it’s been awhile since I’ve seen it, but wiki backs up your recollection.
Oh my god, you killed Kenny! You bastard!
Nah, that’s just a Greek chorus. It’s a common (and, as the name implies, very old) narrative device that allows the author to present information to the audience that would otherwise be difficult or distracting to present naturally, mostly in live theater. Films don’t really need them, as the moving camera and the editing table allow more natural solutions to the problem. When they are employed in movies, it’s usually either a holdover from a stage version of the story (as in Little Shop) or a deliberate narrative anachronism.
The main distinction here is that the singers are not really integrated into the narrative of the film. For the most part, they don’t interact with the rest of the cast, except for a few incidental bits during transitions to and from the musical numbers. Like the narrator in Our Town, or Ferris Bueller’s frequent discourses directly to the camera, they exist to facilitate the audience’s interaction with the narrative, instead of directly effecting the narrative themselves.
The other important distinction, of course, is that magical realism takes place in a realistic setting. Little Shop of Horrors is not a realistic setting: it’s a science fiction setting. It’s a story about a giant, man-eating plant from outer space. Magical realism usually describes stories that are fundamentally mundane, but include an unexplained, impossible element that’s recognized by the characters in the story both as real, and as largely unsurprising.
At the risk of giving away a magician’s secret, the primary reason why a sheet is placed over an object on stage, or a door closed, or a screen inserted between the action and the audience is that without the cover, you would clearly see how the trick is done.
In the burning Harold case, you see a sheet placed over his body and something poured on it. It is set alight. The sheet prevents you from seeing if the body is removed in time. All you see is the shape suggested by the sheet. You do not see a body being burned, you see something in the shape of a body burned and your mind makes the connection.
I’ll admit the film takes a little liberty by having the camera cut away during parts of the scene. You’ll have to use some more imagination to think exactly how he escaped to enter the room unscathed.
Sure, and the point I meant to make is that the scene was staged to look like a magic trick, showing him to be unscathed as the supposed body keeps burning, to show that Harold is just doing tricks, not actually killing himself over and over.
I loved Harold and Maude when I saw it as a teen. When I watched it again two nights ago, Harold was creepy and whiny, Maude was super annoying, and Harold’s mom was kind of hot. I don’t know what Netflix did to it, but that is not at all how I remember it.
I think you place too strict a limitation here. You can most certainly blend genres (although it’s often uncomfortable.) If Poole’s ghost revealed himself to Bowman, that would be (or could be) a M.R. touch. (It would be totally doofus…) The “window to heaven” and “landscape of hell” bits at the end of “The Black Hole” could be taken as M.R. touches.
This is one of the things to be learned from a study (a joyous study!) of TV Tropes: there are very few absolute, hard-and-fast boundaries between them. The “magical nanny” can blur into the “wise guru,” and so on.
Sure, and magical realism itself is a very fuzzy categorization. But it does have some recognizable hallmarks, and I don’t really see them in Little Shop of Horrors. If you’re going to argue that the chorus singers are magical realism, you might as well argue that every musical is magical realist, because people keep bursting into song all over the place.
Grin! There’s a little something to that…but I saw the chorus-girls in LSOH as “magical” because of their surreal costuming and their rooftop locale. They weren’t just “girls singing” but vaguely angelic. They could go places real people couldn’t go.
I’m probably defining the term too broadly, but I see a touch of M.R. in such things as “breaking the fourth wall.” When an actor breaks the wall and addresses the audience directly, he’s deconstructing the traditional dramatic rules, and transcending the ostensible reality of his role.
There is a beautiful bit in Donna Barr’s “Desert Peach, the Musical,” where a guy is sitting at a desk. Men walk in, attach wheels to the corners of the desk, put a windshield up on top of it, and, before you know it, it’s a jeep, speeding through the North African desert. “How did you do that?” he asks, and his companion says, “I have friends in the production department.”
No, by that logic Harold now can make a choice between life and death and, after Maud’s influence, he chooses to live. It’s one of my favorite films and a pretty simple message. I don’t think they are trying to obscure the message in any way.
IIRC, at one point Harold recounts an accident at school where he was caught in a chem lab explosion. He wasn’t badly hurt, but his mother rushed to the school in a panic when she got the news, and was worried sick over him. I believe he said it was the closest she’d ever come to showing any affection for him.
I think that’s the clearest the film makes it that all his suicide attempts are just acts to try and get that same reaction again and return to feeling like he’s actually loved.
Actually, what happened was that Harold caused an explosion at school. He sneaked back home and was hiding upstairs when the police showed up and told his mother that Harold had been killed in a blast. Upon receiving the news, his mother very dramatically swooned (into the arms of the police, IIRC).
ETA: Here is is from the script:
Just came to say that even though the book was based on the movie, and not vice versa, I really prefer the book. It doesn’t hurt that I read the book first. That sort of dreary 70s ennui is much more pleasurable in book form. I saw the movie years later and was kind of underwhelmed. It’s good, but it’s not great. The book (I haven’t read it now for probably 20 years – so this is based on nostalgia tinged memory, FWIW) was pretty great, if short. In fact I need to see if I can scrounge up my old copy or find a new one to read again.
Ha! That’s exactly how I feel every time I see a musical. And I’m so literal or so non-fictiony or something that it always annoys me. I remember seeing Evita, and it was like, [ music] She~sang every word~and so did he.~ I~did not~care~for it. [/music ]
I love the scene in which Sunshine Dore, his third computer date and not nearly as bright as her name might imply, immediately sees through his staging. Harold is a bright kid with lots of money, some imagination, lots of time on his hands, and some talent for building and mechanics (great customizing he did on the Jaguar hearse). His “suicide” are the result of lots of planning and some understanding of the magicians art and stagecraft. The opening hanging it very easily done with a harness (though the type of harness used for stage hanging has completely changed since then after a couple people sustained very serious injury with the one Bud Cort would have used). we don’t know how long his face was down in the water during the drowning, and the pistol wasn’t pointed at himself.
I don’t have a copy of the novel handy, but I do remember it goes into more detail about how Maude survives going down the chute. It was not an accident or an improv but something that had been carefully rehearsed and planned in advance. There are also deleted scenes from the movie that have never been made available if they still exist; some may have dealt with the mechanics.
*Ellen Geer is the daughter of Will “Grandpa Walton” Geer whose outdoor theater she inherited and continues to operate. A few years ago she did a stage production of H&M in which she played Maude.