“We haven’t got time to be sensible.”

In THE GANG’S ALL HERE there are some pretty unusual lines of dialogue. A representative smattering:

“Ah, Meester Potty!”

“You do very well what you do-do.”

“If you don’t cut that out the censor will.”

“Well, my roses aren’t any too fond of YOU.”

“I go in for no foolishness.”

“Thank you very very nice.”

“Well, old swoopy, swapping swoops at your age?”

“How about a nice mint jalopy?”

“There’s your Sgt. Crazy, and I wash my face of the whole business.”

Fiona didn’t like the film, finding the plot too diaphanous. While we’re used to the idea that musicals are not big on story, in fact most of them rely on pretty strong narrative spines — to hold the songs together if nothing else. But TGAH starts off almost like a revue, with one number after another separated only by vague comedy skits and no early sign of a central plot problem at all. It does eventually arrive, but it never actually MATTERS. I didn’t mind so much — most of the Berkeley musical acid-trips to beyond infinity are very good, and have that weirdness which is my very favourite thing about his work.

But the funniest thing of all is a scene in a car where Carmen Miranda has almost no lines but she’s in shot the whole time, so she must engage in THE ART OF LISTENING:

Every molecule of her being strains with the sheer effort of being interested what in anyone less fabulous is doing or saying.