You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Life-Saving Magical Turban, Annie

I grew up rapt with the musical Annie. Like hordes of other 1980’s girls in love with nasal voices and sunburst arms, I dedicated my single-digit life to becoming Annie. I had an Annie sheet cake for my 9th birthday. I tortured my family with Annie. Annie became a call and response, with me serenading IT’S A HARD A KNOCK LIFE, FOR US! while doing imaginary back-handsprings (I could do the part at the end where you stand up) and my older siblings answering SHUT UP SHUT UP DAD PLEASE MAKE HER SHUT.UP.

I sang Together At Last while unloading the dishwasher and Maybe while gazing out the backseat window of our Chevy Orphanage. I crooned Tomorrow at the pool for lifeguard President Roosevelt. I did not have a dog Sandy with whom to emote, and it turns out a cat will respond to Dumb Dog by putting its butt in your face and hissing until you release her from the glare of your punishing spotlight. The deformed tin Magic Kingdom wastepaper basket that your stepsister squeezed between her knees will stand in for Sandy in a pinch, however, because the show must go on.

Annie fever reached such heights, that if you hosted a Battle of The Belter Ballads between GenEx theater kids singing Tomorrow vs. today’s Frozen youth singing Let It Go, I think those with the larger lungs and ennui would likely prevail: TOMORROW TOMORROW I LOVE-UH-YAH TOMORROW (YOU COULD BE MY VERY LAST DAYYYYYYY).

Recently my family agreed to take a hiatus from action flicks to indulge me in an Annie movie-marathon. We viewed both the 1981 and 2014 films. We loved/tolerated both, differently. What struck me even more than the updates of the book, cast, and score in the new Annie, were the racial stereotypes in the 1980s version that shown “like the top of the Chrysler Building” to put it in vintage Miss Hannigan terms.

If ever there was a learning opportunity to examine the “magical negro” racist trope, look no further than the character Punjab, a magical powers-wielding supposedly Punjabi Indian (played by Geoffrey Holder--the late Tony Award winning Trinidadian-American actor) who serves his wealthy master/pet orphan while entertaining them with flights of fancy including telekinesis, shotput-twirl-bomb-throwing, and life-saving-by-helicopter/unraveled turban.  I lectured my kids about this  during I Think I’m Going To Like It Here happy hitch-kicking house-help dance breaks (including a karate-chopping dancing Asian servant!) and when I wasn’t busy deciphering if the Bolshevik bomb-throwing intruder to Daddy Warbuck’s estate was played by one of the “extras strolling while making Jewish noises as a pack of Orthodox” in the depression-era street scene opening. Don’t take my overly-long word for it–this one-minute sex-y sex-y “Punjab and La bomba” smash-up says it all:

While educating my kids, and snorting disgust over white supremacy as 1980s entertainment, I further enhanced my family’s viewing experience with my loud singing and compare/contrast. I might not remember your name, first-cousin of 41 years, but leapin’ lizards if I don’t know every lyric to that score. YOU GUYS YOU GUYS IN THE OLD VERSION THEY SAY MAKE HER DRINK A MICKY FINN AND THEY DON’T SAY THAT IN THE NEW ONE!!  BECAUSE BECAUSE [omg that’s a rape drug reference] WE LOVE YOU MISS HANNIGAN!

After shout-singing my children nearly to tears, they learned better. As soon as the xylophone sounded its first ping and any character showed an “I either need to vomit or express myself musically” face,  my eight-year-old learned to give me a stern look, point at me wide-eyed, and shake his head (much as I do to him, when he digs his nails into his brother’s forearm while fighting over the iPad).

The dancing and singing in the original impressed me even more than when I watched Annie as a kid. I go gaga over Carol Burnette, Bernadette Peters, Ann Reinking and Tim Curry. I don’t think I could begin to appreciate the talent of Aileen Quinn and the other orphans as a 9 year old because I so desperately wanted to live among them. In the new version, we all adored Jamie Foxx as Will Stacks and Quvenzhané Wallis as Annie, and especially appreciated that actors of color made the starring roles and filled the company instead of serving as offensive novelty acts.

Weeks later I hear my kids singing those irrepressible/infernal melodies, and some good conversations have ensued as well; “Why were all the orphans white?” and “Do you think Daddy Warbucks/Will Stacks will tell Annie her parents died?” and “Why do people in musicals burst into song about everything and for no reason?”

A lot has changed from old and new Annie, but an eerily similar call and response resounds. Me: TOGETHER AT LAST! Them: STOP MOM STOP MOM, MAKE HER STOP, DAD!