Blake Edwards’ Victor/Victoria is a sparkling champagne bottle of a film—effervescent, intoxicating, and just sharp enough to break over the heads of the stuffy and the self-righteous. This 1982 musical comedy gave us Julie Andrews playing a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman, a concept that sounds like it was ripped from a Shakespearean fever dream. But instead of old Will’s endless monologues about identity, Edwards delivered a biting satire about gender roles, sexuality, and social hypocrisy, all wrapped up in a knockout score by Henry Mancini and lyrics from Leslie Bricusse. And guess what? Audiences got it. They laughed, they cheered, and they didn’t storm the box office with pitchforks screaming about “woke Hollywood.” Because back then, America had a sense of humor—and a little more open-mindedness than we do now.
The road to Victor/Victoria was as bumpy as a Chicago side street in February. The film was based on the 1933 German production Victor and Victoria, a film from an era when Europe was churning out subversive, gender-bending entertainment before Hitler showed up and ruined the party. Edwards, ever the student of film history, dusted off the old plot and infused it with his signature slapstick-meets-sophisticated style, creating a work that was both a tribute and a reinvention.
Initially, the film was supposed to star Julie Andrews opposite Peter Sellers, which would have been a pairing of comedic giants. But fate had other plans, as Sellers tragically passed away in 1980. Enter Robert Preston, who, if there was ever a second choice that felt like a first choice, was it. The Music Man legend took the role of Toddy—the aging, flamboyant performer who masterminds Victoria’s transformation—and turned him into a loveable, scene-stealing delight.
Casting Victor/Victoria was like assembling a Broadway dream team. Julie Andrews was no stranger to musical theater or to belting out numbers while engaging in absurd disguises (Mary Poppins, anyone?), and she delivered a powerhouse performance that proved she could be just as funny as she was regal. James Garner, playing the skeptical but besotted gangster King Marchand, radiated old-school Hollywood charm with just the right amount of baffled masculinity. Lesley Ann Warren’s Norma Cassidy, meanwhile, was a train wreck in heels, the kind of ditzy, brash performance that made you want to both slap her and buy her a drink. And then there was Alex Karras as “Squash,” whose quiet revelation of being gay was handled with a level of dignity and humor that feels revolutionary even now.
Shot entirely on soundstages at Pinewood Studios in the UK, the film had the budget of a small country’s GDP. The sets—Parisian clubs dripping with Art Deco luxury, hotel suites the size of football fields—helped create a world where bending gender norms wasn’t just possible, it was the most fabulous thing you could do. And let’s not forget the music. The now-iconic “Le Jazz Hot!” showcased Andrews’ staggering four-octave range, while the raucous “Chicago, Illinois” proved Lesley Ann Warren was more than just comedic relief—she was a full-blown vaudeville act in herself.
Critics, for once, weren’t total idiots. Victor/Victoria received a warm embrace, with Vincent Canby of The New York Times calling it “so good, so exhilarating” that he felt bad for whatever Blake Edwards tried to do next. Roger Ebert, usually stingy with his praise, gave it a glowing review, noting that it was not only hilarious but unexpectedly “warm and friendly.” And of course, it cleaned up at the Oscars, with seven nominations and a win for Best Original Score.
More importantly, Victor/Victoria mattered. It was a Hollywood movie in 1982—Reagan’s America, mind you—that had a gay character as a leading man, handled gender fluidity with nuance, and never once treated queerness as a joke. Today, if this film were released, there would be a 24-hour Fox News meltdown, followed by a congressional inquiry on whether dressing in drag violates the Second Amendment. The irony is, Victor/Victoria was proof that America had already progressed—until, of course, we started regressing, thanks to a certain orange-hued demagogue and his pearl-clutching fan club.
Victor/Victoria remains a near-perfect comedy, a testament to when Hollywood could be bold, when audiences could be sophisticated, and when drag wasn’t a crime but an art form. It’s funny, poignant, beautifully crafted, and, in a sad twist of fate, a reminder that we used to be better than this. So if you’re sick of today’s manufactured outrage and need a reminder that we once celebrated intelligence, humor, and inclusivity, pour yourself a martini, put on Le Jazz Hot!, and revel in the magic of a film that got it right.
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#JulieAndrewsFTW #LeJazzHotForever #BeforeMAGAWeHadClass #SquashIsKing #DragIsArt
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