Feed me, Seymour!

There are few films as appropriate as the 1986 version of Little Shop of Horrors for tonight's gala evening celebration. Based on the 0ff-Broadway production of the same name, which was itself based on the non-musical film version of 1960, Little Shop of Horrors is a cult film that has become the staple diet of amateur dramatics societies the country over. With am-dram societies comes the image of village halls and the dedication of a group of people looking to entertain and be entertained in the spirit of community, goals which reverberate around Kilmersdon village hall every time reel people meets for its latest film. In more ways than one, Little Shop... is a celebration of those occasions in which the little guy has his chance to shine.

The film centres around Seymour Krelborn (Rick Moranis) — a hapless, clumsy and downtrodden flower shop assistant working for his grumpy boss Mr Mushnik (Vincent Gardenia) — who chances upon a strange, unidentifiable plant. After the plant is given a home at Mr Mushnik's shop, it has a strange effect on everything that surrounds it, changing Mr Mushnik's business into a unrestrained success and making Seymour something of an overnight sensation. Caught up in the welcome storm is Audrey (Ellen Greene), a giddy blonde also employed at the flower shop and longtime object of Seymour's affection, who secretly covets suburban bliss with Seymour at her side. The overnight success comes at a price, though, and it soon becomes clear that the plant — named Audrey II by Seymour in honour of his secret fancy — is not what it first appeared to be, yearning as it does for human blood in order to allow it to grow and realise its ultimate plans for global domination.

Like all good cult films, the history of Little Shop... is something of a potted one. The original version was a non-musical B-film made in 1960, directed by the prolific Roger Corman and written by Charles B. Griffith (who also wrote, interestingly enough, Please Don't Eat My Mother (1972)). Famous for being shot in less than a week and a very early performance from a young Jack Nicholson as a masochistic dentist patient, this B-film led to an off-Broadway musical production — including songs written by Howard Ashman and Alan Menken of Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin fame — which soared to popularity during the early 1980s. Seizing on this success, director Frank Oz brought the 1986 film version to the big screen, with Charles B. Griffith retaining the screenplay credit and Howard Ashman and Alan Menken taking credit for their musical adaptation. The stage production eventually found its way to Broadway, debuting last year only to close in August of this.

Along the way, many small and a few not so small tweaks altered the thrust of the story. Whilst the 1960 version provided something of a catastrophic ending, so the stage and 1986 film version were altered to please preview audiences, providing the main difference between the original and subsequent versions. Famously, the original ending was filmed for the 1986 version at great expense and, though never used for the main cinema release, was briefly available as a DVD extra upon the first home release of the film. The copyright holder, David Geffen, however, wasn't happy that the "alternative ending" was made available and removed it from subsequent releases of the film, making Little Shop... the first DVD to be recalled because of its content.

Another requirement of a cult film is the ability to apply any one of several, preferably divergent interpretations to its meaning. So Little Shop... can be seen as: a morality play in which Seymour demonstrates a gradual slide into evil; a Faustian tragedy in which Seymour sells his soul to the devil; a Greek tragedy in which Seymour's intentions begin as good but lead to a severe predicament for the protagonist; a black comedy that makes use of violence, sadism, masochism and humans as plant food; or a genre parody in which horror takes something of a back seat to the humour that can be generated by exploring the consequences of horror. Otherwise, Little Shop... can also be seen simply as good fun: a romp through Skid Row that ultimately provides an ending and moral that the audience will find satisfying.

As much as the subject material is important in creating a cult hit, so the performances of the lead characters provide further anchors for adoring fans. Rick Moranis as the put-upon Seymour reminds us that, from the mid-1980s into the early 90s, he was one of the subtlest, least selfish actors plying their trade on screen. His filmography of that decade reads like a who's who list of films that captured and inspired the teenage market, including: Ghost Busters (I and II, 1984 and 1986 respectively), Brewster's Millions (with Richard Pryor, 1985), Spaceballs (1987), Honey, I Shrunk the Kids and its sequel Honey, I Blew Up the Kid (1992). This successful sequence was brought pertinently to a close by Moranis's turn as Barney Rubble in 1994's The Flintstones; pertinent because Moranis has always surrendered his rising star to play the comedic sidekick — as symbolised both by Seymour's relationship with Audrey II in Little Shop... or, in the case of The Flintstones, to John Goodman's Fred Flinstone.

Ellen Greene, however, is something of a lesser known name. In fact, her performance as the bubbly, innocent blonde Audrey is by far her most famous role. Smaller appearances in Stepping Out (1991), Naked Gun 33 1/3 (1994) and Leon (1994) don't hide the fact that Greene's career was mostly spent on the stage. On Broadway for some time prior to Little Shop..., it was with the 1982 production based on the non-musical film version that Greene became known, performing as Audrey until 1984 and eventually becoming one of the few stage performers to reprise their role in the 1986 film version.

And, of course, Little Shop... starred Steve Martin as the sadist dentist Orvin Scrivello DSS. Most people claim that Martin steals the show during his brief appearance as the crazed orthodontist with the penchant for laughing gas. Difficult as it is to disagree with such a sentiment, focussing only on Martin is to ignore a group of funny cameo appearances from other Saturday Night Live comedians, including James Belushi, John Candy and — perhaps more memorably than Steve Martin's turn — Bill Murray in the role held by Jack Nicholson as the masochistic dentist patient. In truth, all of the performances come together into that strange mix that only very rarely creates a film of such pure enjoyment, even in the shadow of a crazed, man-eating alien plant.

And so back to the showing of Little Shop of Horrors in celebration of the achievements of reel people. Though there are admittedly few slow sequences within the film, spare a thought, if you do catch your attention waning from the film, for the alternative entertainment of an am-dram performance of the musical on the Kilmersdon village hall stage and take heart that you belong to the British Federation of Film Societies National Film Society of the Year.