Heart-tugging memories of yesteryears have a nice way of barging into lives held hostage by the news of the day, mine included.
Surfing channels the other day, I was surprised when out popped Julie Andrews and The Sound of Music. I couldn't help but be propelled away from the execrable Abu Sayyaf, the wet and humid weather and the collapsing peso -- all the way back to the magical innocence of the Lost Sixties.
Julie, like Liz Taylor, was being "knighted" by the Queen of England and, of course, the two movie icons looked like dolled-up grandmothers trying to evoke long-departed youth and glamor. Liz hobbled about with the help of attendants, Julie flashed her patented Maria smile.
My escapist fantasies quickly scuttled Liz of the violet eyes, once the world's most beautiful and most wedded woman, and latched on to Julie, patron saint of all good boys and good girls and their loving nannies.
For baby boomers now pushing into their 40s and 50s, Julie can't be beat as the quintessential mother figure who's all sweetness and light and, more important, one who can sing (and get you singing along with her) all the cares of the world away.
Who, for instance, can ever forget Julie as the novice nun romping amongst the edelweiss and wild flowers of the Austrian Alps, trailed by her adoring Captain Von Trapp and his adorable seven children, all of them in glorious voice, as they make their lucky escape from the evil Nazis?
Apart from the title song, the 1965 film of a World War II family saga includes eternally hummable hits like My Favorite Things, Sixteen Going on Seventeen, Climb Every Mountain, Edelweiss, Do Re Mi, etc.
Julie will always be Maria and vice versa. Never mind if she was also the original Eliza Doolittle in the much-acclaimed musicale My Fair Lady, a role that was given, some say unfairly, to Audrey Hepburn in the movie version. Never mind, too, if she was Mary Poppins in another supercalifragelisticexpialidocious blockbuster of the same charmed decade before the Vietnam War put an end to western innocence.
Harder to imagine is that Julie reportedly has lost her singing voice, the result of a botched throat operation a few years ago.
But on celluloid, the newly minted Dame of the British Empire lives on as love and duty incarnate, down to the gawky nun and nanny clothes, the sparkling pearly white teeth and heavenly coloratura of a voice.
Perhaps it's no coincidence that the hottest ticket of the season in London is a sing-along version of The Sound of Music.
Some say Buckingham Palace could have taken its cues to honor Julie at this time from the media event that has lately been unfolding over at the Prince Charles Theater off Leicester Square. Many fans who gather there for the Sunday afternoon show come dressed like their favorite characters in the movie -- nuns in black-and-white habits, Nazis in jackboots, goatherds in lederhosen, and some people dressed as "brown paper packages tied up with strings" ("These are a few of my favorite things," so goes the familiar lyrics).
What they pay for P670 per ticket includes audience participation in and out of the theater. The movie has been subtitled, karaoke style, with song lyrics and everybody sing along with the characters on the screen. People stand up and take bows when the favorite part they came dressed for comes up. Thus, dozens of "girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes" materialize out of the darkness for their 15 seconds of fame.
It's a scene reminiscent of the 1970s cult film The Rocky Horror Show -- except that Julie's fans represent the wholesome family crowd compared to the black leather set of the London and New York demi-monde.
The London engagement has been so successful that it has been replicated in 20 other British cities. Late this summer, this karaoke The Sound of Music is due to open in a theater in New York City and then begin a tour of repertory movie houses across the United States.
My own recall of The Sound of Music brings me back to the good old days when I was fresh from Mindanao. Before multiplex theaters and videotapes, there was such a thing as a first-run movie that was shown only in one first-run theater along Avenida Rizal. If it's a box-office hit, you really have to line up for hours or wait weeks or months on end for your turn.
Dragged along by a much older cousin, I and this bratty little cousin of ours joined the early morning line at the Ever Theater. We were bent on leaving the kid behind but she begged and promised to behave. It took hours waiting outside and another hour to grab seats in that jampacked theater. Just as we were settled in our seats and raring to concentrate on the movie, the little girl blurted out: "I wanna go home!"
My big cousin and I instantly flashed our collective fury, pinching the terrified girl to her senses. She wisely shut up. The next two hours was pure cinematic heaven.
Nelson A. Navarro's e-mail address: <noslen11@yahoo.com>