Peter H. Hunt, 1972
I was completely obsessed with this musical when I was about fourteen -- played the CD (remember those, kids?) endlessly. And, looking at this film, it's not hard to see why. The songs are catchy in a poppy, Schoolhouse Rock kind of way, and the lyrics are very nerdy-word: it's not everday that you see "Connecticut" rhymed with "etiquette" and "predicate."
But the real reason for 1776's appeal is that its central conceit is an utterly charming one: that our founding fathers were not august demigods, but a bunch of drunkards, horndogs and egotists -- impassioned, intelligent, but undeniably human. And that comes shining through in this adaptation.
The only problem, filmically speaking, is that most of the action takes place within the Congressional hall, which doesn't make for the most visually interesting picture. There is some fancy weaving camera movement, which livens things up a bit, and the outside scenes are lively enough. But there's no denying it lags a bit.
Nonetheless, the film is carried on the backs of some strong departments. Though Ken Howard's Tom Jefferson is virtually a nonentity, this is more due to the script than anything in his performance. The plum role here is Benjamin Franklin, and Howard Da Silva really makes it sing. He's like your naughty uncle, generous and wise, but also pithy and a bit perverse. William Daniels, who plays John Adams, became known to a subsequent generation as Mr. Feeney from Boy Meets World, but even if that's where you know him from, it still works. That clipped, crisp New England diction plays overwhelmingly to his favor, and he's got a wonderful pugnacious quality that suits the man so soften described as "obnoxious and disliked."
I picked up an interesting tidbit from the introduction on Turner Classic Movies. Before it was released, producer Jack Warner screened it for then president Richard Nixon. He apparently objected to certain segments, including the musical number "Cool, Cool Considerate Men." One presumes this was because it equates political conservativism with a position that, in retrospect, seems un-American, that of opposing independence. Although excising that number, as Warner subsequently did (iy's since been restored) doesn't really eliminate that problem. Maybe old Tricky Dick just didn't like the idea of his political ancestors dancing around foppishly.
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