I thought I'd court controversy today by proclaiming my love for Dame Julie Andrews. She is universally adored, right? Julie Andrews is my favorite actress and Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music are two of my very favorite movies. Both movies are so comforting and, aside from a prominent Nazi storyline in the latter, joyful. I watched both frequently as a child and am embarrassed to admit that early on I failed to realize that the brunette Mary Poppins and the blonde Maria von Trapp were played by the same actress. (Nor did I realize that Dick Van Dyke played both Bert and the elderly Mr. Dawes in Poppins. I was a simple child.)
Julie Andrews is gorgeous, her voice is divine, and she radiates charisma. I am pleased to say that she is still absolutely beautiful without looking like a youth-obsessed Hollywood wax monster. She writes children's books with her daughter and seems delightful in interviews. Thank heaven. This past fall I watched the Carrie Underwood version of The Sound of Music and appreciated Julie Andrews more than ever. Underwood was decent, but Andrews is sunshine personified.
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