After seeing Shall We Dance, I’ve had the film from which that title was drawn on the brain. The King and I
is one of many glorious Rodgers and Hammerstein collaborations I have
had the pleasure of seeing on stage since first seeing the film years
before. Though both productions were excellent, I was especially
enamored of the first, presented at the Erie Playhouse, which featured
my theater teacher as the king, his wife as Anna, and his children as
Prince Chulalongkorn and Anna’s daughter. It was truly a family affair,
chronicled in our high school paper and the Erie Times-News. In order to
make his role as authentic as possible, Mr. Gandolfo consented to
having his head shaved; that was only one component in a masterful
portrayal of one of my favorite Rodgers and Hammerstein characters.
Several years later, he took the director’s seat as his son assumed the
role of the king in my alma mater’s presentation of the show. I imagine
it must have been a slightly surreal experience.
I never met a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical I didn’t like – though my feelings concerning South Pacific are mixed – so it should be no surprise that The King and I
meets with my approval. When I went to the high school production of
the play, the walls were peppered with student-penned reports about Siam
and the culture and how offensive this play was to many people living
in Thailand (as Siam is now called). Like The Sound of Music, The King and I
is a fact-based tale of a woman who becomes a governess for a rather
difficult man and teaches him to see the world differently. But both
films stray considerably from historical accuracy, and in the case of
this film it is very difficult to know what actually did happen because
the primary source, an autobiography by Anna Leonowens, has been
denounced as untrustworthy. So maybe The King and I has no more basis in reality than Don Bluth’s Anastasia, but it’s a very enjoyable movie nonetheless.
Its key players are the title characters. The “I” is Anna (Deborah
Kerr), a British widow who comes to Siam to teach the king’s
multitudinous children. Though her personality, especially when in the
company of the children, is sunny enough, she is by turns uptight,
self-righteous and condescending in the presence of the king. Though
this makes for many comical situations and allows her unique
relationship with the king to develop, it also is the source of a great
deal of heartache toward the end. She is nowhere near as likable as
Maria in The Sound of Music, and at times I find I don’t like her very much at all. On the whole, though, she’s a sympathetic character.
But the king (Yul Brynner) is far more fun, and he is the reason that I find The King and I
so enjoyable. He’s a fireball, assured in his authority until Anna
comes along and questions it. But he is aware that there is a great deal
that he does not know about the world, and he is the most eager of
students, enthusiastically embracing such new discoveries as the phrase
“et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.” He is also a loving father, as much
as he can be when his children number in the dozens. Though he seems
intimidating at first, he is in fact the most vulnerable character in
the film, as we come to see all too well.
Aside from the king,
the two most authoritative figures in his court are Lady Thiang (Terry
Saunders) and Kralahome (Martin Benson). Thiang is the most favored of
the king’s wives and becomes a motherly confidante for Anna, all the
while making her aware of what is expected of her. Kralahome is the
king’s stern advisor who is none too happy about the fact that an
English woman has come into the kingdom and is treating the king with
less respect than he deserves. Other significant characters include
Tuptim (Rita Moreno), a girl from another kingdom given as a gift to the
king, and Lun Tha (Carlos Rivas), the man she loves who is forced to
deliver her to Siam. Although we see all of the princes and princesses
in a group throughout the film, the only one really singled out is
Prince Chulalongkorn (Patrick Adiarte), who frets over the fact that he
must one day assume the throne from his beloved father.
A
central source of conflict between Anna and the king is the matter of
her living quarters. She insists on reminding her employer continually
that she was promised her own house, not the guest room she currently
occupies in the palace. When he finally agrees to acquiesce to her
request, it is clear the film has reached a turning point. The latter
half of the film largely deals with the grand reception Anna plans – at
the king’s request – in order to prove to visitors from England that
Siam is a civilized country and its ruler a gentleman, not the
“barbarian” he was described to be. The meticulously choreographed
evening reaches its climax with the performance of The Small House of Uncle Thomas,
Tuptim’s adaptation of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s novel. While its
craftsmanship impresses the visitors – one of whom is a former flame of
Anna’s – its subject matter angers the king and sets the groundwork for
the film’s tragic conclusion.
The movie’s songs are, of course, noteworthy. Getting to Know You is a delightful number involving all of the children. I read once that it was originally intended for South Pacific; while I think it could have worked there, it is a musical high point in The King and I that serves the same ice-breaking role that My Favorite Things did in The Sound of Music. Whistle a Happy Tune
is a fun little song that gives insight into Anna’s personality while
also providing audience members with a nifty trick to try – at least,
those lucky enough to have the ability to whistle. (Sigh.) Shall We Dance
is the closest we come to a resolution of the unconventional romance
that seems to be blooming between Anna and the king. It’s a scene
bristling with elegance and eloquence, and we are left to wonder
wistfully how their relationship would have progressed if not for the
unfortunate events that followed. My favorite song, though, is far and
away A Puzzlement. Here we get a fascinating peek into the king’s
psyche, and we learn that he is not nearly as sure of himself as
everyone thinks he is. While it is the most comical number in the movie,
it is also the most introspective and revealing. It is a agonized rant
that, like Billy Bigelow’s Soliloquy in Carousel, removes any doubt that this is a good man with whom we should sympathize.
I once watched The King and I
with some relatives, and when it came to the moment near the end when
Anna denounces the anguished monarch, declaring him to be a heartless
man who does not know anything about love, I objected. My aunt said it
was true, but I will never believe that. I think he knew a great deal
more about love than Anna was willing to admit in that moment, and I’ll
always like him far more than Anna. Of all the Rodgers and Hammerstein
endings, this is by far the least satisfactory. But the movie as a whole
is wonderful, and the king remains a character who will keep me coming
back to the movie in spite of its dismal conclusion.
No comments:
Post a Comment