Some films live forever not just because of their artistry, but because they become part of our collective conscience. The Sound of Music is one of those films. First released in 1965, directed by Robert Wise, it isn’t only a beloved musical — it is a rare cinematic achievement where story, movement, and music fuse into something timeless. I recently experienced it again at the Mary Pickford Theater, part of their re-release series. Seeing it on the giant silver screen in full color — not on a black & white television, as it was meant to be seen — was like seeing it for the very first time. (Yes black & white tv’s, are the very foundation of today’ s immense color monitors).

The choreography is deceptively simple, yet deeply expressive. Dee Dee Wood understood that movement in The Sound of Music should look like life unfolding, not staged performance. (Early in my career I had the wonderful experience of working with Dee Dee.) When Maria leads the children through “Do-Re-Mi,” climbing steps and skipping across cobblestones, it doesn’t feel like dance — it feels like freedom. These sequences draw you in, as though you, too, are climbing the hills and learning the notes, part of the story rather than a spectator.

The film’s lighting is equally powerful. In the most intimate scenes between Maria and Captain von Trapp, one character often stands in soft, simple light while the other remains in silhouette. This contrast heightens the sense of vulnerability and mystery, as though we are invited to witness two souls carefully revealing themselves. It proves that a love scene doesn’t need to rely on physical exposure; its power comes from authenticity, from the unguarded connection between two people. The simplicity of those moments between Maria and the Captain felt profoundly real, reminding me that great performances don’t just tell a story; they invite us to feel its truth alongside the characters.

The music, adapted and expanded from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s original score, becomes the heartbeat of the film. Orchestrations were given cinematic sweep, while additions like “Something Good” gave new depth to Maria and the Captain’s relationship. These choices remind us that adaptation is itself creation, and when done well, it strengthens the emotional bridge between audience and story. Hearing those songs, I felt the same sensation as when music stirs in a crowded theater — that unspoken unity when strangers breathe in rhythm, touched by the same notes.

Yet beyond the music and the romance, The Sound of Music carries another story — one that is just as vital. Captain von Trapp’s courage to stand up to the rising Nazi regime, to refuse allegiance, and to risk everything to protect his family is a declaration that love of country cannot be separated from moral clarity. His patriotism is not blind loyalty; it is love rooted in principle. That conviction, that refusal to be complicit, is as real and as fierce as his love for Maria. Watching it now, I was struck by how relevant it feels. In the film, the fascists are coming. In America today, they are already here — undermining and dismantling the very values that make this country matter to those loyal to democracy and democracy the world over. The Sound of Music isn’t just a story from the past; it has become the story of our time.

What makes the film endure is not any single element — not the Salzburg landscapes, not the unforgettable songs, not the love story or the family’s escape. It is how all these threads harmonize: choreography that feels natural, lighting that sharpens emotion, music that transcends its setting, performances that speak to what is deeply human, and a moral compass that refuses compromise. Behind it all, of course, is the seamless collaboration of artists working toward one vision, so perfectly aligned that it feels inevitable.

But the true measure of the film’s greatness is the way it makes us feel. The Sound of Music creates a shared emotional space — one where joy, longing, fear, courage, and love of both people and country are felt together. Sitting in the Mary Pickford Theater, I wasn’t alone. I was in the company of everyone who has ever been moved by the soaring notes of “Climb Ev’ry Mountain,” or who has held their breath as Maria and the Captain chose both love and resistance. That’s the power of great art: its ability to create a universal language that transcends time and space, inviting us not just to watch, but to feel.

Nearly sixty years later, The Sound of Music still speaks in that language. It reminds us not only of the story it tells, but of the timeless bond between creativity, humanity, and the courage to stand against those who would silence both.

About the Authors

This review was written in collaboration by D. Wesley Spencer and Marty Treinen, bringing together two perspectives: one focused on performance, the other on the craft and collaboration of filmmaking. They are no strangers to collaboration themselves, having co-authored Universal Creative Intelligence: How the Arts and Sciences Propel Human Experience. Their work explores how creativity and inquiry shape human advancement, across the full spectrum of creative practice, cultural experience, and education — from performing arts, fine art to AI-STEAM educational innovation — all grounded in the belief that the creative process is essential to human evolution. Together, Spencer and Treinen underscore how the arts and sciences shape who we are, what we do, and why we do it.