There's a scene in John Hughes' 'Planes, Trains and Automobiles' where John Candy and Steve Martin are stranded on a packed bus To try and lift spirits, Candy gets a sing song going and gets all the passengers join in. When it's Martin's turn, he starts up crooning 'Three Coins In The Fountain' and promptly kills the jovial mood stone dead until Candy jump starts it again with a verse of 'Meet The Flintstones'. For my money, it's a presentation that nails this song to a tee.'Three Coins In The Fountain' is taken from the soundtrack of the eponymous film about three American girls (the 'coins') looking for romance in Rome. It's harmless enough fluff and Sammy Cahn's lyrics are faithful to the plot to the point of inanity - "Three hearts in a fountain, each heart longing for its home. There they lie in the fountain, somewhere in the heart of Rome"; it's hardly Cahn's finest hour, yet Sinatra phrases them almost conversationally with the sincerity of one confessing to a priest. And it's precisely the fact that Sinatra is able to elevate this nonsense to a higher plane is the secret behind the song's enduring appeal - an appeal which, truth be told, has always baffled me.
It's true that for much of his career, Sinatra could find an internal melody amongst the bland text on a cereal packet. He does as much here too, but his efforts are akin to a boot sale painting of a blubbing child being passed off as a Raphael. Sinatra could get away with it simply because he's Sinatra, but in lesser hands (such as Steve Martin's back on that bus), the flat spinelessness of 'Three Coins In The Fountain' soon has the listener realising that this particular Emperor really has no clothes long before it dribbles to a close. Flintstones, meet the Flintstones, they're the modern stone age family.........
No comments:
Post a Comment