Dorothy Gale is swept away from a farm in Kansas to a magical land of Oz in a tornado and embarks on a quest with her new friends to see the Wizard who can help her return home in Kansas and help her friends as well.
Pompous phonetics professor Henry Higgins is so sure of his abilities that he takes it upon himself to transform a Cockney working-class girl into someone who can pass for a cultured member of high society. His subject turns out to be the lovely Eliza Doolittle, who agrees to speech lessons to improve her job prospects. Higgins and Eliza clash, then form an unlikely bond -- one that is threatened by an aristocratic suitor. Written by
Robert Coote was nominated for the 1962 Tony Award (New York City) for Supporting or Features Actor in a Musical for "My Fair Lady" for his role as Col. Pickering and recreated that role in the 1976 Broadway revival. See more »
When Higgins first asks Eliza to recite the verse, "In Hertford, Hereford..." and he makes the mirror rotate, you can see the camera and the crew at times as it is reflected in the mirror. See more »
[sounds from crowd, occasionally a word or phrase, indistinct and mostly not associated with a character]
Don't just stand there, Freddy, go and find a cab.
All right, I'll get it, I'll get it.
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In the posters, playbills and the original cast album for the stage version of "My Fair Lady", the credits always read "based on Bernard Shaw's 'Pygmalion' ", letting the audience know what play "My Fair Lady" was actually adapted from. The movie credits simply read "from a play by Bernard Shaw". See more »
Now, what do we call someone who judges other human souls by what clothes they wear, whether their subjects and verbs agree, who they know and what their houses look like? That is right: a shallow, pretentious, snobby philistine. What bothers me is I have to explain this. See, I do not care how many books they put behind him it no more makes him an intellectual then rows of pizza boxes behind me transform me into spaghetti. The man is an misogynistic, pedantic, arrogant fool. Two openly women hating songs that if released today would result in the studio be sued into penury. Gee, think of all the losers who would fail his criteria: Gandhi, Christ, Buddha, Beethoven, Einstein, Edison, you know a bunch of losers according to Higgins. Did everyone enjoy seeing Eliza stalked by that fop in the top hat to the tune: On The Street Where I Get Arrested? There also is the hilarious song about abandoning your wife and children, and being a worthless, drunken bum your whole life. See, words mean things, occasionally get the wax out of your ears and open the dictionary. I swear these imbeciles would adore We Stole Your Money, Idiots, if it came with a catchy tune with lots of woodwinds.
You are kidding me; those painted up fossils, barely conscious, dressed up like draperies with bad hats; those are your paragons you aspire to be? Please, pick other role modes. Did you hear their conversation, how stimulating!! They are and they always shall be the vapid, brainless fops and dames who evoke laughter in all who behold them. I have a brother like this; I do not speak to him, what an embarrassment! Life is not a game of dress up; please, grow the hell up and accomplish something of merit. No, Eliza if we dropped you in that lap of luxury you lust for you would be bored out your mind in two hours. As Arthur Schopenhauer teaches life is a pendulum between need and boredom. All wealth is internal; it cannot be made material and then interiorized, please. No, It Wouldn't Be Lovely. The movie is worthwhile, it teaches one great lesson: How Not To Be.
Look at our teacher, tied to his mom's apron, apparently still breast feeding, lecturing others about his vapid norms of compensation so he can feel better about being such an effeminate, little boy. This is your model: who would heed a word this fool babbled? What because he is wealthy? The intelligence to have or make money is quite separate from knowing what is of value and what is worthless, that is the purview of philosophy. The movie is long beyond belief; it feels like a whole day. You will be submerged in the world of vacuous, superficial snobs who aspire to speak as if they have suffered massive strokes and dress like lampshades. My header captures them quintessentially; existential cotton candy, it evaporates in your mouth. There is nothing there but an empty stage show of compensation for internal poverty.
If you enjoy having an emaciated, bad acting, sack of bones screech out her vowels whilst an effeminate, pedantic, pretentious mama's boy trains her to resemble a walking drapery; hey, congratulations you have found your movie. Believe it or not existential moral evaluation of other human beings should be predicated upon their deeds not their dress or speech. Q.E.D.
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