Return "Letters to Juliet" to Sender: Remembering a Forgotten Classic

Another victory this week for the Nicholas Sparksian refuse that seems to be getting more and more popular with movie audiences every year: the release of Letters to Juliet, which, from what I've seen and read, is just another overly sentimental dung heap casting a trendy actress (in this case, Amanda Seyfried, from Jennifer's Body-- I hesitate to use that seven-letter "a" word) in some sort of gorgeous foreign locale with a new reworking of the same plot we've seen zillions and zillions of times before.

One definite pro about the film: it casts, as an older couple longing to be reunited, the great Vanessa Redgrave and the... well, Franco Nero. For those of you who have no exposure to the classics, Redgrave and Nero, 43 years ago, starred in a movie about love and longing that was actually good, but one which was eviscerated by critics and passed over by the paying audience.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, I transport you to the year 1967 for your cultural edification. Today's lesson is about Camelot.

Seven years prior, Frederick Loewe and Alan Jay Lerner (My Fair Lady, Brigadoon) had yet another success on Broadway with a quirky re-working of the Arthurian legend, primarily dealing with the Arthur/Guenevere/Lancelot love triangle. While critics weren't thoroughly pleased with it (criticizing mainly the book while lauding the songs), it was quite popular and gave Richard Burton his first and only musical stage role (as King Arthur), and the last for Julie Andrews (Guenevere) before she became a movie star.

So when The Sound of Music was released in 1965, becoming the most successful film up to its time, every studio in Hollywood began looking for a musical of equal scope and depth to surpass its popularity. That includes Warner Brothers, whose notoriously gruff chieftain, Jack Warner, had recently had a huge success of his own with the film version of Lerner and Loewe's My Fair Lady. Believing the songwriting duo had what it took to keep audiences happy, he bet an obscene amount of money on a spectacular adaptation of their Camelot with a revamped script and a more memorable rendition of the score.

Unfortunately for the studio, the public wasn't too impressed with their casting decisions, among other things. Not one face from the original Broadway cast returned. Richard Harris (who later in his life would originate the role of Dumbledore in the Harry Potter films) played the King, Vanessa Redgrave, already an accomplished and beautiful British star, was Guenevere, and relative newcomer Franco Nero (who couldn't sing) was Lancelot.

Nor was the audience happy with the songs that got the axe-- admittedly extraneous but beloved songs like "Before I Gaze at You Again," "Fie on Goodness," and Mordred's only solo, "The Seven Deadly Virtues." Critics harped on the superficial excesses of the film-- the extravagant costumes, the apparently tacky-looking sets, and even, in some cases, the makeup-- then turned around and calling it empty spectacle. Pretty big irony coming from people who never looked past the surface.

And so, like King Arthur himself, Camelot faded into vanished memory, an expensive but unpopular venture. Jack Warner left the studio he helped build, and the only other notable film he ever produced was 1776.

But after the movie musical genre went kaput, there grew in number the legions of wistful fans longing for a return to the dignity and intelligence they represented. Now, dignity and intelligence Camelot has to spare. Harris and Redgrave are incredible in their roles, and Gene Merlino does an excellent job singing for Nero. Lionel Jeffries is hilarious as the goofy Pellinore and Laurence Naismith a fascinating, but scarce, Merlyn. The instrumental sections of the music-- handled by the legendary Alfred Newman-- sound ten times better than those from the stage show. And without the movie, the song "If Ever I Would Leave You" would have died soon after the sixties passed.

My point is, it's incredible that Redgrave and Nero (who are now, apparently, married-- take that, critics who said they had no chemistry on screen) are on the big screen together again. But in a world that already includes this forgotten masterpiece (or near-masterpiece, anyway), why would they stoop so low?

I weep for the future of film... but its past is alive and well as long as we think about movies like this.