hey meet, they kiss and they burst into song in the classic ‘Technicolor’ musicals, which dominated the screen during the 1940s and ’50s, which were full of moments like these, where cheesy romance leads into a vocal rendition of a popular standard. This makes it all the more surprising when the current film “”Anything But Love,”” which wears its Technicolor influences on its sleeve, does not have a single awkward ‘bursting into song for no apparent reason’ moment. Perhaps it’s because it’s an indie musical.
Chitter chatter: Isabel Rose plays the lounge singer Billie Golden in the indie musical that gives the audience nostalgia for the Technicolor musicals.
Yes, “”Anything But Love”” is an independent musical. Ambitious writer/director/actress Isabel Rose plays Billie Golden, a lounge singer who can’t quite get her lucky break in show business and instead sings her heart out at an airport bar. As she sings in the darkness, Billie dreams of being an airbrushed starlet in a classy club. Yes, you’ve heard the story before: It’s one of those ‘I want to be a star’ musical romances, like the other 300 or so that were produced during the supposed Golden Age of film.
But all of this cynicism about Technicolor musicals goes right out the window when we see the first kiss. It’s nothing short of pure magic: It’s the kind of magic that makes countless directors fear for their lives. This film effortlessly oozes the kind of chemistry that so many recent rotten romances have been trying to achieve. Never mind the dreary “”How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,”” this movie gives “”Sleepless in Seattle”” a run for its money in terms of pure romance, while keeping the joyful sensibility of a Disney flick.
And that’s just the first kiss. The film tops itself with more dazzling kisses and a deliciously tortured love triangle, culminating in the infatuation between Billie and her bohemian piano teacher, played with gusto by Andrew McCarthy. The audience becomes so entranced watching this romance unfold that we forget about the plot holes, the clichés and the other telling signs of Technicolor musicals. All that’s left is a quasi-nostalgic magic, which nestles right into the twilight of the soul and reminds audiences of the warmth that old films have.
Of course, this celebrated magic is sometimes broken by stale comic relief as an array of cameo performers (with nothing else to do) mill around spouting one-liners. The musical dream sequences, apart from a single stunning dance number, scream of post-production awkwardness. But in the end, it’s nice to remember Billie’s refrain, which makes up half of the soundtrack for the film, “”I can’t give you anything but love.””
This film succeeds wildly by giving love ‹ so much love that it’s impossible to not be moved by it. One only hopes that such a film lasts in theaters long enough for all those lonely dreamers in February to get a taste.
