:: Monday, March 26, 2001 ::

 

11:33 p.m. Tonight I watched South Pacific on the TV. On Channel 7, to be precise. It had commercials. I had very little hope that it would be any good and so I turned it on, planned on watching five minutes of it ...

... and I'm just now brushing away the tears. I love a good musical. I know every single word of every song, ever since I can remember. I'm sure one of our high school plays was South Pacific. It is a part of my history.

I have an ancient album, all wrecked and ravaged on the front from mildew. I had to tear it away from another album, once, after they'd been stored in a basement for awhile. But the record itself was, and is, fine.

And so was tonight's show. I hope it will inspire a whole new generation of young people to want to burst into song instead of a food fight; to dance on the lunch room tables in unison instead of hiding under them because yet another shooter has snapped his noodle.

Although I've listened to the album hundreds of times, I didn't really know the story, so I was surprised at the final turn of events ... and I was waiting for "Hello Young Lovers" the whole time, which was unfortunate because that song is from The King and I.

The oddest thing about this version of the show, I have to say, was the women. There were plenty of women who sang and danced as the nurses on the island. In one scene they even wore bathing suits and shorts and sarongs -- but you know what? There wasn't a pencil-thin or hard-muscled woman in the bunch.

It was very, very strange. Several of the women were even ... meaty. Filled-out. Most looked comfortable in their World War II-era clothing. I was so odd to see flounce and bounce and rounded legs in sneakers and socks instead of jazz hands and tight little buttocks with a hanky of fabric stretched over them. Very odd.

Anyway, it was a very romantic movie. Even Mary Rodgers liked it.