Canção do Sol da Meia Noite

Ignoring the scathingly critical reviews for this bomb, I paid admission to the Cinerama Dome Theater in Hollywood, California during its first-run engagement because I knew that the 70mm/stereo presentation at that theater, especially designed for the viewing of big-screen extravaganzas, would be optimal. Norway is a country I have always wanted to visit and the agony of viewing this film was insufficient to lessen that lifelong dream. But what a nightmare it was! I note that Frank Porretta, listed in the credits, had appeared in a stage production of "The Song of Norway" in Los Angeles and he had received special praise for his expressive singing and masculine stage presence. But you will note that his filmography consists of just this one title. Talk about the proverbial "Kiss of Death"!

The only clear memory I have of that evening's experience at the Cinerama Dome were the loud and ecstatic exclamations emanating from some poor soul in the audience, unprovoked, as far as I could tell, by anything happening on the massively curved screen. She sat off to the side and her outbursts were the prime source of entertainment as the film's lengthy reels unspooled. Management did not eject her, perhaps because she sat through every showing, considerably boosting the meager box-office receipts. Her overwhelming pleasure, I shall always prefer to think, was, perhaps, due to her longing to revisit (I'm presuming here) her native Norway, this film's handsomest attribute.

Florence Henderson's karma must have been extraordinarily good, since her role as the matriarch on TV's long-running and insanely popular family sitcom, "The Brady Bunch," began its hold on the hearts and minds of so many American moppets while coinciding with the theatrical release of this surefire career-killer. She must be a tolerant soul for, were I to enjoy the residuals which must flood her bank account year after year during the syndication of "The Brady Bunch," I'd have long ago investigated the cost of permanently suppressing all evidence of this turkey.

Critically-lambasted musical adaptation of the successful play regarding the early years of Norwegian pianist/composer Edvard Greig (played by Toralv Maurstad, a Bruce Davison lookalike with oddly shaped eyes). Grieg--initially a rowdy scamp in the 1860s who pined after a lovely girl from a prominent family while trying to get his sonnets published--found himself frustratingly without a benefactor or any professional engagements in which to showcase his work, later marrying his cousin and barely scraping by giving piano lessons. For the most part, writer-director Andrew L. Stone has crafted a not uninteresting, frequently engaging romp with several intentionally funny asides and endearingly klutzy musical numbers. The on-location shooting in Norway and Denmark is lovely, even if the cinematography in general is poor and the editing mediocre. Frank Porretta is a robust presence as fellow composer Richard Nordraak (who sings to the heavens and, at one point, directly to Edvard while seated in a restaurant!). Yet, just about the time Grieg is gaining some prominence for his hard work, the narrative (loose to begin with) gets all balled up, with too many tragedies coming to a head at once. This patchy third-act, punctuated by a myriad of nature shots and sunsets, doesn't allow the viewer any emotional satisfaction, and the finale is flat. More genuine style and gloss was required, and classical purists will probably scoff, however the picture has a lively beginning. Results are far from terrible. ** from ****

SONG OF NORWAY is an unbearably dull musical pastiche of clichés heard in every musical ever made that purported to be the saga of a composer's struggles to find recognition for his music. Edvard Grieg's struggles are so dull as to be non-stop in this awful compilation of Norwegian scenery by the truckload with no story to carry it.

It is notable that the man who plays Grieg, TORALV MAURSTAD, never did make another American film, so disastrous were the reviews and box-office for this dull saga. Note also that FLORENCE HENDERSON was not able to make another film in Hollywood but went directly to television and stayed there for a very successful run on "The Brady Bunch". See the film and you will judge yourself why it was an abject failure. And don't be fooled by the presence of OSKAR HOMOLKA, EDWARD G. ROBINSON and ROBERT MORLEY in the cast. They have little or nothing to do.

Music lovers may be enchanted by Grieg's works, but not the way they are presented here. Nor is there any resemblance between the zestful SOUND OF MUSIC and its picturesque way of dealing with the Von Trapp Singers and this dull as dishwater musical that would work better as a travelogue of Norway with the plot excised.

See it at your own risk.

I had great expectations when this film opened with beautiful scenery and masterful cinematography. Norway is truly spectacular. I thought it would be very refreshing to watch a film that didn't rely on special effects, but sorrowfully my expectations soon gave way to mind boggling reality.

The pacing was slow, the dialogue was forced, "real" reactions were practically nonexistent, even from the stand-ins, kids, dancers and supporting actors who were used more like set pieces than human beings. The directorial style was old fashioned Rome opera. Traditionally in Rome, the singers rarely move. They just plant their feet and sing, and the chorus is draped around them. The sound is great, but the dramatic elements are totally sublimated to the music. I think they tried to do the same here, but what's good for Rome sure ain't good for the movies! Frank Porretta as Richard Nordraak touches me with his gorgeous voice, and he reads well on screen, but his character, like the rest, lacked any depth.

Once footage was "in the can" scenes were chopped up like confetti. Smooth transitions, probably 86'd for the sake of the score, were the first to go. Our "suspension of disbelief" was shattered continually. The sound was also very uneven, and the choreography was quite stilted and cloned from just about any Rogers and Hammerstein film. "Production numbers" just meant more people on stage, crammed into boxcars if necessary, and "don't let them move around too much". oi. They even teamed Florence Henderson up with a gang of "cute kids" who had absolutely no personalities, and had her stomp through the town singing ala "Sound of Music". Nothing worked.

How Edward G. Robinson managed to retain his dignity in this horrible flick is a total mystery. The leading men might have done well as characters in "Mr. Ripley" if only their makeup had been feathered into the hairlines. Florence was lovely and animated and saved the day as best as she could. The costumes were obviously high budget as was the film itself, but budget alone could not save this unfortunate disaster.

I saw this as a little kid taking piano lessons and loving Grieg's music. (That was in San Francisco - maybe I saw it at the same theater, the Paramount, as one of our earlier commenters?) All of 10 years old, I enjoyed it thoroughly. I suppose I wasn't a great judge of acting at that point, or of cinema in general (it was probably the third or fourth theatrical film I'd seen in my life at that point). So it was basically the music, voices, and scenery I was chewing on. I hadn't even heard the name "Carol Brady" then.

Haven't seen the film since, but I just wonder ... terrible compared to what? The soundtrack (a few cuts I have on a Grieg compilation) is miles better than the nursery-rhymes in Sound of Music, and for the most part the transliterated lyrics aren't a travesty. Florence Henderson doesn't make me gag any more than Julie Andrews or any other too-clean-and-scrubbed actor in the business. And what's wrong with casting an actual Norwegian as Grieg instead of ... I dunno, from the same era ... George Peppard? The movie even had a nice animated sequence for the kids.

Song of Norway was unlucky enough to arrive at the absolute tail end of the road-show-spectacular era of movie musicals, and I'm sure a lot of critics just had indigestion by that point, following Paint Your Wagon (with a singing, dancing Clint Eastwood!), Camelot (a singing, non-dancing Richard Harris!), The Happiest Millionaire (a singing, dancing Fred MacMurray!), and Darling Lili (Dame Julie's nadir). So what's so much worse about Song of Norway?

Got something against Scandinavian composers?!