‘Exceptionally crafted’: why Little Shop of Horrors is my feelgood movie

The key to a feelgood movie, beyond the necessary rewatchability, is familiarity – the real kind that lets you look away or fall asleep without doubting your affection. Musicals are perfectly suited to this particular subgenre since the majority of them, especially the classic ones adapted for film, atrophy with second-act problems. That’s where writers suddenly remember the plot they had introduced and drop all that singing and dancing to arrive at some type of conclusion.

The first act of Funny Girl? A near-flawless parade of showstoppers, Barbra Streisand as Fanny Brice having the time of her life falling in love. I’ve probably seen it 200 times. The second act … well, who ever cared about her husband’s gambling addiction?

At just 94 minutes, Frank Oz’s film of Little Shop of Horrors doesn’t suffer from that sharp of a drop-off. The cult 1982 musical that translates to the screen is already a pretty perfect piece; a hilarious send-up of B-movies with glorious songs by Howard Ashman and Alan Menken, the duo whose music would soon ignite the Disney Renaissance. The whole thing is a miracle of dumpster diving: adapting an almost-forgotten 1960 movie by indie legend Roger Corman, who didn’t even bother to copyright his low-budget horror comedy.

But enough history. Little Shop, the movie, begins, and you’re there: Skid Row, the derelict, richly detailed cityscape with the lovingly obvious soundstage feel that most art departments left behind sometime in the 90s in favor of realism. The son of puppeteers and the first to perform both Yoda and Miss Piggy, Oz had individuality and scene-setting in his DNA.

It’s there we meet Seymour (Rick Moranis), a perennially orphaned adult who works alongside the ditzy bombshell Audrey (Ellen Greene) at a run-down flower shop owned by the miserly Mushnik (Vincent Gardenia). Their dreams of a better life arrive quickly, when a mysterious plant Seymour has been secretly nurturing grows into a national sensation.

His trouble, of course, is that the plant – named Audrey II, due to Seymour’s simping after his co-worker – feeds exclusively on human blood. In classic Michigan J Frog fashion, the anthropomorphic Audrey II (voiced by the Four Tops’ Levi Stubbs), only voices its carnivorous needs to Seymour, who’s left alone to decide whether success (and human Audrey’s love) are worth the carnage.

In the simplicity of its plot and the spectacle of Oz’s puppetry, the film is sensational. Greene, a holdover from the original stage production, gives an all-time weirdo performance that is massive, intimate and memorable, with pipes to make the celluloid rattle. And she’s surrounded by heavyweight 80s funnymen, including Steve Martin, Bill Murray and Christopher Guest.

A high concept horror-comedy with an all-star cast of comedians, Little Shop is a lot like Clue, released the previous year, and which also grew a devoted cult reputation over time. And here’s where I’ll get annoying again: both are intelligent critiques of capitalism disguised as kooky popcorn fare.

“Disguised” might not be the right word for Little Shop, which never hides its thematic concerns. Menken’s score is a blend of doo-wop and rock’n’roll, but mostly Motown: a genre of romance, struggle and comfort. But even before that level of analysis, you’re hit with the original plot’s fable-like message, aided by Ashman’s cheeky anti-capitalist lyrics and, on film, Oz’s remarkable visions.

Vincent Gardenia, Rick Moranis and Ellen Greene in Little Shop Of Horrors. Photograph: The Geffen Company/Allstar

The movie’s first real number, Skid Row (Downtown), is a masterclass in placing its character’s individual desires against the backdrop of communal conflict. Every single shot is framed to acknowledge the individual’s involvement in the class struggle, which increases with each foot-stomp and angry face in increasing desperation. Certain frames seem lifted straight out of classic Soviet propaganda.

Do you see how excited I get talking about this? How all this spews out of me with such attractive, enviable ease due to how many times I’ve witnessed it? And do you feel how that breathlessness, upon an 857th rewatch, could easily tire itself out into a daze which, soon after the iconic Suddenly, Seymour climax, leads to a satisfied doze?

What should convince any skeptics that this is a feelgood classic is that (a) one of its ardent fans can’t help but sound insufferable describing its merits and, (b) it is crafted with that Muppets-era showmanship, a remnant from an age where talent and individuality ruled, but acts would get caned off the stage if they weren’t pleasing the audience.

Little Shop is exceptionally designed, performed and crafted, but there’s no whiff of spotlight-seeking to detract from the greater project. Tapping into that strain of communal excellence is why Oz delivered one of the finest movie musicals of all time, building on what Ashman and Menken fertilized from Corman and screenwriter Charles B Griffith’s seed of an idea. Clearly I’m not as good an analogist as all of these men, so don’t take my word for it. Go feed the beast.

• Little Shop of Horrors is available on VOD in the US and Australia and on Now TV in the UK