Yes, this is a repost, and yes, I'm being lazy. I wrote this a couple of years ago. At the moment I'm still adjusting to a people-free apartment (it's so quiet-- I live like this all the time, really?) and missing the wonderful people that stayed with me last week (though they left so much of their stuff behind, I'm questioning whether they really left, or just pretended to). So hopefully I'll be able to start blogging much more regularly, as that was my last major vacation-type week for awhile.
People seemed to like my Little Mermaid analysis, so without further ado, I give you my interpretation of...
The Greatest Nanny In The World!
I'm watching Mary Poppins right now. (This is how one spends one's Saturday night when one has no life.) It came up randomly in my Netflix queue. I haven't seen this movie in years. It's incredibly funny, although I'm pretty sure that everyone involved was on acid.
I think my favorite scene so far is the one where the top-tier bankers in the (to be specific) Dawes, Tomes, Mousley, Grubbs Fidelity Fiduciary Bank-- who apparently have nothing better to do all day-- try to convince a six year old how much money he can make by investing tuppence in the bank.
Or maybe the one where Bert pulls the crotch of his pants so low he bears a startling resemblance to a modern-day rapper. (He did this so he could blend in better while dancing with penguins. I'm sure that made a lot of sense at the time, but I don't think this look is ever going to catch on, do you?)
Of course there was the scene where the openly gay man (were men allowed to be gay in 1910?) with a lisp couldn't stop laughing, resulting in levitation. I've had a giggle fit or two in my day but they have never ended in me having a tea party next to the chandelier. That is only because I am not as cool as Mary Poppins, though.
Speaking of the lady herself, she may have been the "dream nanny" and all that, but I think she had rather questionable morals. First she uses her godlike power to send a special wind to blow her competition away. The old biddies waiting outside the door of the Banks mansion were probably living on steps of St. Paul's Cathedral trying to scrape a living by feeding the birds, just wanting to make a life for themselves, and you notice that the movie is never real clear on where, exactly, they're blown away to?
Next she uses her snake-charming hypnosis talent to convince Mr. Banks that no one else would have been suitable anyway (the bump on the head probably didn't help matters). Then she takes these highly impressionable, apparently retarded youngsters and makes them witness her nauseating flirtation with a guy that she met on the street one time. Then she sets up the aforementioned Mr. Banks to lose his job so that the children would hate him and end up on the street in the end anyway. (No worries for her, she lives in clouds with any furniture or possessions she might require in a carpetbag.) Bitch.
Also, she leads a cult. All of the imaginary characters (they seem to disappear after the scene in question is over) worship her. Don't know about you, but I've never had 100 people (and animals) sing the following to me with quite this level of feeling:
"When the day is gray and ordinary, Mary makes the sun shine bright! When Mary holds your hand, you feel so grand, your heart starts beating like a big brass band! It's a jolly holiday with Mary, no wonder that it's Mary that we love!"
Actually, none of the women in this movie seem too keen on actually looking out for the children's best interests. I don't have children myself, so I can't say for sure, but it seems to me that if you are a normal mother, living in a city with two children, and those children are supposed to be with their father, when they instead show up at the door with a strange man covered in soot who never stops singing, you are going to have some questions. You are going to be curious, maybe a little upset. You are probably NOT going to say, "I have to go to my little meeting. Why don't you look after the children, sir [I don't even know your name, and it doesn't really matter]? You've been so kind in bringing them home." Bert-- for of course, the soot-covered man is he-- appears to move in after this.
Mind you, this particular mother is about as empty-headed and Stepford-parrotlike as they come, accepting it without question when she comes back home a couple of hours later to find at least 50 men also covered in soot singing, dancing, and generally gallivanting through her living room.
On the whole, I'd say this movie dampened my enthusiasm about one day living in London. Granted, it might be fun to hang out with a bunch of West Side Story rejects who tap dance on roofs while singing "Flap like a birdie! Step in time!" but the ever-dependable chorus of "Chim chiminee, chim chiminee, chim chim cheroo!" would drive me to drink in a matter of hours. It's worse than "It's A Small World."
But I suppose anything makes sense when most problems in the world can be solved with unemployment and a talking umbrella. When your supercalifragilisticexpialidocious nanny is Practically Perfect In Every Way. (Oh, speaking of her self-ascribed attribute, I almost forgot-- MP is narcissistic as well. What, her special measuring tape just happens to point out everyone else's flaws, but her height shows that she has none of her own, plus her full name in prettier script? Where do you think she got that special measuring tape?)