The Explanation
(for those who require one)

And, of course, that is what all of this is -- all of this: the one song, ever changing, ever reincarnated, that speaks somehow from and to and for that which is ineffable within us and without us, that is both prayer and deliverance, folly and wisdom, that inspires us to dance or smile or simply to go on, senselessly, incomprehensibly, beatifically, in the face of mortality and the truth that our lives are more ill-writ, ill-rhymed and fleeting than any song, except perhaps those songs -- that song, endlesly reincarnated -- born of that truth, be it the moon and June of that truth, or the wordless blue moan, or the rotgut or the elegant poetry of it. That nameless black-hulled ship of Ulysses, that long black train, that Terraplane, that mystery train, that Rocket '88', that Buick 6 -- same journey, same miracle, same end and endlessness."
-- Nick Tosches, Where Dead Voices Gather

Movie of the Week #18

Sing, Bing, Sing
(Babe Stafford; 1933)

There's a lot of things one can say about Sing, Bing, Sing: You can say it's a perfect showcase for the formidable song stylings of Bing Crosby at the height of his powers; the last film Produced by Mack Sennett to carry a lone echo of Keystone (though I personally prefer Frank Tuttle's faux-Rene Clair work in 1932's The Big Broadcast); the only opportunity one may ever get to see how Franklin Pangborn wielded a shotgun.

All of it is true.

But above all, you can say with great confidence that Sing, Bing, Sing is one of the strangest Musicals ever made.

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