SGT. PEPPER'S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND 1978

The saying goes that no one starts out intending to make a bad movie. 

This sounds fine in theory, but the reality is more in line with — no one starts out intending to make a flop. Hollywood makes bad movies all the time. Sometimes willfully (looking at you, Adam Sandler, Kevin James, & Rob Schneider). They're only bothered when their bad movies don't make money. Who's going to call the blatantly, almost defiantly lousy (to me) Fast & Furious movies bad when they rake in so much at the boxoffice? 

When boxoffice success becomes the defining standard by which a film is deemed good or bad, creative decisions are ultimately ruled by their marketability and moneymaking potential. And just as there is a subtle, yet significant, difference between someone wanting to be a great actor vs. someone wanting to be a big star, a movie that starts out intending to be a good film is not (necessarily) coming from the same creative mindset as one that sets out to be the next blockbuster boxoffice success. 

Which brings us to Robert Stigwood's $18-million boondoggle, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Peter Frampton as Billy Shears

Sir Barry Gibb as Mark Henderson

Robin Gibb as Dave Henderson

Maurice Gibb as Bob Henderson

Dianne Steinberg as Lucy

Sandy Farina as Strawberry Fields

In early 1978, Robert "Midas Touch" Stigwood was the man who could do no wrong. Producer of the hits Jesus Christ Superstar, Tommy, Saturday Night Fever, and Grease, Stigwood (via his lucrative RSO enterprise) had his hand in theater, movies, recording, and personal management. His track record of success was such that when he decided to reconfigure his flop 1974 Off-Broadway Beatles-themed musical Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band on the Road (starring Ted Neeley of JC Superstar and Alaina Reed of TV's 227) into a feature film rock-opera along the lines of Ken Russell's Tommy, who was going to tell him it might not be such a good idea.

Donald Pleasence as B. D. "Big Deal" Hoffler
...or Brockhurst, if you go by the film's credits and bubble gum cards 

While it certainly could be argued that with Sgt Pepper, Stigwood was ahead of his time in presenting what amounts to the first jukebox musical (Abba's Mamma Mia! was a good two decades away), in this instance, the film's unique structure proved considerably less problematic than its execution.

George Burns as Mr. Kite

To give you an idea of what this movie is like: take the Las Vegas-y kitsch and celebrity clusterfuck lineups of '70s variety shows like Sonny & Cher, Donny & Marie, and The Captain & Tennille (they were all the same, weren't they?); top with a pop music trio projecting all the charm-free blandness of The Hudson Brothers forced into an oil-and-water collaboration with a soloist radiating a screen presence not matched in dynamism since Helen Reddy appeared as a nun in Airport 1975; drench the whole thing in a garish, cocaine-fueled color-palette reminiscent of a Sid & Marty Krofft kiddie show; blend in diluted, American Bandstand-friendly arrangements of a catalog of 29 Beatles songs culled from their most innovative albums: Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Rubber Soul, Magical Mystery Tour, Revolver, Abbey Road; ultimately mold into an inchoate fantasy adventure told entirely in song; tack on superfluous narration so soporific it makes Don Kirschner sound caffeinated by comparison, and voilà —Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band: The Movie.

"A Splendid Time is Guaranteed for All!"
This lyric from "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite" was used as the film's
promotional tagline and later came to bite the movie on the ass

Set in the fictional town of Heartland, USA, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (hereafter referred to as SPLHCB) is a musical fable about a wholesome boy band and their magical instruments — regrettably, Freddy the Flute fails to make an appearance. Conflict, such as it is, is introduced in the form of an oily music producer named B. D. Hoffler (Donald Pleasence), who interrupts the band's bucolic braying long enough to whisk them off to Los Angeles, where they are to be corrupted by the temptations of sex, drugs, and wealth.
The group's departure allows an organization called F.V.B. (Future Villain Band, played by Aerosmith) to steal the magical musical instruments, which in turn hastens the decline of Heartland, now taken over by an overacting real estate agent named Mr. Mustard (openly gay British comic Frankie Howerd, who makes Tommy Steele and Zero Mostel look laid-back). The rest of the film is devoted to the Heartland boy band's efforts to retrieve the instruments and save their hometown.

Paul Nicholas as Dougie Shears

By way of a love interest and virginal heroine, we have newcomer Sandy Farina as Strawberry Fields (a kind of bargain-basement Ronee Blakley with a lovely voice). For femme fatale contrast, there's newcomer and just-as-quickly newgoner Dianne Steinberg as Lucy, a sexy pop singer backed by The Diamonds, portrayed by that '70s R&B trio you forgot to forget, Stargard (their 1976 hit "Wear it Out" is actually pretty good).

British actor/singer Paul Nicholas adds to his sizable screen resume of unscrupulous creeps by playing one of Pepperland's few rotten apples. Iconic "fifth Beatle" Billy Preston, cast as a magical weather vane, is saddled with what can safely be described as the apotheosis of the Magical Negro trope. And last but not least, we have a pair of curvaceous  female robots called The Computerettes (yep, you read that right) aiding and abetting Mr. Mustard and sundry "guest villains."

Even by '70s standards, this was some weird-ass shit.

Frankie Howerd as Mean Mr. Mustard

But as Ken Russell spectacularly proved by bringing The Who's equally bonkers Tommy (1975) to the screen, a hallucinatory rock-opera with no spoken dialogue and a preposterous plot can work, provided it's done with some talent and ingenuity. Alas, with SPLHCB, little of either is in evidence.

 OK, that's not really fair. I suppose it does take a special kind of talent to make a film as cheap-looking as this with a budget more than three times that of Ken Russell's visually dazzling film. Likewise, I'm sure it took considerable ingenuity for the producers to drum up much enthusiasm for the film's final cast when what was originally on the table was: Olivia Newton-John as Strawberry Fields, Donna Summer as Lucy, Mick Jagger as Future Villain, Bob Hope as Mr. Kite, and Doris Day and Rock Hudson as Mr. and Mrs. Fields.

The emblem of fictional record magnate B.D. Hoffler (r.) spoofs the logo of the Robert 
Stigwood Organization (which is a good luck Japanese toy cow called an akabeko)

I have a hunch that Stigwood had the same kind of micromanaging hand in this film's production as Allan Carr had on the similarly calamitous Can't Stop the Music two years later (you don't hand over a $20m-million production to Rhoda's mother because she's experienced, you do it so you can control her). I say this because SPLHCB is so undistinguished in execution and so indifferently shot, I'm at a severe loss as in knowing what talented director Michael Schultz (Cooley High, Car Wash) brought to the mix. The film looks like a Kaptain Kool & the Kongs TV special.

Steve Martin as Dr. Maxwell Edison

In virtually every aspect surrounding the development of SPLHCB...both in front of and behind the camera... you'll find an incestuous network of mutually-advantageous business deals and cross-promotions. Stigwood managed the Bee Gees, Peter Frampton's manager was given an executive producer credit, record label distribution deals affected the choice of which recording artists would participate, etc. All are contract deals that have everything to do with assembling the most marketable commercial elements available, but precious little to do with entertainment, acquiring the best talent for the job, or (perish the thought) simply making a decent movie.

The backup members of Lucy and the Diamonds are the all-but-forgotten R&B group Stargard, who sang the theme song to Michael Schultz's previous film, Which Way Is Up?, and, most importantly, were artists signed to the Universal Studios-connected MCA records. 

THE STUFF OF DREAMS   

In fashioning a musical with no spoken dialogue but extensive, expository voice-over narration, SPLHCB is an unhappy-alliance hybrid. A combination of sung-through musicals like Evita, Hamilton,  and The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, and jukebox musicals like The Boy From Oz (Peter Allen), and—ironically enough—the 1998 stage production of Saturday Night Fever, which combined songs from the Bee Gees music catalog with songs from the film's soundtrack.

Earth, Wind & Fire had a #1 Soul Charts hit with their version of "Got to Get You Into My Life" 

The 1968 animated feature film Yellow Submarine successfully strung together unconnected Beatles songs into a coherent narrative, but Sgt Pepper was not so lucky. It needed expressive actors to fill in the emotional blanks left in the song lyrics -- something Ann-Margret and Oliver Reed triumphed at in Tommy. In the lead roles, it needed pop stars with stronger identities -- neither the Bee Gees nor Peter Frampton had defined individual personas. These are casting issues, to be sure. But the screenplay by music journalist-turned-first-time screenwriter Henry Edwards really doesn't give anybody much to work with.

Understandable given the era, but in the 1968 animated film Yellow Submarine, the Beatles' songs were presented in ways that emphasized their metaphorical and allegorical properties. Too often, the more literal-minded approach employed by Sgt. Pepper leads to moments of unintentional humor. Like when a coffin is hoisted unsteadily on the narrow shoulders of our heroes to the accompaniment of "Boy, you're gonna carry that weight a long time." 

The classic, Candide-like structure of The Who's Tommy was ideally suited to Roger Daltrey's blank-slate countenance, presenting him as a relatable everyman beset by harrowing encounters with bizarre characters on his journey to spiritual enlightenment. Unfortunately, Sgt. Pepper takes a plot straight out of an episode of The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle (replace the stolen Sgt. Pepper instruments with a Mooseberry bush) but gives us heroes too bland to identify with, a low-stakes adventure that's hard to care about, and villains who shoot for outrageous and funny, only to land at embarrassing and hammy.

Alice Cooper as Father Sun, nee Marvin Sunk

This leaves all the film's heavy-lifting to the Beatles tunes themselves, which are a pretty fantastic lot, and generally well-performed...if not memorably. George Martin, producer of all but one of the Beatles' original records, was the film's musical director, but this didn't prevent the release of the double LP soundtrack album (arguably the only reason the film was made at all) from being a colossal flop. Copies of the soundtrack were found in remainder bins almost before the summer was over.

The night I saw it, laughter greeted this scene where Strawberry Fields sings to Billy about taking him down 'cause she's going to...well, herself. Then proceeds to elaborate, not making one whit of sense.

PERFORMANCES

Anyone who's ever seen the Gibb brothers together on a TV talk show knows how self-deprecating and engagingly funny they can be. On one such program, when asked to come up with Spice Girl-type names for themselves, they answered: Beardy Bee Gee, Teethy Bee Gee, and Baldy Bee Gee. They came across as relaxed, quick to laugh, and highly likable. Alas, none of these qualities is in evidence in Sgt. Pepper. Uncomfortable and self-conscious, they seem to carry the constriction of their too-tight costumes into their performances. Granted, none of them are really given characters to play, but Schultz never finds a way to bring out the brothers' natural charm and relaxed rapport. Even their vocal performances sound hemmed in.

Positively Ripping
Gibb is bustin' out all over in this shot, reminding us that wearing those form-fitting
disco shirts of the '70s (fine for dancing The Hustle) came at a risk

Frampton mostly looks uncomfortable and seems to wish Andy Gibb would step in at any moment and take his place. (He never really recovers from how he's introduced in the film: wearing a pink shirt under stark-white, tapered overalls embroidered with a big red flower and the name "Billy"…he looks like the world's tallest, lankiest toddler.) But of course, I do love the scene where he's supposed to be distraught, with fake tears streaming down his face the seem to emanate from from his temples and forehead.

Dianne Steinberg and Paul Nicholas make a fun pair of double-crossers.
Too bad the over-busy script never allows their villainy to take root.

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM 

As much as it pains me to admit it, there was a time I really loved this movie (I still do, but I'm speaking of a time when I actually enjoyed it unironically). In my defense, Sgt. Pepper was released a mere four weeks after I'd moved to LA, and I was still heady with the degree of hoopla Tinseltown could unleash when promoting a movie. The publicity push for Sgt. Pepper was enormous, and it was hard not to get swept up in the circus-like atmosphere. In the summer of 1978, disco was king, the Bee Gees were riding high on the phenomenon of Saturday Night Fever (it had opened a mere six months earlier), Frampton was all over the radio, and Steve Martin was THE up-and-coming comic sensation.

A Sunset Strip billboard for Sgt. Pepper overlooks Tower Records
(also visible is an ad for a Steve Martin comedy album and for the band KISS,
an early casting consideration for the Future Villain Band in Sgt. Pepper

I saw the film the day it opened at the Pacific Theater on Hollywood Boulevard. Thinking back, it's remarkable to think I had to stand in line to get in. The hyped-up audience was really in the spirit, and they laughed loudly and readily. Applause even broke out when Billy Preston made his appearance.   

Billy Preston as Sergeant Pepper (the weather vane, anyway)

Having grown up in a household with a dyed-in-the-wool Beatle maniac (my older sister), I always loved the music but didn't revere it to the degree that I had a problem with other artists having a crack at it. To this day, Sandy Farina's rendition of George Harrison's "Here Comes the Sun" is my favorite cover of the song. And I thought Aerosmith's version of "Come Together" was a major improvement on the original.

Steven Tyler and Aerosmith as Future Villain Band

The theater was packed that first day, but by the time I saw the film for the 3rd time that summer, the house was nearly empty. As the years have gone by, the new-kid-in-town veil has lifted from my eyes, leaving me aghast that I had once found this largely clumsy enterprise in shameless commerce so entertaining. Happily, its plentiful cons have since morphed into pros, rendering Sgt. Pepper a so-bad-it's-good status in perpetuity.

Careers and reputations were decimated by the film's flop reception, but by all accounts
the cocaine flowed freely, so at least I hope everyone involved enjoyed a splendid time.

BONUS MATERIAL

Filmmaker Michael Schultz was Robert Stigwood's first choice to direct the film Grease. When hired for Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Schultz became the first Black director to helm a big-budget musical. Unfortunately, his feature film career took a hit when Sgt. Pepper flopped so tremendously, taking several other careers with it. But Schulz continues to work steadily in television and, in 1991, was inducted into The Black Filmmakers Hall of Fame.

One of two prop trumpets created for the film by Dominic Calicchio is housed at the National Music Museum in Vermillion, SD. An eBay auction purchase donated by Allan R Jones. 

The solo albums by Dianne Steinberg (1977) and Sandy Farina (1980) 
failed to cause much of a ripple in the music industry 

Standing 6'3" and made of plaster over a fiberglass frame,
 the Sgt. Pepper weather vane was sold at auction for $1,265 in 2012.  

Your patience for making it to the end of the film is rewarded by a WTF cluster of "stars" from all walks of the '70s entertainment industry spectrum gathered to recreate the cover of the Sgt. Pepper Album. 

Copyright © Ken Anderson  2009 -  2019

THE BLUES BROTHERS 1980

"We're on a mission from God."

The first thing I think about when I think about The Blues Brothers is that it opened in Los Angeles on the exact same day as Can't Stop the Music. Yes, on Friday, June 20^th, 1980, two big-budget, heavily-promoted Hollywood musicals played within blocks of one another on Hollywood Boulevard. One R-rated, the other PG, each a pre-fab pre-marketed project pitched to a specific (polar opposite) audience demographic. The timing of the release of Cant Stop The Music couldn't have been less fortuitous; the unanticipated success of The Blues Brothers spearheaded an R&B music resurgence and spawned a dreadful sequel. But as dissimilar as these two films appear to be on the surface, they have much in common.

Both are expensive pop musicals structured as the fictionalized biographies of real-life "manufactured" musical acts that found unexpected success and a curious form of legitimacy during the late 1970s. I say curious because, to some extent, both The Blues Brothers and The Village People are novelty acts that were taken seriously as musicians after becoming chart-topping record sellers and popular touring acts. The acts themselves: The Village People was chiefly a collection of costumed dancers marching behind a talented lead vocalist; The Blues Brothers, two costumed Saturday Night Live alumni assuming alter-identity roles as the fictional characters fronting a band of genuinely accomplished musicians. 

as "Joliet" Jake Blues

as Elwood Blues

It can be argued that both bands benefited significantly from white America's preference for the watered-down interpretations of musical styles rooted in the Black American experience. Disco having developed from dance R&B and funk, while the blues came out of jazz and classic R&B. The "novelty act" identities of both bands was a form of winking pop-cultural pretense allowing the bands to market themselves in ways that expanded their appeal beyond the scope of their music. The Greenwich Village "types" that gave the Village People their costuming enabled the band to have it both ways: they were a gay band for those who "got" the coding; to the rest, they were just a party band. The Blues Brothers more or less updated an ages-old music industry trope: white audience resistance to Black artists allows mediocre covers performed by white musicians to outdistance the far earthier (re: too Black) originals.

To achieve the kind of mainstream success necessary to turn a profit, the PG-rated, $20 million Can't Stop the Music needed to downplay The Village People's gay disco origins and hopefully attract the same clueless pop/teen record-buying audience that incredibly never picked up on the group's homoerotic costuming or the gay subtext of songs like YMCA and Macho Man.

For The Blues Brothers to succeed, this R-rated, $27 million well-intentioned "Tribute to African- American music" (sentiments expressed by both Aykroyd & Belushi) had to play up the faux "soul" personas of its two white male stars whose chief demographic, via SNL and Animal House, was 20-something straight white males. All the while exploiting the fleeting "guest star" presence of Black entertainers who were the genuine article: i.e., true legends from the worlds of blues, jazz, and R&B.

In short- Can't Stop the Music featured a gay band playacting as straight, and The Blues Brothers band featured two frontmen playacting at being Black. 

But that's where the similarities end. Can't Stop the Music banked everything on the enduring popularity of disco, but by the time the film hit theaters, disco had fallen out of favor. As a result, Can't Stop the Music died a swift and ignominious death at the boxoffice. The Blues Brothers, however, took a gamble on music that hadn't been popular among young people for many years. The film's unexpected blockbuster success sparked a renewed interest in classic R&B, and wound up rejuvenating the careers of the Black artists showcased in the movie.

In 1980, I was personally far too much into disco to even consider going to see The Blues Brothers, the first two weekends of its release finding me at the Paramount Theater (now The El Capitan) on Hollywood Blvd watching Can't Stop the Music playing to a near-empty house. I didn't actually see The Blues Brothers until after Xanadu had opened the following month. By then, the poorly-reviewed Belushi/Aykroyd starrer had already emerged as the hit of the summer... coming in second only to The Empire Strikes Back. 

I can't profess to ever have been a big fan of SNL, I've never seen Animal House, and the appeal of John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd was largely lost on me. So when they began appearing in concert as The Blues Brothers, opening for a young Steve Martin, I was among those baffled by their success. I genuinely thought their chart-topping 1978 LP "Briefcase Full of Blues" was a comedy album. I suspect my reaction to The Blues Brothers as a legitimate musical act was very likely similar to how rock fans reacted to The Monkees in the '60s.

Chaka Khan has a cameo as a member of the Triple Rock Baptist Church choir

But despite my initial misgivings, John Landis' The Blues Brothers ultimately did more than win me over; I actually fell in love with it. This ragtag tale of two musical miscreants on a mission of reform took me back to my childhood; the film struck me as a hip update of those overblown slapstick chase comedies like The Great Race (1965), crossed with a hip Bob Hope Bing Crosby vibe, all added to one of those all-star cameo epics like Around the World in 80 Days (1956). Set in contemporary Chicago, the tone of The Blues Brothers and its depiction of Black culture is forever skirting the fine line between veneration and patronization (the Black artists are the supporting cast in a film dedicated to the music they invented). Still, the overall cleverness and humor of the film allow it to coast a great deal on good intentions, goodwill, and the exhilaration that comes from The Blues Brothers being a bang-up, enjoyably silly musical comedy.

Kathleen Freeman as Sister Mary Stigmata (The Penguin)

Carrie Fisher as the Mystery Woman

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM
That The Blues Brothers is now considered by many to be a classic (and deservedly so, in my opinion) has much to do with its age. Now almost 40 years old, many of the film's biggest fans discovered it on cable TV as kids, citing it as the first R-rated movie they ever saw. It also doesn't hurt that the film was a major boxoffice success, ranking as the 10^th highest-grossing film of 1980. But, linked as it is to the glory days of SNL, The Blues Brothers earns its status as a classic because it's remembered fondly for its guest roster of musical greats. Even if you don't care for the film, there's no denying that something about The Blues Brothers seized the public's imaginations enough for the group to become a household name and pop phenomenon. And like the film it most resembles—the equally unwieldy and intermittently funny car chase comedy It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963) —The Blues Brothers is a product of a distinct era (the post-'70s blockbuster days of pre-CGI excess) and features the final or only screen appearances of several entertainment industry greats no longer with us. In that respect, it can't help but look great from a rear-view perspective.

John Candy as Corrections Officer Burton Mercer

I was a huge fan of The Blues Brothers in 1980, seeing it so many times I could repeat jokes and recite verbatim bits of dialogue. I still enjoy it a great deal, but upon revisiting it recently via the extended Blu-ray edition (approximately 15-minutes longer than the theatrical), it became clearer to me that the music and musical sequences are where my heart lies. They're so good they tend to make me forget that the deadpan give-and-take between Jake and Elwood can feel a little draggy. The film's soundtrack is a major saving grace, the personal nostalgia dredged up by the songs reminding me of the music my parents used to play around the house when I was a kid. It's only humor-wise where things start to get dicey for me. Aykroyd comes off as a nice kind of goofus type, but (and I know I'm alone in this) I honestly don't get Belushi's appeal. I kept waiting for him to catch fire on the screen, to show some flash of comic brilliance... but, zip. He starts out and remains a fairly inert presence. The contributions of the guest stars and cameos are fun, as are the almost surreal touches of over-scale lunacy that give the film the feel of a live-action Bugs Bunny cartoon.

Twiggy as The Chic Lady

But retro-romanticizing aside, I must confess that refamiliarizing myself with The Blues Brothers left me at a bit of a loss when it came to accessing what the hell I once thought was so outrageously funny about it all. Some bits still get me, like the scene where a car driven by Nazis launches off an unfinished freeway overpass to an absurdly high altitude. Or the way Elwood zeroes in on a toaster oven (a slice of white bread materializing from his pocket) while the band members examine musical instruments at Ray's shop. But did I really laugh that loud and long at the mere sight of so many scenes of cars crashing into one another back in 1980? (Answer: Yes.) Did I really not notice how women figure so marginally (and dismissively) in this puerile boys club demolition derby fantasy? (Regrettably, yes.)

The whole viewing experience reminded me of when I tried relistening to one of those '70s Cheech & Chong comedy albums that were all the rage when I was in high school. Verdict: WTF?

Henry Gibson as the Head Nazi

Comedy tastes change, I know. And while I never tire of some '70s comedies like What's Up, Doc? and Young Frankenstein, perhaps the style of comedy that came into vogue at the start of the '80s—the cocaine-fueled variety, anyway—just has a shorter shelf-life for me. (I'm equally immune to the comedy of early Steve Martin and Robin Williams.). The biggest laugh The Blues Brothers elicited from me this time around is courtesy of footage not even found in the original release. It's a scene where Cab Calloway explains to the band that Jake and Elwood plan to give the proceeds from their Palace Hotel concert to the orphanage. The band members' collective reaction is excellent. 

Steve Lawrence as Maury Sline

THE STUFF OF FANTASY  

For many, The Blues Brothers endures because of its standing as a filmed record of so many now-deceased legendary Black artists from the worlds of jazz, R&B, gospel, and blues. In a year that saw the release of many large-budget musical films--Xanadu, Popeye, Coal Miner's Daughter, The Apple, The Jazz Singer (which gave us Neil Diamond in blackface, fer chrissake), and Can't Stop the Music --The Blues Brothers was the only one with soul. Too bad the only way to access it was after Belushi and Aykroyd had relinquished the spotlight.

The Blues Brothers shines brightest in its musical interludes. And what a treat it is to see Aretha Franklin in her first movie appearance, James Brown singing gospel, Cab Calloway in Technicolor, and a street full of Chicago residents doing the twist to Ray Charles (the latter being the image that most stuck in my mind the first time I saw the film's trailer.)

Choreographed by the late Carlton Johnson (familiar to many as the sole Black male member of the Ernie Flatt Dancers on The Carol Burnett Show), each number is a standalone set piece staged with witty exuberance and cinematic panache.

My favorites, in order of preference:

Ray Charles - "Shake a Tailfeather"

Ray Charles really blows the roof off with his driving rendition of this upbeat R&B dance tune first sung by The Five Du-Tones in 1963, making it more than fitting that the number spills out into the Chicago streets, inspiring the first flash mob. Playing the proprietor of Ray's Music Exchange, where the band goes to purchase instruments, Charles' infectiously soulful vocals are so raw and playful that he fairly dares you to stay in your seat. Which makes it so ideal that the throngs of amateur dancers outside his store so enthusiastically accommodate his requests for a rundown of the popular dances of the '60s. I love absolutely everything about this number, which is the most assured in terms of choreography, staging, and editing. Just brilliant. Watch a clip of it HERE.

The center member of the Soul Food Chorus is Aretha Franklin's younger sister Carolyn

Aretha Franklin - "Think"

Although she briefly sang and acted in a 1971 episode of TV's Room 222, The Blues Brothers marks Aretha Franklin's film debut. Cast as the wife of Blues Hall of Fame inductee Matt "Guitar" Murphy, Franklin's now-iconic performance of her 1968 hit "Think" is both rousing and an uncontested high point in the film. Many consider it the best number in the film, something I wouldn't necessarily argue with, save for a quibble or two. No one can fault Franklin's peerless performance and star quality, but my problem (and this is likely due to the multiple takes required due to Franklin's discomfort with lip-syncing) but the editing feels soggy and screws with the song's rhythm. Plus the imprecise staging frequently leaves Franklin not knowing what to do with her arms or body as she waits for the next verse.  

James Brown - "The Old Landmark"

Jake and Elwood find religion and a higher purpose at the Triple Rock Baptist Church listening to the sermon of Rev. Cleophus James. And who wouldn't in the presence of The Godfather of Soul himself, James Brown? When the Reverend and his choir break into this 1949 gospel standard (which Brown had never heard of before) the church erupts into a jubilant revival production number that literally defies gravity. James Brown (a personal favorite) is dynamic as all get-out in this, the film's first musical set-piece, whose contagious energy and gymnastic, high-kicking dancers get things off to a very spirited start. 

Cab Calloway - Minnie the Moocher

A delightful moment that I recall brought a round of applause from the movie theater audience I saw this with, was when 72-year-old Cab Calloway, as Curtis, the janitor at the orphanage where Jake and Elwood were raised, entertains a restless audience by magically morphing into the 1930s incarnation of the Big Band Cab Calloway we all remember (transforming the stage and the motley band members along with him). In the theatrical release, this stylish highlight was marred by cutaways to the tardy Blues Brothers trying to make it to the theater. The restored Blu-ray allows us to see more of Calloway's hep rendition of his 1931 signature song. A song he co-penned with Irving Mills, and which was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1999, five years after Calloway's death. 

Paul Reubens (Pee Wee Herman) as a waiter at the Chez Paul restaurant

THE STUFF OF DREAMS   

As my partner can attest, a favorite phrase of mine is "Two things can be true at once." A phrase that comes in particularly handy when writing about film. Take, for example, the observation that Faye Dunaway is an unrepentant ham, while at the same time being an absolutely brilliant actress. Both are circumstantially true, resulting in the truth of one not negating the truth of the other. It's all a matter of perspective.

As per The Blues Brothers: It's true the film and its makers provide a respectful and, in some instances, classic showcase for Black artists ignored by Hollywood. It's a fact that Aykroyd and Belushi used the privilege of their fame and took a risk on the moneymaking potential of the film by insisting on hiring these legendary Black stars and featuring so many Black faces in the supporting cast. (Theater distributors like Mann's Westwood, not wanting what they perceived to be a "Black film" in their neighborhoods, wound up cutting The Blues Brothers opening venues by more than half.) It's also true The Blues Brothers was instrumental in a whole new generation of people discovering music and artists that white record companies and radio stations had long ignored. 

All that being said, it's also true that The Blues Brothers is almost embarrassing as an example of cultural appropriation. When my parents (who grew up on real blues and jazz) watched The Blues Brothers on cable TV many years ago, their takeaway was that the Black performances in the film reminded them of the days when Lena Horne would appear in isolated numbers in MGM musicals so that her scenes could be edited out when the films played in the South.

Subtextually, Black culture is used as a backdrop in The Blues Brothers, a thing Jake and Elwood have free access to lay claim to and use in any way they wish. Black music is theirs to perform, Black personas are theirs to adopt; all the while they're secure in the fact that they don't even have to be any good to succeed—they merely have to be Not Black. An unfortunate fact borne out by the music history statistic that both The Blues Brothers soundtrack and the aforementioned Briefcase Full of Blues rank as the top-selling blues albums of all time. My head hurts just thinking about that one. 

Critics of the film rightfully question whether the humor of The Blues Brothers 
is rooted in merely seeing whites occupying Black spaces

None of this should detract from the obvious merits of The Blues Brothers. It's mentioned merely to call attention to talking points and food for thought that's impossible to ignore when watching a nearly 40-year-old film.

I consider The Blues Brothers to be a classic, but to true fans of blues and R&B, Aykroyd and Belushi are a bit like the Jayne Meadows (wife of Steve Allen) and Nanette Newman (wife of director Bryan Forbes) of Soul: if you want to see Aretha Franklin and James Brown on the screen, you have to take Jake and Elwood in the bargain.

Steven Spielberg as the Cook County Office Clerk

Ray Charles in a clip from "The Blues Brothers" (1980)

BONUS MATERIAL
A poorly-received Blues Brothers sequel--Blues Brothers 2000--was made in 1998, some 16 years after John Belushi's death. Co-written by Aykroyd and Landis, this PG-13 misguided venture brought back several members of the original cast (Aretha Franklin, James, Brown, Steve Lawrence, Kathleen Freeman) but to less entertaining effect. Budgeted at  $28 million, it grossed something in the neighborhood of $14 million. I tried watching it, but the introduction of that kid Blues Brother did me in.

Choreographer Carlton Johnson staging Franklin's "Think" musical number

The sixty-minute 1998 behind-the-scenes documentary "The Stories Behind the Making of The Blues Brothers" is currently available on YouTube. Click Here.

Copyright © Ken Anderson  2009 - 2019