With all the aca-anticipation for Pitch Perfect 2 finally cresting with its wide release today, it's interesting to note the shift in popular cinema away from the big, challenging singing-and-dancing set-pieces that Stanley Donen and Vincente Minelli, amongst a slew of others in the 1940s, 50s, and 60s, mastered in their salad days. These days, big musicals like Dreamgirls and Into the Woods are filmed more like tinny Oscar bait, all forced visual maturity with no antic, anxious energy in the filmmaking to match the loamy variety of vocals and unbound dance moves, though, frankly, The Raid 2 offers a more elegant and astonishing study of body movement than most major musicals of the last decade.
To find the true offspring of Singin' in the Rain and The Band Wagon, one must search in the independent-movie corridors for what's been called "music movies," where love of music, dancing, musicianship, and technical know-how are swirled together. One can look at, say, Matthew Porterfield's somber, moving I Used to Be Darker or even (if you truly must) Stuart Murdoch's lazy God Help the Girl and see the innovation of song and dance being met by directors who offer fresh, innovative ways to explore the craft and cult of music. In both the mainstream and slightly left of the dial, there have been plenty of moments at the movies for music lovers, and in celebration of Pitch Perfect's Elizabeth Banks-helmed sequel hitting theaters, I thought I'd pick a few of my favorites from the last decade or so. I avoided strong documentary candidates (Ne Change Rien, Beware of Mr. Baker, etc.), but otherwise, no rules, which is a philosophy embodied in the very best of these particular genres and sub-genres.
"Please Mr. Kennedy" from Inside Llewyn Davis
Amongst all the grim remembrances of his late singing partner, the intrepid titular raconteur of Joel and Ethan Coen’s Inside Llewyn Davis takes time to sit down with some fellow folk singers, played with wondrous comedic nuance by Justin Timberlake and Adam Driver, to record this uproarious tune. Though the song is itself a sly parody of hammy political ditties that folk stars were wont to indulge in, the art of collaboration and songwriting is extolled here by the way the churning, honestly infectious pop tune is complexly built through three unique vocal styles. It’s also a plain, revealing view of the kind of gimmicks and ploys one must buy into when working with major record companies. You know, the sort of tricks that Llewyn hates more than self-mythologizing dope addicts.
"Jimmy's Rap" from Dreamgirls
As far as Oscar disappointments go, not even Boyhood losing to amazingly shot smug trash rivals Eddie Murphy’s sterling performance in Bill Condon’s Dreamgirls to Alan Arkin’s reliably solid work in Little Miss Sunshine. In essence, both actors did their respective films a favor by breaking through either film’s otherwise stifling self-seriousness, though Condon’s picture has the competitive edge because, well, Beyonce. Don’t get me wrong, Arkin is an endearing riot in that otherwise deeply shallow film, but Murphy literally gets the place jumping when his James “Thunder” Early kicks into an upright funk number called “Jimmy’s Rap.” Not only does Murphy sing the hell out of the Henry Krieger-Tom Eyan stomper, he gives a thrilling, self-reflexive reminder of the controlled yet energetic mature performer he can be when he is allowed, even, as it turns out, if the chance only comes once in a blue moon.
"The Boy in the Park" from Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench
Before he became known for Whiplash, Damien Chazelle’s talents exploded onto the American independent scene with this no-frills, no-budget charmer that marries Cassavettes-goes-New-Wave aesthetics with a musical narrative that might have interested Vincente Minnelli. There’s a wondrous tap-dancing scene done in oddly closed quarters and plenty of galvanizing jazz numbers, but the titular lovelorn young woman’s wild expression of sudden, volcanic attraction and curiosity in “The Boy in the Park” beats them all, for my money. Shambling and shaggy in look, there’s nevertheless the heart of musical aficionado pulsing underneath this number, and Chazelle boldly lets the choreography hang loose, even leaving in mistakes, underlining how the passion of song is rarely incorporated meaningfully with professional exactness in form.
"New York, New York" from Shame
I’m not the biggest fan of Steve McQueen post-Hunger, if we’re being honest about it, but there are piercing, devastating sequences in both 12 Years a Slave and Shame, and the two most memorable ones involve singing. The “Roll Jordan Roll” choir in 12 Years a Slave is deserving of a grad school thesis paper, but time should be made to also notice Carey Mulligan’s sultry, aching rendition of “New York, New York” in Shame, one of the most woefully detached this-is-art movies to see release somewhat recently. Sure, you get to see Michael Fassbender as a sex addict screwing half of Manhattan, to say nothing of that that ill-advised underground-sex-club sequence, but the most affecting moment is McQueen’s close-up on Mulligan, playing Fassbender’s character’s troubled sister, singing in a fancy nighttime lounge so slowly you can almost hear her questioning and mulling over each line of the song. It’s the most alluring scene that McQueen offers in Shame, and, may I remind you, the film is about a sex addict played by Michael freakin’ Fassbender.
"Everytime" from Spring Breakers
Leave it to Harmony Korine to render the cheap auditory assault of Skrillex not only listenable, but borderline revelatory. The opening slow-motion montage of college kids on spring break, soundtracked by a loud, pulsating roar of Dubstep-EDM-Nonsense, vibrates with subtle snickering spirit inherent in Korine’s visual style. Like Paul Verhoeven, he undermines excess by consistently over-indulging in it, getting in on the party with all the Bud Light-infused dude-bros and party girls to make clear just how cheap, dumb, and insidious this culture has become. The Skrillex onslaught, however, is nothing compared to James Franco’s Alien performing Britney Spears’ “Everytime” on a poolside piano, a love song to the gun-totting, bikini-clad sirens in pink ski masks that he’s surrendered to completely at this point. Spears, of course, has major past connections to Disney and the mainstream, connections she shares with both Selena Gomez and Vanessa Hudgens, Korine’s main protagonists. Underneath it all, Spring Breakers is about the ugly and unexpected outcomes of fetishizing and marketing the idea of purity, especially in women, which ironically engenders nothing more than pre-marital sex, rampant drug use, and a penchant for guns.