I realized something the other day, as I was watching Matthew Broderick mosey through the lead role in The Music Man. I realized why Professor Harold Hill was such a successful conman. He abused the fact that he lived in a musical comedy universe.

You know how musical comedies work: someone starts singing on a topic of importance to them, and everyone in line of sight or earshot is compelled to join in with the singing and dancing. Also, if someone isn't present, but is somehow significant to the subject of the song, they will also get the urge to take a verse.

Now consider: Prof. Hill worked River City up into a frenzy over the pool table by singing a song about it. All the common townsfolk joined in, agreeing that they "got trouble right here in River City." Later, when he made his pitch for the boys' band to the assemblage in the school gymnasium, he sang about the "76 Trombones" and what a glorious effect they had on his life. He got the kids dancing, and everyone else doing counterpoint, until he actually had them all convinced that River City already had a fantastic band, and it was just a matter of buying the instruments.

Whenever the city council/school board/barbershop quartet cornered Hill with a demand to see his credentials, what did Hill do? He got them singing about some unrelated subject, which distracted them long enough for him to sneak away. And how did he do that? By starting to sing himself.

Obviously, not everyone was equally susceptible. Marion had quite a high resistance, based on her being a main character. But, not even she was immune. When Hill hounded her for a date in the library, she fought him at first. Then, he got all the kids dancing and making moon-eyes at each other, until she could no longer deny the urge and started dancing right along with them. She even stomped on the top of a reading table in direct contravention of library rules before snapping out of it.

What I am proposing is that Professor Hill not only caused all the production numbers, but that he knew exactly what he was doing as he was doing it. Somehow, he was able to control his own musical compulsion and use it against other people. Notice how he was able to break off from a song with no trouble if the occasion called for it. Or, he could move with it, guiding it, and in so doing guide the emotions of the crowd, but never letting himself be changed in the process.

Of course, it all fell apart at the end when he was exposed by the anvil salesman and arrested. I guess Hill's ability doesn't work on hostile crowds, unless the words of the song involve performing grievous bodily harm, which would be counter-productive at best.

Side note: If there were ever to be some sort of literary crossover among the musical universes, the one I would most like to read about would be the meeting of Professor Harold Hill and Henry Higgins, of My Fair Lady. Imagine, the charismatic master of practical speech meeting the almost charisma-free student of the mechanics of language. He who can fit in anywhere meets he who is comfortable in only one circumstance, that circumstance being the other's stock in trade.

I don't have the talent to write it myself, or I would. I see it as a chance meeting, with Henry and Eliza Doolittle traveling across the US on holiday when the train stops in River City for whatever reason, where Hill and Marion have married and settled down. While the men keep trying to use their abilities on each other, the women sit off to the side and commiserate. I think it'd be a hoot. Unfortunately, only Robert Preston and Rex Harrison could do it justice if performed.