South Pacific (2001)
I just revisited the 2001 television adaptation of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific, starring Glenn Close, hoping to finally grasp why the original stage production captivated audiences in the 1950s and even earned a Pulitzer Prize. Back when I first saw the 1958 film version as a sixteen-year-old, I found it utterly dull, seemingly plotless, overly sentimental, and far less engaging than the sweeping spectacle of The Sound of Music. I chalked it up to a generational disconnect, assuming that my 1990s sensibilities simply couldn’t relate to a mid-century worldview.
And yet, paradoxically, I adored the soundtrack as a teenager. I played it regularly on my turntable, drawn to its melodies even if the narrative eluded me. Now, in 2025, I’m watching a newer television version that offers a more contemporary lens; restrained choreography, deeper emotional nuance, and cinematography that evokes the grit and gravity of World War II. It’s as if the story has finally found its voice for me, decades later.
I came to South Pacific with little prior knowledge, only that it was based on James Michener’s Pulitzer-winning "Tales of the South Pacific", and that Mary Martin had originated the role of Nellie Forbush on Broadway. Beyond that, I had no real context. But this television adaptation illuminated the story in ways I hadn’t grasped before. For the first time, I understood the message Rodgers and Hammerstein were trying to convey - particularly the moral tension beneath the romance and the war.
Despite its modern sensibilities, though, the newer version still feels inferior to the original film. Glenn Close approaches Nellie with a toughness that borders on masculine rigidity, and in doing so, loses some of the character’s playful femininity. Her flirtation with Emile de Becque feels stilted, almost awkward, as if the chemistry were scripted rather than felt. Rade Šerbedžija, the actor portraying Emile resembles a French impressionist painter more than a seasoned plantation owner. His presence doesn't lack the gravitas the role demands, but he performs it in a more stylish way that can't be 1940sh.
Yet to her credit, Glenn Close’s musical phrasing brings unexpected depth to the lyrics. For the first time, I truly heard the longing, the heartache, and the quiet suspicion embedded in the songs. Harry Connick Jr.’s Lieutenant Cable is undeniably more physically sensual than John Kerr’s, but he doesn’t quite capture the enigmatic melancholy, and the ethereal sensuality that made Kerr’s performance so haunting. Still, Connick’s vocals are a pleasure to listen to.
Then there’s Bloody Mary and Liat, portrayed with a visual aesthetic that evokes Miss Saigon more than the South Pacific. Their casting leans more Vietnamese than Polynesian, which shifts the cultural tone and makes the love scenes feel like echoes from another musical entirely. Lori Tan Chinn, the actress playing Bloody Mary is grating and overdone, making me long for the subtle magnetism of Juanita Hall.
This version of South Pacific is certainly entertaining and offers a fresh interpretation, but it lacks the island’s mystique; the lush, haunting beauty that once framed the story’s emotional stakes. The war’s devastation feels more like a passing backdrop than rupture. And yet, the theme of racism is more pronounced here, given a sharper edge and deeper emotional weight. It invites us to ask uncomfortable questions: Have we, in our own ways, imposed prejudices that tarnish the innocence of others? Have we mistaken cultural difference for inferiority?
