Hungarian
review of “Annie” by Zoltán Ardai, as it appeared in the February, 1987 issue
of “Filmvilág”:
A
new wave-külsőségekkel álcázott, de megrögzötten konzervatív zenés filmek
dömpingje idején merésznek hat ez a leplezetlenül ó-hollywoodi szellemű új
filmmusical. John Huston, az amerikai mozi nagymúltú egyénisége rendezte, aki
ugyan a táncos-zenés műfajjal még sohasem próbálkozott az Annie előtt,
most viszont „ha lúd, legyen kövér”-alapon dolgozott, pótolva
Annie-n, a szeplős-vöröshajú, pufók
lelencgyereken kívül
English
translation by Endre:
Among
the current cavalcade of seemingly "new-wave", but decidedly
conservative musical films, this obviously old-fashioned Hollywood-style new
musical film seems like a bold attempt. It was directed by John Huston, a person
of great Hollywood history, and although he had never attempted to make a
musical film before, he worked on this one with great effort, making up for not
trying it earlier. "Annie" is set to swing music, it seems like a
prehistoric beast, a flawlessly schmaltzy story of an orphan girl, combined
with the story of a millionaire with a warm singing voice and his secretary. In
the climax, F.D. Roosevelt gets to perform too, the president and his wife sing
a song they learned from the orphan girl, in front of George Washington's
portrait.
Except for Annie, the red-headed,
freckled, chubby orphan girl, all major characters move like a caricature, as
though we were watching a parody. Huston is bashful and tactful: He is miming
an ironic playfulness, so whenever we do give in to the emotional manipulation
that smells like ancient stuff, we feel protected. Of course, Annie herself is
not a caricature. True, she is an overly-sweet little girl, but she's
multi-faceted: one moment she's a playful little goblin, the next moment, she's
a miniature-sized woman with deep thoughts, a wise, protective mother-like
creature, or sometimes she looks like some little lamb sheared in an awkward
way. But the film's brisk pace is due to the explosive dance sequences, their
emotional content is a lot more mysterious and hypnotic than the
"real-life" events, their effectiveness affects the story in sly way,
as well. Especially spectacular are the complexly choreographed dancing feats
of the children of the orphanage: their effortless fake-naturalness is a marvel
of training.
By VINCENT CANBY
Published: May 21, 1982
SOMEWHERE toward the middle of ''Annie,'' John Huston's gigantic screen version of the still-running Broadway musical, Sandy, Annie, Daddy Warbucks, Daddy's beautiful secretary Grace Farrell, and Punjab, Daddy's bodyguard, take themselves off to see a movie at Radio City Music Hall. This is the era of F.D.R., the Depression, the National Industrial Recovery Act, orphan asylums and the Music Hall. Daddy, as is his way, does things right. He buys out the house for one performance.
There, in lonely splendor in the middle of that vast gold auditorium, Sandy, Annie, Daddy and Grace sit in a row, with Punjab behind them, beholding the Music Hall's wonders. First there is the elaborate stage show, including the Rockettes, followed by the feature attraction, Greta Garbo and Robert Taylor in ''Camille,'' projected, for some reason, in the wide-screen ratio of today.
After being held spellbound by the stage show, Annie and Sandy fall asleep as soon as the movie begins. Daddy Warbucks generously hides his boredom and worries about Grace, who weeps happy bucketsfull as Mr. Taylor's Armand is renounced by the great Garbo's Marguerite.
''No one has ever loved you as I love you,'' says Armand with all of the conviction of a Nebraska shoe salesman.''That may be,'' says Miss Garbo, sublime even when acting by herself, ''but what can I do about it?'' It's a marvelous, moving and very funny moment that suddenly defines this ''Annie.'' It makes comprehensible what Mr. Huston, the director; Ray Stark the producer, and Carol Sobieski, the writer, are up to in their spending of a reported $40 million to $50 million, to bring to the sceen an immensely popular but not exactly classic example of Broadway schmaltz-and-hoofery.
''Annie,'' which opens today at Loews Astor Plaza and other theaters, is a no-expense-spared tribute to the Music Hall and the kind of show business it represents. Though it's longer than most movies that played the Music Hall in its heyday, ''Annie'' is a nearly perfect Music Hall picture. It's big, colorful, slightly vulgar, occasionally boring and full of talent not always used to its limits. It's a movie in praise of waste-space.
If I say that I like the film far better than the show, I also must concede that the show is the sort that almost brought me out in hives. Except for the spectacle of seeing a dog follow cues before a live theater audience, and except for David Mitchell's stunning, Tony Award-winning sets, everything about the film is an improvement over the original.
There is, first of all, the Annie of Aileen Quinn, who has Shirley Temple's dimples and a strutting, brassy self-assurance that Mr. Huston holds discreetly in check. Miss Quinn is a performing doll, not out of life but out of the long tradition of American show business that produced Baby LeRoy, Jackie Cooper and Margaret O'Brien. It's meant as praise to say that Miss Quinn, compared to such contemporaries as Gary Coleman and Ricky Schroder, is a sweet, modest Duse, a mistress of understatement.
Albert Finney, his head shaved and looking a lot like a classy Telly Savalas, seems to be having a ball as literature's most benign robber-baron, Oliver Warbucks, whose very name is auto-criticism that, as it turns out, is unwarranted. Mr. Finney sings a bit, dances a bit and barks in the Anglo-American accents of the once-poor Liverpool cabin boy who struck it rich in the States and lost his hair.
''I love money!'' he shouts at one point. 'I love power! I love capitalism! I don't love children!'' This is pronounced immediately before he admits to being captivated by the plucky little orphan.
Also most entertaining is Carol Burnett as the evil, sex-starved, drink-sodden Miss Hannigan, the wayward warden of the Hudson Street Home for Girls, the orphan asylum from which Daddy Warbucks saves Annie. Miss Burnett, curlers permanently snarled in her hair, a bottle of gin always in one hand and ever-ready with a sarcastic quip about her charges (''Why any kid would want to be an orphan is beyond me''), tears into her role as if there were no ''Tomorrow,'' which is all to the good. ''Annie,'' after all, is based on a comic strip, not on a play by Enid Bagnold. This is not an occasion for subtleties.
However, it's also not a movie that is as satisfying as it could have been, considering the care taken on the casting and physical production. The major hitch is the score. The music by Charles Strouse and the lyrics by Martin Charnin never deliver the epiphanies anticipated. The songs are either anticlimactic or plain dull, though, in the film, the ubiquitous ''Tomorrow'' seems less shrill and grating than in the show.
Here is a musical whose show-stoppers seldom stop the show. A typical example is ''Easy Street,'' in which Miss Hannigan, her excon brother Rooster (Tim Curry) and Rooster's light-fingered mistress Lily (Bernadette Peters) enthusiastically imagine the lives they'll lead after they've swindled Daddy Warbucks out of $50,000. Never do the music, the lyrics and the choreography achieve the hilarious abandon promised by the situation.
This is even more apparent when Annie moves uptown to Daddy's Fifth Avenue mansion and Ann Reinking, who plays Grace Farrell, comes onto the scene. Miss Reinking is not only a beauty and a comedienne, she's one of the great, dancing assets of the American musical theater, though it would be difficult to tell from the material she's given by Joe Layton, who created the musical sequences, and Arlene Phillips, who choreographed them. She seems always to be on the verge of busting loose - lifting those long legs skyward to kick out the lights in a chandelier - but the opportunity never arrives.
She is largely wasted, as are Mr. Curry, Miss Peters and Geoffrey Holder, who plays Punjab.
The film's best, all-out production number comes early in the film, at the orphanage, when Annie, her very funny, pint-sized friend Molly (Toni Ann Gisondi), and a small, unidentified person who does running flips, plus all of the other orphans explode in the frenzy of the ''It's the Hard-Knock Life'' number. Quite tolerable, too, is the film's sentimental centerpiece when Annie, at the White House, leads Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt (Edward Herrmann and Lois DeBanzie) and Daddy in a reprise of ''Tomorrow,'' which becomes something of a New Deal anthem.
The film musical is not the form Mr. Huston is most at home in, but he must be credited for having obtained such high-spirited performances from Mr. Finney and Miss Burnett and such a cannily winning one from Miss Quinn.
''Annie'' is far from a great film but, like the Music Hall in the good old days, it is immaculately maintained and almost knocks itself out trying to give the audience its money's worth. They don't build movies like this anymore.
''Annie'' has been rated PG (''Parental Guidance Suggested'') for reasons
that are beyond my powers to guess.
Out of an Old Mold
ANNIE, directed by John Huston; screenplay by Carol Sobieski, based on the
Broadway play by Thomas Meehan, which was based on ''Little Orphan Annie,'' by
permission of The Chicago- Tribune New York News Syndicate; director of
photography, Richard Moore; film editor, Mi- chael A. Stevenson; music by
Charles Strouse; lyrics by Martin Charnin; musical staging and choreography by
Arlene Phillips; produced by Ray Stark; released by Columbia Pictures. At the
Astor Plaza, Broadway and West 44th Street; 34th Street Showplace, at Second
Avenue, and other theaters. Running time: 128 minutes. This film is rated PG.
Daddy Warbucks . . . . . Albert Finney
Miss Hannigan . . . . . Carol Burnett
Lily . . . . . Bernadette Peters
Grace Farrell . . . . . Ann Reinking
Rooster . . . . . Tim Curry
Annie . . . . . Aileen Quinn
Punjab . . . . . Geoffrey Holder
Asp . . . . . Roger Minami
Molly . . . . . Toni Ann Gisondi
Pepper . . . . . Roseanne Sorrentino
Tessie . . . . . Lara Berk
Kate . . . . . April Lerman
Duffy . . . . . Lucie Stewart
July . . . . . Robin Ignico
F.D.R. . . . . . Edward Herrmann
Eleanor Roosevelt . . . . . Lois DeBanzie
Bert Healy . . . . . Peter Marshall
Boylan Sisters . . . . . Loni Ackerman, Murphy Cross and Nancy Sinclair