New York, 1959. Max Bialystock was once the king of Broadway, but now all his shows close on opening night. Things turn around when he's visited by the neurotic accountant Leo Bloom, who proposes a scheme tailor-made for producers who can only make flops: raise far more money than you need, then make sure the show is despised. No one will be interested in it, so you can pocket the surplus. To this end, they produce a musical called Springtime for Hitler written by escaped Nazi Franz Liebken. Then they get the insanely flamboyant Roger De Bris to direct. Finally, they hire as a lead actress the loopy Swedish bombshell Ulla (whose last name has over 15 syllables). As opening night draws near, what can go wrong? Well, there's no accounting for taste... Written by
When Ulla walks into Max's office for the first time, on the King Leer poster (the poster on the right), the eyes look from right to left and follow Ulla. See more »
Max opens the safe at one point and then kicks it closed, but it stays open, as he walks away. The next time we see it, it is closed. See more »
So what time can you get here?
Well, Ulla wake up every morning at five AM. From five to seven, Ulla excercise. From seven to eight Ulla take long shower. From eight to nine Ulla eat big Swedish breakfast. Many different herrings. From nine to eleven, Ulla practice her singing und her dancing. And at eleven, Ulla like to have sex. So, what time should Ulla get here?
Leo Bloom, Max Bialystock:
Good! Ulla will come at eleven!
[holding his head in his hands]
Ulla will come at eleven...
God dag min vannina!
Leo Bloom, Max Bialystock:
[...] See more »
After the credits finish, cast members from the film (including a cameo by Mel Brooks) sing the number "Goodbye!", which is sung in the stage version at the conclusion of the curtain call. See more »
Nothing is more arrogant than a film that assumes it's going to be a hit before it even goes into production. Such a disaster is this musical remake of "The Producers." Stagebound, presentational instead of reactive, and more leaden than an Iron Cross, it betrays everything about the 1968 classic -- not to mention raising questions how anything this klunky could ever work, must less be a hit, on the Broadway stage. Reportedly, Mel Brooks was distracted during filming by his wife's illness and death, and that director Susan Stroman didn't have the clout to override his in absentia presence. Never mind that the new third act ending betrays the first two. Never mind that Lane and Broderick never develop the father-son relationship that Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder did, and which drove the story. Never mind that the musical numbers are not only forgettable, but extraneous. Never mind that the 11 o'clock number is over by 10:59. Never mind that Nathan Lane is made up to look like a Hirschfeld drawing. Never mind that Matthew Broderick is a human marshmallow. Mever mind that Uma Thurman sucks the energy out of movies that she's not even in. Never mind that -- oh, never mind. Like a dumb horror movie where the girl heads up to the attic and you know the monster's there waiting for her but she goes up anyway, "The Producers" is its own train wreck, devoid of any sense of self-awareness, let alone the major one: that it needs an audience.
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