As a repressed geeky child I was forcefed classic musicals against my will. Being made to watch the Sound of Music eight times - in those days it had to physically be at a cinema - would probably qualify nowadays as a reportable offence. Different times indeed.
Yet had I not had to squirm my childish way through so many hours of insane cheerfulness, technicolour highjinks, and sado-maso gender politics, Schmigadoon would not have the same power to unshackle me so thoroughly from the grey treadmill of so many indistinguishable weeks and months spent cowering from Covid.
Watching the five episodes of season 1 over three nights has put delight back in my heart, and it is with a sense of reverence toward the enlightened beings who made something so completely delicious and supremely well executed that it has definitively redeemed and elevated what is possibly the most abject genre of popular entertainment known to humanity.
Bring on season two.
Yet had I not had to squirm my childish way through so many hours of insane cheerfulness, technicolour highjinks, and sado-maso gender politics, Schmigadoon would not have the same power to unshackle me so thoroughly from the grey treadmill of so many indistinguishable weeks and months spent cowering from Covid.
Watching the five episodes of season 1 over three nights has put delight back in my heart, and it is with a sense of reverence toward the enlightened beings who made something so completely delicious and supremely well executed that it has definitively redeemed and elevated what is possibly the most abject genre of popular entertainment known to humanity.
Bring on season two.