Hair (1979)

Hair is the rare movie musical that feels like a street parade crashing into your heart: Miloš Forman turns counterculture into pure cinema, where songs don’t interrupt life so much as burst out of it. It’s funny and buoyant in one moment, then quietly piercing the next, using New York’s grit and sunlight as a stage for big, ecstatic choreography and surprisingly human intimacy between Claude, Berger, and the luminous Sheila. The vibe is equal parts joyous rebellion and clear-eyed social observation, with that late-’60s energy rendered as spectacle you can practically breathe in. If you’re allergic to musicals or uneasy with drug use (there’s an LSD scene), it may not be your trip—but if you want a film that can make you laugh, sway, and think in the same breath, this one earns its cult devotion.

Hair is trying to bottle the freewheeling, anti-war spirit of the late ’60s and turn it into a big, colorful musical about innocence colliding with the draft. When it works, it’s electric: Miloš Forman stages some genuinely memorable set pieces, the cast has infectious energy, and the songs can still hit hard. But it’s also shaggy and uneven, with a loose, revue-like structure that can feel more like a series of vibes than a tightly told story, and the tonal swings from playful comedy to tragedy may leave you emotionally whiplashed rather than moved. If you don’t enjoy musicals that prioritize spectacle, attitude, and era-specific counterculture (including drug use) over plot momentum and subtlety, this one may test your patience.