The Sound of Music, the movie, turns 50 this year, as popular as ever, a bedrock memory of untold millions of childhoods. Mine, for sure.

Some far-off day, when neural engineers do a digital download of my dying brain, they will find, way back with the oldest grudges and PINs, The Sound of Music soundtrack, every line and rhyme. She climbs a tree and scrapes her knee. When the dog bites. Yodel-ay-hee-hoo.

The movie is returning to theaters for two days in April, and no doubt many in middle age will go, to visit an old friend who they hope hasn’t aged a bit.

A few may be disappointed. The Sound of Music is a great movie, but it isn’t a very good one. Critics in 1965 recoiled from its operetta schmaltz, its wooden acting, the sentimental goop poured all over what was already considered one of the sappier Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals. They were right, even though the movie’s many devotees will disagree, now and forever.

Don’t get me wrong — I love the movie and still enjoy making fun of it. But I often wonder why it has never been reimagined, rescued from its reputation, reborn as a movie to enjoy for reasons other than nostalgia or camp.

I had this thought after seeing South Pacific in its first Broadway revival; the director, Bartlett Sher, shook off the dated racial themes and left it radically refreshed. I remember, too, how the director Trevor Nunn, with Hugh Jackman as Curly, darkened Oklahoma! and made it almost terrifying.

Shouldn’t it be possible, without total demolition, to respectfully upend everyone’s idea of The Sound of Music? To unearth cruelty and carnality, honesty and deep feeling, all the things that lie buried under all that Salzburg sunshine and the radiance of Julie Andrews?

In other words: Is this story really as one-dimensional as we think it is?

Here is Maria, a girl supposedly so wild and unfit for the convent that one nun suggests tying a cowbell on her neck. Another supplies the perfect tag line: “She’s a wonderful girl — some of the time.” There is the captain, who has seven (seven!) children. He also has issues, as we see from the moment he meets Maria and tells her he wants her out of that dress.

Rodgers and Hammerstein were no babes on Broadway. Their shows often have secondary couples who, unlike the prim leads, couple from the get-go. In Oklahoma!, Ado Annie just “cain’t” say no. South Pacific has Lieutenant Cable and young Liat, who meet and mate in about a minute. In The Sound of Music, it’s the daughter Liesl and Rolf, the Nazi telegram boy , whose name sounds like what I want to do whenever he’s on the screen. Their duet, in a gazebo in a thunderstorm, is all about sex and crossed signals. She’s ready; he’s an idiot. Later, she sneaks into the house, soaked, and Maria lies to cover for her.

The Sound of Music is never going to be Spring Awakening, the rock musical about sex-addled 19th-century German adolescents. But there is a lot that isn’t saccharine in the source material: devotion and desolation, spiritual fervor and erotic longing. A lonely captain who dumps his rich girlfriend for the babysitter. All that, plus lusty goatherds. And Nazis!

Poor Andrews has been lugging this rucksack over the Alps for 50 years. It’s time for another Maria to take it from here. What’s Lady Gaga doing?

I mean no insult to the lovely, the luminous, the practically perfect Andrews. But I liked her better in that other movie, the one where she plays an unlicensed caregiver who is hired to provide structure to two at-risk children, but instead brings them to hang with her boyfriend, a street musician who likes to get high at his uncle’s house. Can there be wit, irony and genuine laughs in a family film? Yes — keep Mary Poppins just as it is.

Is this story really as one-dimensional as we think it is?