As is common with modern, hangup-free couples, my girlfriend and I do not see eye-to-eye about movie musicals. I am a minor aficionado, and she is decidedly uninterested in the form. And, as these things go, happy couples steer their activities toward happy compromise, which means away from the unhappy margins. In her margins are an assortment of television shows, for example, that I do not disrespect but that I can barely stand; also she enjoys books, which I am too dumb and impatient for. And in my margin are movie musicals.
She took to the tub last night (to read, I believe, and I do not much cater to reading, blech), and in her absence I streamed, with guilt and relish, the 1967 film adaptation of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.
And just look, look, look at this dirty Jolly Rancher of a production. Typewriter arms driven into a watermelon, just look at this. Not a great movie, no. A real capital-M Mess. But a mess that sifts itself into startling shapes every ten minutes or so. A rickety thrill.