The Man of La Mancha
In 1959, the CBS TV anthology series DuPont Show of the Month presented a play, I, Don Quixote, written by Dale Wasserman (his preferred title for the play, nixed by CBS: Man of La Mancha). The play portrayed Spanish writer Miguel de Cervantes jailed with many similar prisoners of the Inquisition, all awaiting trial and most likely death (a fanciful story, as Cervantes had no run-ins with the Inquisition). The inmates themselves put Cervantes on trial, a predicament he diverts attention from with his telling of stories of his “mad” fictional hero, the knight Don Quixote, and Quixote’s loyal manservant, Sancho.
Wasserman’s teleplay was made into a modestly budgeted musical, using the author’s original title, in 1965, with music by classically-trained composer Mitch Leigh. The long-running show made singer Richard Kiley, as Don Quixote, a star (Rex Harrison was first considered). The show’s standout song, “The Impossible Dream”, became not only a hit, it was performed and recorded so many times over the next five years that it soon became a cliche—muzak fodder. Even so, the beauty of the melody can’t be denied.
The 1972 film version of The Man of La Mancha, directed by Arthur Hill, cast Peter O’Toole as Cervantes/Don Quixote, despite the fact that he couldn’t sing (Simon Gilbert dubbed him); in fact, none of the leads in the film were natural singers, following a trend in musicals over the previous ten years. The Man of La Mancha was also the last gasp of the roadshow musical. The art form was dying at the box office, with changing audience tastes and the rise of the New Hollywood directors (Scorsese, Lucas, Coppola, etc.). The next year’s Lost Horizon (even with surprisingly pleasing music by Burt Bacharach and Hal David) received savage reviews, lost millions of dollars and is considered one of the fifty worst films of all time—the final nail in the coffin.
The Man of La Mancha, then and now, has also received negative reviews. The excellent film critic Glenn Erickson, for example, considers the staging mechanical, the film too stage-bound, the cinematography too dark, and the film as a whole uninspired (among other complaints).
Hiller’s film is far from perfect. I found it, though, to be a moving and nearly profound entertainment which transcends its flaws. Expecting it to be a sad coda to the tradition of roadshow musicals, I instead was confronted with what I consider one of its best examples. The box office take of a film doesn’t always describe a film’s quality, and no one says of a film they’ve watched, “I especially loved the brightly lit cinematography.”
Peter O’Toole, from all reports, had a miserable time making La Mancha, hating the long makeup procedures, denigrating Hiller, denouncing the film in interviews (and also knowing his singing voice wasn’t up to par). He considered the spirit of the story schmaltz. And yet—his performances of both Cervantes the brave author and rebel and Quixote, the determined, deluded advocate of outdated chivalry, are both deeply compelling. Sophia Loren as the prostitute Aldonza sings her own songs with credibility. James Coco is perfectly cast as Sancho Panza, who also does his own singing.
Where The Man of La Mancha resonates is in the sincerity of its philosophy. It doesn’t matter that Cervantes wasn’t jailed by the Inquisition any more than it matters that the windmill Quixote attacks isn’t a giant. Having Cervantes telling stories which thematically relate to his dire situation satisfyingly works. Quixote’s integrity, despite his delusions, is admirable and his family plotting to trick and capture him are quite rightly portrayed as greedy and, themselves, deluded. The ending scene of the Quixote tale, when Aldonza fights her way into Quixote’s chambers to impel him to remember his knightly quest is deeply emotional. The ideas La Mancha explores: reality vs. fantasy, rebellion against oppressive authority and chivalry vs. corruption make the musical a stand-out amongst the flying cars, talking animals, running nuns and dancing fiddlers of the musical genre’s last popular era.
A side note of interest: the same day I watched The Man of La Mancha, I coincidentally watched a Perry Mason episode, “The Case of the Bartered Bikini”, also directed by Arthur Hiller—a testament to the range of a director who had great talent. It’s unfortunate to note, then, that his career ended directing bad comedies like National Lampoon’s Pucked (2006) and Carpool (1996).
—Michael R. Neno, 2019 Dec 17