I never especially enjoyed the harp interludes (Harpo’s or anyone’s. A harp is a harp), but I was fascinated at the change that came over his face, and the way he carried himself as soon as he settled into the music. The mania dropped away and his eyes softened. We always used to fast-forward past the harp solos, but now I feel grateful that they were left in, because it gives us a chance to see something of the real man. You can see his sincere love of children in the beginning of this clip from A Night at the Opera, where he starts by playing the piano before moving to his harp . . .
Read the rest of this post at the National Catholic Register, where I blog once or twice a week.