The Film Musical That Snuck Up on Gen-X

Every few years it seems, some head-in-the-clouds dreamer tries to relaunch the return of the Hollywood musical (the kind that stars humans, not cartoon characters).

Woody Allen tried it with “Everybody Says I Love You”; Madonna gave it her best shot with “Evita.”

But this summer, audiences are responding to an old-fashioned romantic comedy musical that is not even being billed as such--”My Best Friend’s Wedding.”

A musical? Indeed, and one of the “Singin’ in the Rain”-variety in which ordinary folk mirthfully break into song in a seafood restaurant over brunch, or dance a melancholy waltz on a barge on Lake Michigan, or overcome their shyness by leading a rousing version of “I Just Don’t Know What to Do With Myself” in a karaoke bar.

Of course the secret to a successful musical is getting the audience to buy that it’s perfectly natural to see people singing and dancing their hearts out on-screen. But since at least the end of the 1950s, filmmakers have had a harder time getting audiences to make that leap into a fantasy world. The most successful movie musicals in recent decades have been adapted from well-known Broadway shows--”Cabaret,” “Annie,” “Grease.”

Now along comes a charming film featuring four staggeringly attractive leads, about that most American of vanities--a big, expensive summer wedding, and the audiences flock. It’s a showcase for the comedic talents of uber-star Julia Roberts, and is wisely being touted as such by distributor TriStar Pictures. But plunk down your $7.50 and--gotcha! You’re watching an old-fashioned American musical; and you’re liking it.

(P.J. Hogan has done a better job remaking “The Philadelphia Story” as a musical than Charles Walters did with “High Society.”)

And it’s not the baby boomers who are making this movie a hit, it is we baby busters, the 18- to 35-year-olds, male and female, who are apparently making this movie one of the most successful romantic comedies of all time.

But why do we like it so much? Aren’t we supposed to be the generation that would rather be getting our navels pierced or drowning our sorrows in a demitasse of double espresso? Why are we swarming theaters to watch a vindictive, man-eating restaurant critic (Roberts) try to steal her beloved sportswriter best friend (Dermot Mulroney) away from his betrothed, a spoiled but super-sweet heiress (Cameron Diaz), while the food critic’s other best friend, a debonair gay editor (Rupert Everett) runs interference?

We can’t relate to these people. We don’t even want to . . . do we? Maybe we of Generation X do wish we had more Grace Kellys and Cary Grants and Doris Days and Gene Kellys among us. Maybe, when we’re not mourning the glum future of Social Security, we wish we could break into song. Maybe the three-minute musicals of MTV and VH1 aren’t enough of an escape for us anymore.

Studios, call them what you will: romantic comedies, throwbacks or even, gasp, musicals. Just give us more.