60 years of 'The Sound of Music'

Express Tribune

03-03-2025

If there is a more iconic film opening than Julie Andrews' Fraulein Maria sprinting up the Austrian Alps with her arms outstretched in The Sound of Music 60 years ago, filmmakers have yet to dream it up.
It is not for lack of trying. Over the years we have witnessed the sun rising over the serengeti horizon as The Circle of Life bursts into being in The Lion King. Just over a couple of decades down the line, we had the most glorious sunny colourful traffic jam in La La Land with irritated motorists leaping out of their cars and perfectly choreographed frustration.
But memorable as they are, neither The Circle of Life nor Another Day of Sun can hope to replace Maria spinning around a mountaintop singing about how the hills are alive with the sound of music. Her voice is crystal clear, her notes pitch perfect, and even her drab nun's outfit looks right at home in those verdant Alps. Although Maria is patently incorrect when she labels them hills. They are definitely solid, respectable mountains.
Looking back 60 years
In terms of plot and rising tension, there is very little The Sound of Music has to offer, unless you throw in the obligatory ominous Nazi uprising in the last quarter of the film. As you recall, we start off with our cheerful albeit errant nun, Maria, dancing across mountain tops until she remembers her services will be required at the abbey she has devoted her life to. Her fellow nuns cannot believe anyone with any sense can be this absent-minded, and pray to God in song format, asking Him how to solve a problem like Maria.
Divine intervention strikes down in the form of a navy captain sick to the back teeth of a parade of nannies (or governesses) unable to wrangle his seven children under control. Our Captain writes to the Reverend Mother of the abbey in despair, asking if she can help. Seizing the opportunity, the Reverend Mother puts in a really good word for Maria, casually glossing over Maria's timekeeping abilities.
Maria cannot believe the Reverend Mother would sell her out like this, but the latter assures her that when the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window. Maria acquiesces with grace and belts out a number about faking confidence en route to the Captain's residence. There, she is appalled to learn that the Captain uses a whistle to summon his children (a whistle that, now that we are adults, can only eye in jealousy). Not a single one of the seven children, ranging in age from 16 to 5, are impressed with Maria, and try their utmost to have her kicked out via the means of frogs, pine cones and the underlying threat of spiders.
However, Maria eventually wins them all over by singing about her favourite things during a thunderstorm, risking the Captain's wrath (which she is largely unbothered by). Although she solemnly promises that she has learned her lesson and will never again make such a hullabaloo under his reign, she goes back on her word almost the second he leaves her room and turns all her curtains into play clothes for the children. With the Captain gratifyingly out of the way for a few days, she takes the children out every day, teaches them to sing and climb trees, and convinces them to win over their father by singing to him.
Upon his return, the Captain is appalled to find the relaxed change in his children's demeanour and horrified to learn that they have been wandering around Salzburg "dressed up in nothing but some old drapes". He dismisses Maria in cold fury after a shouting match in the courtyard, although he takes it back a few moments later after hearing the children sing. He admits abashedly that he 'behaved badly'.
Maria agrees to stay. She and the Captain end up falling hard for each other, but sadly, there is a Baroness in the way that the Captain has promised his heart to. Maria flees back to the abbey, but eventually returns after the Reverend Mother tells her to "climb every mountain". The Baroness knows a lost cause when she sees it and graciously steps aside. As kids, we have almost zero sympathy for this woman, but as adults, we understand her quiet horror at being the mother of seven children she did not birth, and admire her guts at sidestepping the desire to push Maria into the lake. Wedding bells toll, the Nazis show up, and, thanks to some very crafty nuns and a sturdy willingness to scale mountains, our newly married nanny, her captain husband and the seven children under their care are safe from harm's way and begin their new life together. The end.
Cheerful takeaways
Cynical devil's advocates may roll their collective eyes and decree that 60 years down the line, it is time for this nanny musical to slip into obscurity once and for all, but lest you have still not worked it out, cynics are not really the target market for The Sound of Music. Nor, for that matter, was Christopher Plummer, the hapless actor roped in to playing the hard-hearted Captain. Plummer spent most of his time on (and off) set rather unkindly referring to this masterpiece as 'The Sound of Mucus', which perhaps explains how our dear Captain was able to pull off his rather fabulous constipated scowl throughout the first half of the film before getting his comeuppance in a shouting match outside his own house.
Cynics and mucus aside, however, The Sound of Music is the very definition of cheery optimism that sucks you into a different world with its sunlit golden sunlit 'hills', military whistles, abbeys and beige, albeit opulent, mansion. It is a tale of embracing fatherhood, a window into jumping into a new career, and a lesson in how to deal with idiot bosses. It is a testament to the healing power of music, yodelling and puppet shows. It tries to teach us with laser focus and the right equipment, we, too, can transform curtains into clothes.
As for me, Maria's confidence song stood by me in my head throughout a bumpy rickshaw ride from Gulistan-e-Jauhar to Sadar on my first day at a new job. Moreover, whilst I may not be as skilled at repurposing old curtains as perhaps I should be, there are other takeaways to be had. Two years ago when a pigeon invaded our home via an open door, I recalled the Reverend Mother's wise words: when the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens the window. And so, whilst our wayward feathered friend was unable to find the door again, it did manage to locate the open bathroom window, and soared back out into the great beyond. Thanks to the Reverend Mother, our home was pigeon-free once more, for which The Sound of Music deserves the greatest thanks of all.