'The Producers (PG.)
Directed by Mel Brooks. 1968.
Starring Zero Mostel, Gene Wilder, Kenneth Mars, Dick Shawn, Lee Meredith, Estelle Winwood. 85 mins.
It's a story about two fraudsters, one a gigolo and the other obsessive-compulsive, who try to con an array of pensioners out of their life savings by producing a play that makes light of fascism and the Holocaust; it's a compendium of greed, mindless consumerism, licentiousness, selfishness and callous disregard for others, that gloriously encapsulates everything that is best in humanity. Mel Brooks' first film may or may not be the funniest film ever made but must surely be among the most joyous, especially for a film that is technically a black comedy. The film that was supposed to be called Springtime For Hitler doesn't need any special reason to be celebrated but its 50th-anniversary release is a good enough reason for wheeling it out again. The Producers is a special, special achievement because it cemented the triumph of showbusiness over fascism, and now that that victory is under threat, it deserves to be honoured and reflected upon because it was quite a thing.
The Producers or Springtime For Hitler? The Producers is a terribly dull title, but calling it Springtime For Hitler would rather be giving away the best punchline, like calling A Night At The Opera, There Ain't No Sanity Clause. I wonder though whether what we love is The Producers or Springtime For Hitler? The centrepiece scenes - the mass auditioning of the singing Hitlers and then the opening musical number - are so deliriously funny, they seem to lift up everything around it. It's like the Stonehenge sequence in Spinal Tap. It's already a very funny film, but it just takes it all to a sublime level as it moves into its third act.
Viewing guidance. If you are watching it for the first time beware of watching it with committed fans. It is a cumulative experience, the more you see it, the more wonderful it gets and the funnier the lines seem and their laughter can be excluding. Every time I see it I find something new in it. In my last two viewings, I clocked "this is it. This is wine, woman and song... and women." and Liebkin's "Today Broadway, tomorrow..." makes a gesture for the world. This time it was Bloom trying to console Liebkind with the words “There, There” and him responding “Where, where.”
Seeing it for the first time isn't always easy and the film doesn't break you in gently. After the scene of fallen Broadway Impressario Max Bialystock (Mostel) seducing granny Touch Me Hold Me (Winwood) there is the first meeting between Max and Leopold Bloom (Wilder) and they both go at it full pelt, performing at a level of hysteria that isn't usually considered to be good form. It's almost like an entrance exam: if you can take this extreme level of mugging you can easily take what follows. Now, thirty odd years since I first saw it, it looks like comedy acting of the highest degree. Back then, my friend was roaring with laughter and I was smiling awkwardly wondering what the hell I was watching and that this wasn't a patch on Blazing Saddles. It wasn't until Springtime For Hitler that the film clicked with me.
The performances are superb. Unbelievable to think that Dustin Hoffman was first choice to play Nazi playwright Liebkind. (He ponced off to do The Graduate.) Hoffman in that role is something I'd very much like to see, but not at the cost of having Kenneth Mars play it. Mars managed to out-method the Hoffman by sleeping in his costume. Wilder is both gentle and extreme as the timid accountant Bloom, the child that is lead astray but, let's be honest, it's Zero's film. He's big in every conceivable way, a large sweaty ball of discontent and desire, a malevolent Oliver Hardy, a baby in adult form wailing at how unfair it all is and trying to wheedle his way back into his parent's good books.
It's the hope that kills you they say, but for Bialystock and Bloom it is hope that keeps them going. Their hope is always stronger than the adversity and as long as there is the hope that they can be rich, and have toys, they are indefatigable. The optimism is why the film has breezed the test the time. The Producers is one of the premier examples put forward in support of the notion that the best way to defeat dictators is with ridicule. (Not sure how that holds up in the 21st century where the dictators seemed to be in on the joke and their supporters stubbornly refuse to see it, no matter how many custard pies are thrown in their direction.) All Brooks' best work, and most of his worst stuff, is rooted in the tension between history and showbusiness and his message has always been that however bad it gets, the show must go on.
The Producers is a film that always brings tears to my eyes, though it's not always clear what those tears are for. Laughter, definitely, but also some kind of mixture of happiness, pride and sadness. The scene of Bialystock and Bloom's crestfallen faces at the back of the laughter-filled theatre breaks my heart every time. I hate seeing their scheme go wrong. (It may be heresy but I don't really like Dick Shawn's performance as LSD, partly because the intrusion of 60's hippy culture doesn't fit with the showbiz tone of the rest of the film and because he's the reason it fails. They should've chosen Arthur Peckard the lead tenor of the Albuquerque Opera company for the last two seasons. He'd have been a perfect Hitler.)
In the thirty years since I first saw it, the Producers has been edging its way through my affections to a place very near the front. It's been a very loyal and generous companion, something to really cherish. It's as funny today as it was fifty years ago and poignant too: it represents the very best of us and takes us back to a time when it looked like the best of us were winning.
Extras.
Mel Brooks Q & A. (brief.)
The Making Of doc, long and informative
Paul Mazursky reads the full-page ad Peter Sellers took out praising the film when it first came out.
Directed by Mel Brooks. 1968.
Starring Zero Mostel, Gene Wilder, Kenneth Mars, Dick Shawn, Lee Meredith, Estelle Winwood. 85 mins.
It's a story about two fraudsters, one a gigolo and the other obsessive-compulsive, who try to con an array of pensioners out of their life savings by producing a play that makes light of fascism and the Holocaust; it's a compendium of greed, mindless consumerism, licentiousness, selfishness and callous disregard for others, that gloriously encapsulates everything that is best in humanity. Mel Brooks' first film may or may not be the funniest film ever made but must surely be among the most joyous, especially for a film that is technically a black comedy. The film that was supposed to be called Springtime For Hitler doesn't need any special reason to be celebrated but its 50th-anniversary release is a good enough reason for wheeling it out again. The Producers is a special, special achievement because it cemented the triumph of showbusiness over fascism, and now that that victory is under threat, it deserves to be honoured and reflected upon because it was quite a thing.
The Producers or Springtime For Hitler? The Producers is a terribly dull title, but calling it Springtime For Hitler would rather be giving away the best punchline, like calling A Night At The Opera, There Ain't No Sanity Clause. I wonder though whether what we love is The Producers or Springtime For Hitler? The centrepiece scenes - the mass auditioning of the singing Hitlers and then the opening musical number - are so deliriously funny, they seem to lift up everything around it. It's like the Stonehenge sequence in Spinal Tap. It's already a very funny film, but it just takes it all to a sublime level as it moves into its third act.
Viewing guidance. If you are watching it for the first time beware of watching it with committed fans. It is a cumulative experience, the more you see it, the more wonderful it gets and the funnier the lines seem and their laughter can be excluding. Every time I see it I find something new in it. In my last two viewings, I clocked "this is it. This is wine, woman and song... and women." and Liebkin's "Today Broadway, tomorrow..." makes a gesture for the world. This time it was Bloom trying to console Liebkind with the words “There, There” and him responding “Where, where.”
Seeing it for the first time isn't always easy and the film doesn't break you in gently. After the scene of fallen Broadway Impressario Max Bialystock (Mostel) seducing granny Touch Me Hold Me (Winwood) there is the first meeting between Max and Leopold Bloom (Wilder) and they both go at it full pelt, performing at a level of hysteria that isn't usually considered to be good form. It's almost like an entrance exam: if you can take this extreme level of mugging you can easily take what follows. Now, thirty odd years since I first saw it, it looks like comedy acting of the highest degree. Back then, my friend was roaring with laughter and I was smiling awkwardly wondering what the hell I was watching and that this wasn't a patch on Blazing Saddles. It wasn't until Springtime For Hitler that the film clicked with me.
The performances are superb. Unbelievable to think that Dustin Hoffman was first choice to play Nazi playwright Liebkind. (He ponced off to do The Graduate.) Hoffman in that role is something I'd very much like to see, but not at the cost of having Kenneth Mars play it. Mars managed to out-method the Hoffman by sleeping in his costume. Wilder is both gentle and extreme as the timid accountant Bloom, the child that is lead astray but, let's be honest, it's Zero's film. He's big in every conceivable way, a large sweaty ball of discontent and desire, a malevolent Oliver Hardy, a baby in adult form wailing at how unfair it all is and trying to wheedle his way back into his parent's good books.
It's the hope that kills you they say, but for Bialystock and Bloom it is hope that keeps them going. Their hope is always stronger than the adversity and as long as there is the hope that they can be rich, and have toys, they are indefatigable. The optimism is why the film has breezed the test the time. The Producers is one of the premier examples put forward in support of the notion that the best way to defeat dictators is with ridicule. (Not sure how that holds up in the 21st century where the dictators seemed to be in on the joke and their supporters stubbornly refuse to see it, no matter how many custard pies are thrown in their direction.) All Brooks' best work, and most of his worst stuff, is rooted in the tension between history and showbusiness and his message has always been that however bad it gets, the show must go on.
The Producers is a film that always brings tears to my eyes, though it's not always clear what those tears are for. Laughter, definitely, but also some kind of mixture of happiness, pride and sadness. The scene of Bialystock and Bloom's crestfallen faces at the back of the laughter-filled theatre breaks my heart every time. I hate seeing their scheme go wrong. (It may be heresy but I don't really like Dick Shawn's performance as LSD, partly because the intrusion of 60's hippy culture doesn't fit with the showbiz tone of the rest of the film and because he's the reason it fails. They should've chosen Arthur Peckard the lead tenor of the Albuquerque Opera company for the last two seasons. He'd have been a perfect Hitler.)
In the thirty years since I first saw it, the Producers has been edging its way through my affections to a place very near the front. It's been a very loyal and generous companion, something to really cherish. It's as funny today as it was fifty years ago and poignant too: it represents the very best of us and takes us back to a time when it looked like the best of us were winning.
Extras.
Mel Brooks Q & A. (brief.)
The Making Of doc, long and informative
Paul Mazursky reads the full-page ad Peter Sellers took out praising the film when it first came out.
