?

Information

Directed by Stanley Donen and Gene Kelly;

Written by Arthur Freed (song by which the story was suggested), Nacio Herb Brown (song by which the story was suggested), Betty Comden (story and screenplay), and Adolph Green (story and screenplay);

Starring Gene Kelly as Don Lockwood, Debbie Reynolds as Kathy Selden, Donald O’Connor as Cosmo Brown, Jean Hagen as Lina Lamont, and Millard Mitchell as R.F. Simpson (with cameos by Rita Moreno and Cyd Charisse);

Produced by Arthur Freed (producer), and Roger Edens (associate producer);

Music by Lennie Hayton.

Facts

If I had written this three weeks ago (like I was supposed to), you would’ve been able to see my good friend, Brittany Wright, in the role of Kathy Selden in her high school’s production of Singin’ in the Rain.

Gene Kelly insulted Reynolds by saying she couldn’t dance. Fred Astaire, who was hanging around the studio, allegedly found her crying and helped her with her dancing.

Working days sometimes stretched to 19 hours.

While in the film it’s almost assumed that Kathy and Don are around the same age, this was not at all true in reality. Debbie Reynolds was 19 years old, while Gene Kelly was 39.

The original negative of the film was destroyed in a fire.

The role of Lina Lamont was originally intended for Judy Holliday. However, that idea was vetoed after Holliday hit it big in Born Yesterday (1950). Somewhat ironically, the part eventually went to Jean Hagen, who was Holliday’s understudy in the Broadway version of Born Yesterday.

Believe it or not, only two songs (“Moses Supposes” and “Make ‘Em Laugh”) were written especially for the film. The writers of the latter song, Nacio Herb Brown and Arthur Freed, admitted that they nearly stole the tune from Cole Porter’s “Be a Clown”, from the Gene Kelly comedy, The Pirate (1948).

Speaking of “Make ‘Em Laugh”… Gene Kelly asked O’Connor to resurrect a trick he used as a young dancer: running up a wall and completing a somersault. This silly, inane number was so physically taxing that O’Connor, who smoked four packs of cigarettes a day at the time, went to bed (or was hospitalized, depending on the source) for nearly a week after its completion, suffering from exhaustion and severe carpet burns. Infuriatingly, the initial footage was destroyed in an accident. So, after a brief rest, O’Connor (being the epitome of “true performer”) did the very difficult number all over again.

The rain in the title number was a mixture of water and milk (to help it show better on camera). Tragically, it caused Kelly’s wool suit to shrink.

While the film makes a central point of the idea that Kathy’s voice is dubbed over Lina Lamont’s, what is not told is that, ironically, in some of these songs – notably “Would You” and “You Are My Lucky Star” – Debbie Reynolds is actually dubbed by Betty Noyes. However, Reynolds’ own singing voice can be heard on the outtake footage of “Lucky Star” as performed next to the giant billboard of Gene Kelly.

When performing the title number, Gene Kelly had a 103-degree fever. Dancing in the rain probably didn’t help that.

-luke

The Music Man (1962)

I have never understood those hats.

“This is a refined operation, son, and I’ve got it timed down to the last wave of the brakeman’s hand on the last train out of town.”

The Music Man is, as one reviewer put it, what musicals are all about. It has the grand numbers, the syrupy romance, the comedy, and Shirley Jones. What more could you want? Maybe Grace Kelly and Joan Fontaine.

No, I’m kidding. This film boasts a great cast, with schmaltzy Robert Preston leading the pack. It confuses me that actors such as Paul Ford (Mayor Shinn), Susan Luckey (Zaneeta Shinn), and Harry Hickox (Charlie Cowell) didn’t enjoy a more successful film career.

Although just a supporting part (with far too little screen time), Mayor Shinn was my favorite character in the film. Nearly every line he shouted (“Watch your phraseology!”, “Not one poop out of you, Madam!”, and, of course, “Fourscore…”) made me laugh out loud. He would probably make it into my list of Top 20 Favorite Characters.

Robert Preston fits his part to a “T”. “Tee”? How do you write that? Never mind. He is the prime example, the sparkling epitome of a darn good traveling salesman. (Seriously, The Music Man should be required viewing for all persons who are considering a career in salesmanship.) His “songs” remind me somewhat of Danny Kaye’s tongue-twisters. He recites them perfectly, with unequaled enthusiasm. He’s funny, he can sing, he can dance, and he can convince every single soul in River City, Iowa that they desperately need a boys’ marching band.

Shirley Jones’s character, Marian Paroo, is wonderful. She despises Harold Hill (Preston), but he persistently lays on more and more charm until she finally gives in. Funny, he uses my technique.

Okay, so the “she-hates-him-at-the-beginning-but-comes-to-love-him-before-the-credits-roll” story line is a tad overused, but the chemistry between Jones and Preston make it seem almost new. I was amazed and amused by the intrigue of their inexplicable relationship.

The film features Buddy Hackett in a small part, and he never fails to make me laugh. That’s a bonus. The film also presents a 7-year-old Ron Howard, who sings a delightful, melodic rendition of “Gary, Indiana“.

Ha! But seriously, folks. To recap:

PROS:

1. It’s hilarious.

2. It’s innocent fun.

3. It has some GREAT songs, including “Sadder But Wiser Girl For Me”, “If You Don’t Mind Me Saying So”, “Sincere”, “Shipoopi”, and “Marian the Librarian”.

4. It has a great cast: Robert Preston, Shirley Jones, Buddy Hackett, Paul Ford, Hermione Gingold, Susan Luckey, and Ron(ny) Howard.

5. It’s filmed in beautiful Technicolor.

6. It’s one of the best Broadway adaptations ever made.

7. It’s long, but every minute is entertaining.

8. It has that sort of slightly-altered reality. It’s somewhat surrealistic.

9. It’s a bit sappy. But in a good way. A very good way.

10. It’s a “glimmering slice of Americana”. Whatever that means.

CONS:

1. “Gary, Indiana“.

Seriously, you will have that song stuck in your head for WEEKS. I suggest skipping that entire song, or at least muting it. Consider that song the film’s intermission.

Synopsis

Harold Hill (Preston), a freewheeling con man, stops by River City, Iowa, after fellow (I use the term loosely) salesmen inform him that the town is the biggest test possible of a salesman’s abilities. Hill intends to cheat the town by offering to equip and train a boys’ marching band, and then skip town with the money. Things go awry when he falls for a beautiful librarian (Jones) who threatens to expose him to the townspeople.

Information

Directed by Morton DaCosta;

Written by Meredith Wilson (play on which it was based), Franklin Lacey (play on which it was based), Marion Hargrove (screenplay);

Starring Robert Preston as Professor Harold Hill, Shirley Jones as Marian Paroo, Buddy Hackett as Marcellus Washburn, Ron Howard as Winthrop Paroo, Paul Ford as Mayor George Shinn, Hermione Gingold as Eulalie Mackechnie Shinn, and Susan Luckey as Zaneeta Shinn;

Produced by Morton DaCosta (producer), and Joel Freeman (associate producer);

Music by Ray Heindorf (conductor, orchestrator, music supervisor), and Meredith Wilson (music and lyrics).

Facts

Although Robert Preston had played the role of Harold Hill on Broadway, he was not even considered for the film until Cary Grant turned down the role. Frank Sinatra was Warner Brothers’ other choice for the role, but Meredith Wilson told them, “No Robert Preston, no movie”.

Shirley Jones discovered, during production, that she was pregnant with her son, Patrick.

The original Broadway production opened at the Majestic Theater on December 19th, 1957, and ran for 1,375 performances. The show won the 1958 Tony Award for Best Musical, and Preston received the 1958 Tony for Best Actor in a Musical. Pert Kelton (Mother Paroo) and The Buffalo Bills also reprise their roles in the film.

Before starring in The Music Man, Robert Preston had never sung a note.

The songs “76 Trombones” and “Goodnight My Someone” are the same tune arranged in different time signatures.

River City was based on Meredith Wilson’s home town of Mason City, Iowa. The movie had its world premiere there.

The marching bands of the University of California and the University of Southern California were drafted in for the final parade scene.

Gary, Indiana, Gary, Indiana, Gary, Indiana… *sigh*

-luke

The Court Jester (1955)

The perfect example of Kaye's comic versatility.

“King of jesters and jester to the king.”

Due to limited time, limited brainpower, and the aggravating unreliability of modern technology, this week’s post will be somewhat shorter than usual. *all four of SC’s regular readers emit a sharp gasp*

Are you ready to laugh? You’d better be. The Court Jester is perhaps the perfect introduction to comedy legend Danny Kaye. To give you an idea of how funny he really was, listen to this: he was Bob Hope’s favorite comedian, he received a Special Tony Award for heading a variety bill at the Palace Theatre, and he once conducted the Philharmonic Orchestra at New York’s Carnegie Hall with his feet. That’s what I call skill.

Anyway, a movie like this is indeed a rare find. It blends romance, adventure, and superb comedy. Wit, thy name is Kaye!  And Fine. And Frank. And Panama. And–sorry.

But seriously, The Court Jester is, quite simply, whimsy. It’s pure merriment. It’s one of those movies from which you walk away saying, “I didn’t learn a thing. But I had fun.” And, really, that’s what comedy is all about. Satire is great, I’ll admit. But, overall, I enjoy innocent and/or senseless humor much more than humor that makes a statement.

I contradict myself a lot, don’t I? Well, I apologize. But seriously, you’re going to have to get used to it.

There are some classic routines in this film, including “Vessel with the pestle…”, “The Maladjusted Jester” (a tongue-twisting song written by Kaye’s wife, Sylvia Fine), and the oft-repeated line, “Get it?” “Got it.” “Good.” Dana Carvey did NOT create that line. Carvey may be The Master of Disguise, but the title of Master of Comedy belongs to Danny Kaye.

(Wasn’t that a clever, bitingly sarcastic statement? I thought so.)

Here’s my professional suggestion: Make yourself comfortable. Watch this movie. Eat chocolate. That’s my technique, and it hasn’t failed me yet.

Synopsis

The throne of rightful king of England, the small babe with the purple pimpernel birthmark, has been usurped by the evil King Roderick. Only the Black Fox can restore the true king to the throne. The task falls to Hawkins (Kaye), the gentlest (and perhaps most clueless) member of the Fox’s band. The Fox’s lieutenant, Maid Jean (Johns), guards Hawkins and the babe while they travel, but when they meet the King’s new jester on the road, they decide to initiate a daring plan for Hawkins to replace him, become an intimate at the court, and steal the key. So, humble, bumbling Hawkins becomes Giacomo: the king of jesters and jester to the king.

Information

Directed by Melvin Frank and Norman Panama;

Written by Melvin Frank (screenplay) and Norman Panama (screenplay);

Starring Danny Kaye as Hubert Hawkins, Glynis Johns as Maid Jean, Angela Lansbury as Princess Gwendolyn, and Basil Rathbone (who is awesome, by the way; one of my favorite dramatic actors) as Sir Ravenhurst;

Produced by Melvin Frank (producer), Norman Panama (producer), Sylvia Fine (executive producer), and Danny Kaye (executive producer);

Music by Vic Schoen, Walter Scharf (uncredited), Sylvia Fine (songs);

Facts

Apparently Danny Kaye’s legs (in tights) were not satisfactory to the film’s producers, so they made him wear “leg falsies” to improve the shape of his legs. I, of course, would not need any such assistance.

Basil Rathbone was, in real life, a world-class fencer. Thanks to his efforts, the scene was filmed without injury. Supposedly, he later admitted that several times he was almost run through with Kaye’s sword. However…

…It’s also been said that Kaye’s sword movements were too fast for poor Basil, who, though still in great shape, was 63 at the time. Also supposedly, the fight choreographer dressed up as Rathbone’s character and was filmed from behind for the fast sections.

Oh, and if this post is completely incomprehensible, I have an excuse. I’ve been preparing for a big debate tournament all week, and I’ve just returned from the actual event. So, in conclusion, I apologize if the post is cryptic. It’s no fault of my own.

-luke

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968)

The Wonder Car.

“Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant journey. In a few minutes we will be landing in Vulgaria.”

It’s fantastic. It’s absurd. It’s whimsical. It’s Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Sure, it’s juvenile. That’s what makes it so fun!

If you’re like me, you remember this film from your childhood. And if you’re like me, you remember the undeniably singable songs, “Up from the Ashes”, “P.O.S.H.”, and, of course, the theme song. The songs in this film, masterfully created by the Sherman Brothers, are some of the rare songs you are happy to have stuck in your head.

But the songs aren’t everything. There is an exceptionally imaginative story, written by Roald Dahl (the mind behind Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach, and last year’s Fantastic Mr. Fox) and based on a novel by Ian Fleming (the creator of the enormously popular James Bond series). For pure, unhindered, surrealistic storytelling, there isn’t a better team on Earth.

Dick Van Dyke (who plays the eccentric inventor, Caractacus Potts, to perfection) had gotten his start in showbiz only a few years before Chitty’s release. A mere five years earlier, he had gotten his first starring role in the musical comedy, Bye Bye Birdie. In autumn of the next year, the extremely popular family film, Mary Poppins, was released, in which he played Bert/Mr. Dawes Senior. Then, of course, there was “The Dick Van Dyke Show”, which enjoyed a five-season run, from 1961-1966. Although Chitty was not well-received by critics (or audiences, at the time of its release), it remains my favorite Van Dyke film.

This film is nostalgia for many of us, but for those of you who have not seen the movie, I have a few warnings for you. Firstly, this film was made for children. However, it’s considerably more intellectual than anything you’ll find “for kids” nowadays. It’s a movie that explores imagination. Most modern children’s films ignore the miracle altogether. It’s a movie to make you wonder. It’s an exhilarating breath of fresh air. A rare find: a movie with heart.

Synopsis

In early 20th century England, eccentric inventor Caractacus Potts (Dick Van Dyke) struggles to make ends meet. He lives with his equally eccentric father (Lionel Jefferies) and his two children. When the children beg Caractacus to purchase their favorite plaything–a broken-down jalopy in a local junkyard–he does everything he can to obtain the funds with which to buy it. One scheme to raise money involves the unexpected assistance of a beautiful and wealthy young woman they have just met named Truly Scrumptious (Sally Ann Howes), the daughter of a candy factory owner. Caractacus eventually acquires the needed money and buys the car.

Using his inventing skills, Caractacus transforms the piece of junk into a beautiful working machine, which they name Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (because of the noise the engine makes). At a seaside picnic with his children and Truly, Caractacus spins a fanciful tale of an eccentric inventor, his pretty girlfriend (who is the daughter of a candy factory owner), his two children, and a magical car named Chitty all in the faraway land of Vulgaria. The ruthless buffoon Baron Bomburst, the ruler of Vulgaria, will do whatever he can to get his hands on the magical car. Furthermore, children have been outlawed in Vulgaria. Caractacus and the gang must save Chitty–and the children of Vulgaria.

Information

Directed by Ken Hughes;

Written by Ian Fleming (novel on which it was based), Roald Dahl (screenplay), Ken Hughes (screenplay), Richard Maibaum (additional dialogue);

Starring Dick Van Dyke as Caractacus Potts, Sally Ann Howes as Truly Scrumptious, Lionel Jefferies as Grandpa Potts, Gert Fröbe as Baron Bomburst, Anna Quayle as Baroness Bomburst, Benny Hill as Toymaker, and Robert Helpmann as Child Catcher;

Produced by Albert R. Broccoli (producer), and Stanley Sopel (associate producer);

Music by Irwin Kostal (conductor, music supervisor), Richard M. Sherman (music and lyrics), and Robert B. Sherman (music and lyrics).

Facts

Lionel Jeffries played Dick Van Dyke’s father, despite the fact that Dick Van Dyke is actually six months older than Jeffries.

Besides the failed Bob Hope film, Call Me Bwana, and the unfinished Nijinsky, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is the only non-James Bond film to be produced by Albert R. Broccoli.

The colors of the floating Chitty–purple, green, and white–were the colors of the women’s suffrage movement of that time.

This is the first non-Disney film to feature songs by the Sherman Brothers.

Van Dyke only accepted the lead role on the condition that he would not have to attempt an English accent.

Director Ken Hughes reportedly hated the finished film.

Dick Van Dyke’s character was named for Caractacus, the last independent ruler of England before the Roman conquest of southern England.

The role of Truly Scrumptious was originally intended for Julie Andrews, but she was unavailable. Dick Van Dyke helped choose Sally Ann Howes because he thought her singing voice was ideal for the part.

The scenes in and around Baron Bomburst’s castle in Vulgaria were shot on location at King Ludwig II’s Castle Neuschwanstein, located at the foot of the Alps on the Bavarian-Austrian border.

The musical number ‘Toot Sweets’ took three weeks to film and involved 38 dancers, 40 singers, 85 musicians and 100 dogs. How would you like to wrangle that?

-luke