Before I ever read Dickens’ Oliver Twist, I saw a tape of the 1969 musical.
I find musicals stupid. People burst into song over the strangest shit. Everybody dances and spins and laughs and leaps.
Did something get in the water supply? A gas leak making everybody loony?
A little chasing, a little murder, and we find Fagin fumbling his wealth into the muck.
Poor guy. Oh well.
Later on, I read the book.
They hanged him?
Dude. Harsh.
I put the book back on the shelf, sigh, and load up the DVD.
Perhaps musicals aren’t so stupid after all.