The Practical Magic of Julie Andrews

My husband and I went to see Singalong Sound of Music at the Hollywood Bowl a few weeks back. Bobby had never been to the Bowl before and as we’re living just outside of LA for the time being, I was determined to get him there before the season ended. 

I attended Singalong Sound of Music at the Bowl years ago, before I moved from LA to New York City. I recall the feeling of sitting with 18,000 people singing “Doe a Deer” as we watched the Von Trapp kids’ ride their bikes under the allee of trees, wearing their new play clothes Maria had made for them and singing out. I remember I burst out crying.

I told Bobby this as we rode the shuttle from the Park ‘n Ride, wondering what my reaction would be years later.

We got to the venue really early, so we sat in the nearly-empty Bowl and watched it fill up. Simply seeing people gather was a pleasurable pastime. Why? Gathering feels threatened, I guess, like it might be going away. As the light changed in the surrounding hills, Bobby got the specialness of the place. 

At 6:30 the emcee came out and got the party started. We got an explanation of what was in the little bag of props we were handed when we arrived, as well as directions for certain interactive moments. Example: whenever the Baroness appears, hiss, when Rolf, the young Nazi appears, bark. And, at the beginning, when we spy the mountaintop where Maria is to appear, scream, “JULIE! JULIE!” as a way of welcoming her. Next, there was a costume show which ran from the basic (nuns) to the highly conceptual (a team of five girls, four of whom were ‘pins’ and ran about the stage trying to pin down the one girl who was ‘a cloud’.)

Finally, lights dimmed. By now, the place was packed: gaggles of middle-aged gay guys, large multi generational families, friend groups dressed in matching outfits, rowdy young women drinking champagne. The feeling was festive, inclusive and warm.

After the opening shots of the Austrian Alps—gorgeous and epic and technicolor—there came the aforementioned mountaintop. Bobby and I began screaming, “JULIE! JULIE!” We weren’t the only ones, all 18,000 of us were screaming for Julie Andrews to appear, to take us under her wing, and into her loving care. We were ready for her to make our lives better. 

Practical Magic is magic that gets results in the real world. That’s what Julie Andrews’ talent has done for decades: gotten results. There is an air of competence–”I know what is required and I’m going to do it.” Like the song Maria sings as she’s leaving the abbey and headed to the Von Trapp home for the first time, “I have confidence.” Even if she has no idea what she’s doing, she’s going to solve the problem.

The presence of a Julie Andrews character means that someone else’s life is going to change for the better.

It’s no surprise that the first two screen successes of Julie’s career, and the roles which marked her presence in the world, were portrayals of nannies. Tangentially, I read somewhere that Ms. Andrews hates the word wholesome. I bet. Even as she’s a wonderful actor and we believe she’s those characters she played, we also can easily imagine sitting next to her at a party, sharing a drink, trying to get her to make that deep throaty laugh.

The Hollywood Bowl is the perfect place to watch The Sound of Music, as it’s a place of magic. Bobby and I and the rest of the crowd were captivated for three hours.  Some friends of ours came by during intermission and we were all feeling happy and exuberant, while also talking about how much we had cried during the first half.

Crying, weeping, sobbing. All of us.

On the shuttle back to our car later, Bobby and I talked about the power of the film, how maybe it was because we were little gay boys growing up in straight suburbia of the 60s and 70s, that it gave us something special, a way forward. But I think the appeal is broader than that. It’s Julie Andrews. It’s magic. 

In The Uses of Enchantment, Bruno Bettelheim’s book about fairy tales, he wrote about the necessity of the Wicked Stepmother. We invented her because it was too scary to hate our own mothers. We needed a safe place to project our dark feelings. Now I’m wondering if we also needed a Good Stepmother, one we could adore and trust who had good boundaries, and who would keep our secrets and see in us the need for play and singing and special outfits. Someone who could give us the childhood we didn’t get but dreamed of, especially every December, when The Sound of Music played on TV.

Several days after our trip to the Bowl, I was talking to a friend about Julie Andrews.

“She’s just spectacular!” I said.

My friend asked me if I had read her memoir, Home. 

“No!”

 “You’ve got to read it,” she said, “even better, listen to her read it.” 

I just bought the audio book. I can’t wait to be changed by the experience.

PS—Yesterday, as I was beginning to revise this piece for substack, I found out it was Julie Andrews’ birthday. More MAGIC.

PPS—Thanks to Loren Segan for reminding me of the Bettelheim book re Stepmothers.