Godhead

A stream of bad news has made my ever-surly mood even surlier, and I need a break. So let's take advantage of this blog's policy of posting the occasional non-political piece on weekends. Thanks to the wonders of You Tube, I have compiled some of my favorite musical numbers on the theme of religion.

After all, today is Sunday.


Even though I haven't seen it for many years, one of my favorite films is Fellini's 1957 masterpiece Nights of Cabiria. Yet I somehow managed to miss -- until quite recently -- Sweet Charity, the Americanized, musicalized 1969 remake directed by Bob Fosse in a style more reminiscent of Fellini '69 than Fellini '57.

In the original, our heroine -- a whore whose heart is both golden and all-too-breakable -- finds herself wandering through a mondo-bizarro Catholic procession. The cognate sequence in Sweet Charity involves Sammy Davis Jr. as the leader of San Francisco's strangest new religion, which Charity's dweebish boyfriend discovers through the Church-of-the-Month Club. In real life, ironically enough, Sammy had joined San Francisco's most notorious cult -- and bonus points go to the first reader who can name it.

This song boasts one of my favorite couplets: "And the voice said 'Daddy, there's a million pigeons/Waiting to be hooked on new religions..." When you think about it, the phrase "Hit the floor and crawl to Daddy!" bottom lines the message delivered by every preacher who ever lived.

The tune is catchy, Sammy is great, and the zombie congregants are hilarious -- but the real reason I keep watching this number is sheer nostalgia. The Austin Powers films may try to capture a 1968-69 vibe, but here we have the real thing. That period was marked by war, riots, assassinations, daily tensions -- and yet I'd sacrifice five years of my life to spend just one week back then.

I wonder if today's young folk will one day feel a similar nostalgia toward 2007?


Three years before Mel Gibson had a go at the story, this remake of Jesus Christ Superstar reconceived the Passion as a gay BDSM spectacle.

The standout here is Fred Johanson as Reichsmarshall Pilate. He has -- let us quickly acknowledge -- a terrific voice. He also chews more scenery in 30 seconds than Godzilla stomped over the course of a dozen films. This guy makes Bill Shatner look like a statue.

If you watch this scene under the right circumstances (around 1 A.M., after you've knocked back a couple of beers), you may declare it the most side-splitting cultural artifact since the Spear of Longinus. The earlier encounter with Pilate is even more...er...flamboyant. Ecce homo!


Man, I really hate Godspell. I hate the music, I hate the concept, and I hate the 1973 film version in which a troupe of clowns enact the Greatest Story in a mysteriously vacant New York City. I hate the way this film is directed. I hate the edited-by-Homer-Simpson bits in fast motion. I hate the flat cinematography and the sloppy zooms. I hate all of these things with that special, seething, snarling, howling, hollering hatred that can offer a lifetime of satisfaction.

But this number...well, actually, I kind of like it.

And even if you hate this song, watch it through to the end. If the last few shots don't make your jaw drop, it's undroppable.


Mr. Laurel and Mr. Hardy achieve Cosmic Consciousness. As a demonstration of music's ability to immanentize the eschaton, this scene can be compared only with the finale of Bruckner's Fourth Symphony as conducted by Sergiu Celibidache.