1776 (1972)

          Adapted from the 1969 Broadway show of the same name, 1776is an epic-length musical about the Second Continental Congress, the fractious delegation that represented the American colonies during the Revolutionary War and eventually ratified the Declaration of Independence, thus severing the U.S. from Great Britain. While producer Jack L. Warner (a founder of the studio that bears his family’s name) is to be commended for bringing such historically important subject matter to the screen—and for allowing his collaborators to treat the material intelligently—the movie is a lumbering beast.

          Running various lengths owing to changes made during its original release and reissues (the most widely available version runs about three hours), the movie has a strange rhythm, with long stretches performed as straight drama without music. Furthermore, some determinations of when characters should burst into song make little sense. At its most unfocused, the picture stops dead for “He Plays the Violin,” a love ballad sung by Thomas Jefferson’s wife (Blythe Danner) about her husband’s sexual prowess. Still, there’s almost as much interesting stuff in the movie as there is pointless nonsense like “He Plays the Violin.”

          The main storyline involves John Adams (William Daniels)—who is portrayed, unwisely, as an overbearing snob—trying to ram the idea of independence down the throats of his Continental Congress colleagues, particularly those from Southern states. The film’s best number, “But, Mr. Adams,” features Adams and others, including Benjamin Franklin (Howard Da Silva), dumping the chore of writing the Declaration onto a nobly self-sacrificing Jefferson (Ken Howard). During this scene, the filmmakers combine clever choreography, rousing music, and witty lyrics into purposeful satire. Many noteworthy sequences, however, are bereft of songcraft. After all, revered playwright/screenwriter Peter Stone (Charade) wrote the book for the stage musical and the screenplay for the film, and his dialogue is generally quite choice. For instance, the spirited floor debates that Stone renders, which were inspired by the memoirs of Continental Congressmen, feature charged exchanges about capitalism, elitism, monarchism, and—the thorniest subject of all—slavery.

          Had Warner’s team mercilessly cut the show down to, say, two hours, they could have zeroed in on the essential drama of forming “a more perfect union.” As it stands, for every potent moment—the song “Cool, Cool, Considerate Men” is a savage number about right-wing politics, and the harrowing “Molasses to Rum” skewers Northerners for their hypocritical attitude toward slavery—there are a dozen scenes that serve no important purpose. Furthermore, except for the catchy “But, Mr. Adams,” Sherman Edwards’ music is generally mediocre; his melodies are labored, and his taste for operatic grandiosity is tiresome.

          And in terms of generating audience engagement, the movie also badly wants for a strong sympathetic performance. Daniels is far too prickly to serve as a leading man for an epic musical, Da Silva’s penchant for cheap comedy is undignified even though he lands a few successful jokes, and Howard is simply too vanilla. In fact, the performers who come off best are bad guys John Cullum and Donald Madden, playing two obstinate Southern representatives. When the strongest players in a story about the formation of America portray characters opposed the formation of America, that’s a sign something is awry.

1776: FUNKY

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974)

          A clever and funny hostage picture with an offbeat setting and an even more offbeat protagonist, the 1974 version of The Taking of Pelham One Two Three is vastly superior to the 2009 remake starring John Travolta and Denzel Washington. Whereas the latter picture is frenetic and slick, Joseph Sargent’s ’70s version mixes expertly orchestrated suspense with amusingly grumpy Noo Yawk character flourishes. In fact, The Taking of Pelham One Two Three achieves that most difficult of balancing acts by intermingling danger and humor so that scenes are often jittery and droll at the same time. The title relates to the hijacking of an NYC subway train by a group of middle-aged terrorists whom we get to know by code names: Ice-blooded mastermind “Mr. Blue” (Robert Shaw), trigger-happy gunman “Mr. Grey” (Hector Elizondo), avuncular driver “Mr. Green” (Martin Balsam), and accomplice “Mr. Brown” (Earl Hindman). These four take over a train and communicate their demand for $1 million via radio to the New York Transit Authority, threatening to kill hostages on a regular basis if the city fails to meet a ransom deadline. This puts the crooks at odds with Lt. Zachary Garber (Walter Matthau), a sarcastic, seen-it-all cop with the Transit Authority’s police force.

          Many of the beats in this story, which was adapted from a novel by John Godey, are standard stuff for hostage pictures: The political machinations of the mayor as he contemplates paying the ransom; the revelation that one of the hostages is an undercover cop; the tricky games Garber plays to buy time; and so on. It’s the execution, however, that makes all the difference. The great playwright/screenwriter Peter Stone delivers Godey’s pulpy narrative with what can only be described as effervescence. While Stone ensures that violent scenes have genuine tension, he threads the script with dry one-liners and pithy dialogue exchanges. In particular, Stone does wonders with the radio conversations between Garber and “Mr. Blue”—the adversaries pick at each other like bickering spouses, a vibe underlined by the contrast between Matthau’s put-upon petulance and Shaw’s tightly contained rage. (Another of the film’s many effective running jokes involves Garber giving a tour of the Transit Authority’s facilities to visiting Japanese dignitaries on the day the hijacking happens; wait for the terrific punchline after watching Garber make a series of offensive remarks to his seemingly oblivious guests.)

          Sargent keeps his camerawork nimble, exploiting the atmosphere of gritty locations, and he benefits from the hard-edged imagery of master New York cinematographer Owen Roizman (The French Connection). Adding to the entertaining verisimilitude is a cavalcade of salty New York character actors: In addition to Balsam, Elizondo, and Matthau, the picture features Kenneth McMillan, Dick O’Neill, Doris Roberts, and Tony Roberts. Balsam and Elizondo are memorable as, respectively, a schmuck who gets involved in something he can’t handle and a psycho who gets off on carrying a gun. Best of all, of course, is the movie’s exciting final act, which features a series of unexpected climaxes stacked upon each other—the conclusion of The Taking of Pelham One Two Threemanages to pay off every subplot meticulously and satisfyingly.

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three: GROOVY