BYE BYE BIRDIE: Blu-ray re-issue (Columbia, 1963) Sony Home Entertainment
With its’ thoroughly transparent nod to Elvis Presley
– tongue-firmly-in-cheek – and its deliciously obtuse take on the generation
gap (kids are letting the world go to hell), George Sidney’s Bye Bye Birdie
(1963) ought to have been a loving and evocative snapshot of the buttoned-down
communal angst in post-war America, cleverly reconstituted as just another
light and frothy musical entertainment. The Broadway equivalent had debuted in
1960 – just as America was beginning to show its first signs of abandoning the
Eisenhower-induced arch conservatism, ironclad and ensconced for nearly a
decade (Eisenhower’s presidency set to expire a year later). But trading up for
the more laissez fair, ‘let it all hang out, man’ counterculture would
come with its own set of unexpected hiccups. That Bye Bye Birdie on
Broadway was a resounding success is no great surprise. After all, Americans
love to laugh at themselves – primarily through the expression of their
collective arts, but particularly when the cultural climate is as stringent,
button-down and unforgiving. And Michael Stewart’s book, along with Lee Adams
and Charles Strouse’s score afforded them plenty of opportunities to do just
that. Bye Bye Birdie is utterly quaint in its commentary on the older
generation’s itching anxieties about their teenage offspring, as yet uninformed
by the culture shock about to envelope the nation (drugs, flower power, free
love, the British invasion, Jimmy Hendrix, et al.). As such, the stage version
of Bye Bye Birdie played with an air of refreshing clarity and hilarity
about the three-ring media circus that had exploited the relatively unimportant
military draft of Elvis Presley, transforming it into a nationwide cause
célèbre to send young hearts swooning in 1957.
It really was rather silly - what with Presley serving
eighteen months in Germany, and Colonel Parker’s rabid PR campaign keeping his
cash cow alive - Elvis giving ‘one last kiss’ to select members of the Women’s
Army Corps. Hey, he was doing it for his country! The chaotic groundswell of
outpouring on Presley’s behalf, mostly from female fans – letter-writing pleas
to the federal government for his immediate and safe return, lamenting the loss
of their ‘king’ in soda shops around the country, and staging ‘crying parties’
when all else failed, proved just the inspiration for choreographer, Gower
Champion - the instigator of this send-up and fluff piece to our collective
idiocy. Champion, who had begun his career as one half of an MGM dance duo
(Marge, his wife, the other half – literally and figuratively), was hired by
producer, Edward Padula to stage a new musical: ‘Let’s Go Steady’
– a fairly antiseptic little nothing about two teenagers falling in love (stop
me if you’ve heard this one before). Champion was disinterested in this project,
however, and Padula fired his two writers almost immediately, embarking on a
complete revamp. But he kept the song-writing team of Strouse and Adams, who
had already written seven songs for the libretto. Champion then suggested
Michael Stewart to do the book. Only Stewart’s first draft ‘Love and
Kisses’ – about a young couple contemplating divorce – was arguably not
much better. After some initial
consternation and a lot of brainstorming, Stewart and Adams – at Champion’s
behest – solidified the kernel of an idea that would eventually become Bye
Bye Birdie; the story of a hip-swiveling rock and roll idol about to depart
for military service, leaving silly teenage girls in the small Ohio town of
Sweet Apple desolate with fits of near-epileptic grief. To mask their thinly
veiled homage to Elvis, Stewart and Adams gave the story’s fictional
counterpart the name, Conrad Birdie after suddenly realizing their original
choice, ‘Conway Twitty’ was already being used by an up-and-comer on the
country music scene, and, whose agents threatened to sue Padula if Twitty’s name
appeared anywhere in his show.
That was 1960. But 1963 wrought other changes to the
American music scene, the so-called British invasion set into motion by The
Beatles. Viewed in the shadow of this chart-topping/trend-altering zeitgeist,
the film version of Bye Bye Birdie must have played as something
of a fond farewell to that beguiled adulation of a pop idol whom most parents
sincerely regarded as a threat to the sanity of their offspring, capable of swaying
impressionable youth into more derelict behaviors like making out in the
backseat of the family car with their best – or any – girl; trading
Coca-Colas for paper-bagged libations and even ‘experimenting’ with (wait for
it) cigarettes! In some ways, I would have a return to this naiveté; swung – as
our pop culture has today – toward gutless/mind-numbing gutter depravity being
peddled as ‘art’ and our current crop of celebrity wannabes behaving as though
to have escaped either from the circus or the asylum, liberally thumbing their
noses at our dwindling public adoration of them. In some ways, the movie version of Bye Bye Birdie is an unfair and decidedly malicious parody of Elvis: Jesse
Pearson’s pelvic-thrusting cock-of-the-walk, half-sneering with genteel scorn for
these Ohio hicks oozing out the corner of his mouth as he belts out ‘Honestly,
Sincere’ – a most dishonest and frankly, insincere, faint-inducing serenade
for his female fans. Unlike Elvis, who maintained an intuitive respect for the
audience, Conrad Birdie definitely is not afraid to exercise his sense of
entitlement – callously spraying beer all over the shag in Harry McAfee’s
foyer, taking liberties with his otherwise receptive daughter, and demanding
that his tricked-out motorcycle be parked – brake lights flashing, no less – in
the middle of the family’s living room.
No, Conrad Birdie is something of a garish nightmare and assault on the
older generation’s sense of social etiquette and decorum. He’s also very much
the prima donna.
There is, of course, that ‘other’ well-known
phenomenon to be mentioned, and, more humorously deified in the Strouse/Adams’
score: Ed Sullivan, already something of an institution as the host of his own
much-beloved Sunday night variety hour. Sullivan was as feared as he was
revered by the stars clamoring to get on his show. True – Ed Sullivan could
make or break a career. So, a nod from Ed meant you were on your way, while a
dismissive wave marked an aspiring talent with the proverbial ‘scarlet letter’.
Aside: the first appearance of Elvis on Sullivan’s program was fraught with
edgy anticipation – the suspense diffused when Ed, completely won over by
Presley’s southern charm, declared him a ‘good guy’ and a wonderful
entertainer. In Bye Bye Birdie,
Sullivan retains this untouchable status, the Strouse/Adams’ ‘Hymn for a
Sunday Evening’ a sumptuous choral exaltation of his name made by the
entire McAfee family. If Conrad Birdie is regarded as a god by gullible adolescence,
then Ed Sullivan remains the arbitrator of ‘good taste’ for their parents – a king-maker
harmonized with religious fervor. In
1963, Bye Bye Birdie was the 13th highest-grossing movie,
earning a domestic intake of $13,129,412, and this on the relatively modest
budget of $6 million (more than half spent on the production numbers alone).
Yet, in hindsight, it also seems to foreshadow the beginning of the end - for
the Hollywood that was, the musical as a viable genre in general (largely
dedicated to sugary-light confections unaffected by the realities of life) and,
America’s ‘unsophisticated’ world view, soon to have its sublime ignorance
split wide open by the bludgeoning brutalities in Vietnam and race wars at
home. Yet, Bye Bye Birdie begins to falter almost from its opener. Director,
George Sidney’s tenure at MGM somehow works against him as he delves into
garishly overblown production numbers. Virtually every one is an exercise in
the grotesque deflation of the stage’s simpler joys.
Take ‘The Telephone Hour’ as a prime example.
Done live, the song was a little parody about that teenage perversion of
Alexander Graham Bell’s communication devise, tying up the lines with endless
hours of vapid gossip – mostly dedicated to Hugo Peabody (Bobby Rydell) and Kim
McAfee (Ann-Margaret). “What’s the story, morning glory? What’s the word,
humming bird?” What’s the tale, nightingale?” On stage, this was an infectious spoof, Hugo
and Kim’s closest friends agog and twittering over lanky Hugo’s bequest to Kim
of his high school pin (a fifties’ symbolic gesture, signifying exclusivity in
a relationship). However, unable to resist the urge to ‘open things up’, George
Sidney expands this premise to include virtually every student attending Sweet
Apple High, vast minions of mindless girls and boys in frenzied pace,
performing some truly awful kicks and struts choreographed by Onna White (who
ought to have known better). The teens screech in either their displeasure or
approval at ‘goin’ steady’ from absurdly located handsets inside a co-ed locker
room shower (in the 1950’s?!?), lining the library study hall (shhhhh! Quiet!),
or from the front seat of a 1920’s supped up jalopy, driven by a privileged teenage
Lothario surrounded by his haram-esque bevy of sycophantic blondes. A car phone
in the fifties, in a car built in the twenties?!? What was George Sidney
thinking?!? The number doesn’t build in its energy so much as it remains an
ineffectual montage, culminating in super-imposed images of these rabid teens
still clutching their handsets, now set against a bilious green background of
cartoon telephone poles, the brood eventually dissolving into animated
splotches of paint that leach down the screen.
Most, if not all, of the numbers in Bye Bye Birdie
– the movie - are given this ‘in your face’ approach, over-produced, yet
embarrassingly undernourished. ‘Put on A Happy Face’ – arguably, the big
hit of the play – used to be an endearing duet between song writer, Albert F.
Peterson (Dick Van Dyke) and Rosie DeLeon (Janet Leigh). In the movie it becomes
a pas deux between Albert and Rosie’s translucently fuchsia alter-ego, the real
Rosie pouting in a corner of the McAfee’s backyard, while a disembodied cartoon
head – drawn in mid-air by Albert’s finger – presides over their
on-again/off-again love match. In place of legitimate dance steps, we get a lot
of jumping around as though this were an adolescent game of tag, capped off by
some rank slapstick provided by Van Dyke who, while up to the challenge, never
entirely gets the funny with his sight gags.
And then, there is ‘Kids’ – what ought to have been a riotous
commentary on the generation gap, blissfully emoted on the stage by Harry
McAfee, but given over to a hammy full-treatment by the rather bitterly
comedic, Paul Lynde, who many will more fondly remember as occupying the
coveted ‘center square’ on TV’s long-running game show; Hollywood Squares.
Herein, Lynde gets over-the-top support from Maureen Stapleton as the
overbearing gargoyle in a fur coat (in the middle of summer, no less) and
squeaky-shoes, better known as Mama Mae Peterson, Albert’s maternal impediment
in getting Rosie to the altar.
It is perhaps important to differentiate between Bye
Bye Birdie – the movie – and Bye Bye Birdie - the stage sensation,
as screenwriter Irving Brecher was forced to build the movie around its rising
star, Ann-Margret to showcase her formidable talents, thus necessitating the
addition of a title song to immediately introduce her to the public. This,
however, was done at a considerable expense, sacrificing other songs and
secondary characters. The play’s more risqué machinations and a few of its most
ebullient – if slightly suggestive - songs, including ‘Baby Talk to Me’, ‘A
Healthy Normal American Boy’, and the ‘How to Kill A Man’ ballet
never made it into the final cut, the latter replaced by a ridiculous symphonic
mishmash of Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty, performed under the influence
of one of Albert’s phantasmagoric chemist’s concoctions, rather prophetically
nicknamed ‘speed’. For reasons known only to Brecher, Broadway’s Latina, Rosie
Alavarez stayed on but became the movie’s white as Suzie Cream Cheese, Rosie
DeLeon (played by Janet Leigh). Rosie’s solo, ‘Spanish Rose’ – intended
as a mild spoof of Hispanic culture (belted with gusto on the stage by Chita
Rivera) – was dropped entirely from the movie. Brecher also moved Birdie’s Ed
Sullivan debut to the end of the movie, making it the penultimate moment of
realization for Kim and Hugo, rather than the climax of its first act. The
character of Albert F. Peterson was also rewritten to be (of all things) a
chemist – and the almost accidental composer of ‘One Last Kiss’ – a song
destined to become Conrad Birdie’s newest megahit…maybe. Hence, the play’s
central plot point - Birdie owing Albert a ‘favor’ for making him rich - becomes
even less convincing and more contrived in the movie. One obvious plus: the
screen version does end on a more positive note, restoring Hugo and Kim’s
relationship, with Mama Peterson finally giving her consent for Albert and
Rosie to marry.
Our story begins with Ann-Margaret’s Kim McAfee
addressing the camera – and thus, the audience – as she pouts and warbles the
movie’s lovelorn anthem, ‘Bye Bye Birdie’; expressly written for the
movie – set against a rather uninspired royal blue background. From this rather
inauspicious start, we momentarily digress to the upstairs Manhattan
songwriting offices of Albert Peterson who desperately needs Conrad Birdie to
sing one of his lyrics and make it a hit. Albert’s accountant, Mr. Nebbitt (the
enchanting Cyril Delevanti) gives him some solid advice: surrender this failed
attempt a showbiz and concentrate on pursuing a career in biochemistry. Too bad, Mama Mae Peterson wants a famous
songwriter in the family…because this mama rules the roost. In fact, Albert’s
woven so tightly around Mae’s fat little fingers he just can’t see how her
influence is harming his relationship with his secretary, Rosie DeLeon. Mama
does everything to discourage their courtship, keeping Albert on a very tight
leash, much to Rosie’s dismay. So, Rosie finagles an angle with Ed Sullivan
(playing himself) to have Conrad Birdie kiss one girl on his live television
program before he goes off to join the army - a symbolic gesture of farewell to
his many adoring female fans.
Ed likes this idea and even defers to Rosie’s
influence to have Birdie sing one of Albert’s songs as part of the big
build-up. How can it miss? In hindsight, all too easily as rank chaos descends
on Kim McAfee – the intended chosen one by Rosie to be kissed by Conrad. Kim
has just been ‘pinned’ by Hugo Peabody (Bobby Rydell). Feeling very adult, Kim extols the virtues of
‘being a woman’ before referring to her parents, Harry (Paul Lynde) and Doris
(Mary LaRoche), by their Christian names, suggesting ‘it’s the new way’,
while still not above trading her fine dresses for careworn blue jeans and a
baseball cap cocked off to the side. Learning Conrad Birdie is coming to Sweet
Water sends Kim into a sparkling tizzy.
What to do? What will she wear? The town, however, is divided by this
revelation. Sam, the mayor (Frank Albertson) and a few other influential
citizens threaten to take their patronage away from Harry’s fertilizer business
unless plans for this staged spectacle are canceled. Nevertheless, Birdie’s
arrival is greeted with baited anticipation. The whole town turns out in the
public square (actually the expansive set built on the back lot at Universal’s
Revue Studios and instantly recognizable to anyone who has seen more than one Back
to the Future movie). Birdie anesthetizes his audience into twitching,
fainting spells with ‘Honestly Sincere’ before retiring to the McAfee’s
home to await further preparations for the Ed Sullivan Show. Sam
encourages Harry to call everything off until Harry – goaded by promises made
to him by Rosie and Albert – lies to Sam, explaining he can use the show as a
platform to make a speech; possibly even his pitch to run for governor.
Mama Mae arrives in town, squeaky shoes and all,
interrupting Rosie and Albert’s already complicated romance. Rosie elects to
teach Albert a lesson by momentarily taking up with local English school
teacher, Claude Paisley (Michael Evans).
This, of course, incurs Albert’s bitter disapproval. But Albert has not
lost all sense of chivalry, coming to Rosie’s aid after she attempts an even
more daring farce by crashing a Shriner’s Convention and doing a striptease,
inciting a riot. Meanwhile, pushed to
the brink of his own sexual frustrations, Hugo decides to take his self-pity to
Maude’s Madcap Café, where everyone congregates to sip Cokes while the male of
the species scope the scene for hot chicks. Conrad arrives on cue, spying Kim
at one end of the room and serenading everyone with ‘A Lot of Livin’ to Do’
– a suggestive declaration sparking Kim to add her own womanly longings to the
lyric, then Hugo, manning-up in his outline for a future that may or may not
include Kim at his side. The café breaks into a frenetic ‘chicken-styled’ dance.
But Conrad and Kim’s syncopated rhythms cause Hugo to depart the scene prematurely
- and rather immaturely - without recognizing Kim only has eyes for him. The
next day during rehearsals for the broadcast inside the school’s gymnasium, an
impatient Conrad suddenly plants an impromptu kiss on Kim who faints dead away.
The kiss means absolutely nothing to Conrad. But both it and Kim’s reaction
very much wound Hugo’s pride. Albert is informed after rehearsals, due to an
oversight in scheduling the Russian Ballet’s time slot on the Ed Sullivan
Show has all but eaten away their spot reserved for Conrad’s kiss.
Albert makes an ineffectual attempt to get the
ballet’s manager to trim their performance, then elects to spike the conductor,
Maestro Borov’s (Gregory Morton) cocktail with his own chemical concoction,
nicknamed ‘speed’ - a synthetic performance-enhancing pill Albert designed to
expedite the agricultural reproduction of egg-laying hens. Borov approaches the podium and, as the pill
kicks in, conducts the symphony at a breakneck pace, the ballet having no
choice but to make valiant attempts to keep up. The live broadcast is now
running decidedly short. So, Ed puts Conrad and Kim on. However, as Conrad
begins to serenade Kim with Albert’s song ‘One Last Kiss’ an indignant
Hugo arrives on stage, knocking the pop icon out cold. Birdie lands on his
celebrated gold lamé with a single solid punch, and thus, ruining Albert’s
chances of getting his music heard nationwide.
Proven himself every inch a real man who Kim can admire, Hugo and Kim
are reconciled. Taken up with a man of her own for a change – none other than
the café’s owner, Mr. Maude (Milton Frome) - Mama Peterson gives her blessings
for Albert to marry Rosie. Having outgrown her adolescent infatuation of Conrad
Birdie…well, almost…Kim bids farewell to her teen heartthrob and her puppy love
with a reprise of ‘Bye Bye Birdie’.
Despite its exuberance, Bye Bye Birdie isn’t a
great movie musical. But it might have at least been a competent one if only a
little more adherence to the original – and decidedly a lot more rehearsal of
its cast – had been paramount to the creative team working behind the scenes on
this Broadway to Hollywood hybrid. George Sidney’s impressive roster of MGM
musicals (Anchors Aweigh, Holiday in Mexico, The Harvey Girls, Show Boat,
Kiss Me Kate, to name but a handful) ought to have made him the ideal
candidate for this project. Yet, he brings nothing fresh or inviting to this pastiche
puff piece of Americana. Instead, Bye Bye Birdie just feels dated and, at
times, deadly dull. Joseph F. Biroc’s cinematography remains a truly pedestrian
affair, further marred by Paul Groesse’s languid, studio-bound production design.
Dick Van Dyke, Janet Leigh, Ann-Margaret and Bobby Rydell are all in very fine
voice. But listening to them sing these songs is like enjoying a great cast
album that, in visual terms, truly lets one down. It’s the abject tedium of
these gargantuan, but stagnant, production numbers that prove the lethal
combination, along with Sidney’s inability to camera stage anything with visual
flair, hampered even further by the incompetence of Onna White’s loose-limbed
flailing, masquerading as choreography. The biggest, incalculable mistake in the
casting of Jesse Pearson – pompous and leering – as Conrad Birdie, lauding the
magic spell his presence has over these hapless bobbysoxers whose hearts
palpitate in unison to his every gyration.
Pearson is no Elvis. Nor is he particularly or otherwise appealing. It
is a real strain to clue in as to what exactly about him is so gosh darn hypnotic
to the opposite sex. The movie version of Bye Bye Birdie might have
celebrated the fifties. Instead, it founders as something of a grand artistic
misfire, neither ‘honest’ nor ‘sincere’ to Broadway’s homage of that fabulous
decade.
Sony Home Entertainment has finally elected to market Bye
Bye Birdie under their own label. As with Pal Joey, Bye Bye
Birdie was a very early hi-def release, marketed via Sony to the now defunct
indie label, Twilight Time, and herein, Sony’s due diligence in hi-def yields
an exemplary presentation with virtually no complaints. Aside: the image
quality here is virtually identical to the TT release from 2014. That said, it
continues to look amazing on Blu-ray - rich and vibrant in its Technicolor hues
and fantastically detailed with a consistent smattering of light film grain. Age-related
artifacts are a non-issue. Contrast is excellent. Even the opticals used during
The Telephone Hour have been brought into line, properly color balanced,
and, looking incredibly textured. What a welcomed rarity. The Blu-ray’s visuals
are smooth and creamy, the palette of fifties’ pastels, further complimented by
very accurate flesh tones. Wow, doesn’t begin to describe the way things
look. You are going to love – LOVE –
this transfer. Bye Bye Birdie’s DTS-HD 5.1 lossless audio delivers an
added kick to these vintage Strouse/Adams’ songs, with alluring orchestrations
done by another MGM alumni, Johnny Green.
This Sony re-issue jettisons TT’s isolated score option but retains the
original theatrical trailer and not much else. Bottom line: while Bye Bye
Birdie may not accurately represent the warm nostalgia that its Broadway original
had for the 1950’s in spades, some of the songs still hold up. And Ann-Margaret
in raging Technicolor is never a waste of your time. The Blu-ray comes highly
recommended for fans of this movie who do not already own the TT release of
yore. Judge and buy accordingly.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the
best)
3
VIDEO/AUDIO
4.5
EXTRAS
1
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