In July 1994, Gene Kelly suffered the first of two strokes. Although doctors at UCLA’s Medical Center labeled it “mild,” the stroke kept him in the hospital for nearly seven weeks.

Gene suffered another, much smaller stroke in Feburary 1995. “He was neurologically stable, aware, and conversational,” the Associated Press reported the following day. But sadly, Gene would never fully recover from this one. He died in his sleep on Friday, February 2, 1996.

While Gene’s death is sad in itself — in that such an energetic man/body was overtaken by such a debilitating condition — it is also fraught with controversy, at least according to Gene’s first wife, Betsy Blair. For example, in the epilogue of her memoir (about which I’ve written at length here), Blair recalls that a few hours after Gene died, his third wife, Patricia Ward Kelly, phoned Gene’s children (Bridget, Tim, and Kerry) to discourage them from traveling to Los Angeles; after all, at this point, there was nothing they could do. But the children insisted and flew to California to pay their respects to their father and to visit their childhood home on Rodeo Drive once more.

As Blair tells it, Kelly’s adult children arrived to a somber house, “no friends, no food, no tears, and no embraces. They were given a tour of the flowers from famous people as if they were strangers” (6-7). Moreover, since Kelly’s widow had Gene’s body cremated that morning (a rather fast turnaround), the children never got to say goodbye. From Blair: “Kerry later told me they all felt as if ‘she threw him away — as if he were garbage to be incinerated and thrown away. There aren’t even any ashes'” (6-7). I do not know Patricia Ward Kelly’s side of this story.

But let’s move on to a (somewhat) happier note. Many tributes were put together during the days and week following Gene’s death. For instance, People published this lengthy photo-heavy tribute [PDF] and The New York Times, this one, which applauded all of the “inventive techniques that enabled Gene Kelly to create unusual and imaginative dance routines.” Similarly, The Independent remembered the many hats Gene wore: “As director and choreographer, dancer and singer, acrobat and actor, Gene Kelly was one of the most vital and indispensable figures in the history of the American film musical.” Finally, Time honored Kelly with their column, “White Socks and Loafers.” Here’s my favorite excerpt as well as the “I Got Rhythm” number that’s mentioned:

For all the effort he and directors like Vincente Minnelli put into balletomanic spectaculars like the 20 minutes that conclude An American in Paris, it is the sweet simple things like “I Got Rhythm” — just Kelly, some cute kids, a cobblestone street on Montmartre, a catchy little Gershwin tune — that lived most affectingly in memory. But this, too, is true: we could not have had the one without the other. Together the complexity of his ambitions and the underlying innocence of his spirit constitute the inextricable weave of this dear man’s singularity.

 As well, news stations all over the globe marked Gene’s death with tributes. Embedded below is one from Headline News as well as another from The 68th Annual Academy Awards, featuring tap-dancer Savion Glover. Finally, on the night of his death, the lights of Broadway were dimmed in his honor. Rest in peace, Eugene Curran Kelly.

Sources:

• TCM
• Blair, Betsy.  The Memory of All That: Love and Politics in New York, Hollywood, and Paris.  New York: Knopf, 2003.

The post The Basics: When Did Gene Kelly Die? appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Last week I stumbled across several 1976 newspaper articles in which Gene Kelly discusses his return to movies. After the death of his (second) wife, Jeanne Coyne, Kelly turned down virtually any film project that would take him away from the couple’s two young children, Tim and Bridget. At this point, single fatherhood was his life. But with the blessing of his kids, he returned to the silver screen in the dramatic (not musical) role of Evil Knievel’s “grease-monkey sidekick” in Viva Knievel (1977). (Further reading: The AV Club considers Viva Knievel in their series “Films That Time Forgot.”)

Also mentioned in the newspaper columns is that Kelly “turned down the lead role opposite Liza Minnelli in Cabaret because [he] would have had to jerk the kids from their surroundings and have taken them to Europe [to film].”

Hmmm, Gene Kelly in Cabaret’s primary male role? First, WTF? Second, that could go one of two ways. He could play either

• Joel Gray’s Master of Ceremonies, or
• Michael York’s bisexual character, Brian Roberts (featured below).

And although I (prematurely) tweeted my findings, casually assuming that Kelly would have taken on the character with the most singing and dancing, neither role really seems plausible. Here’s why.

First, in many ways Gene served as an doting uncle to Liza Minnelli. Daughter of MGM power-couple Vincente Minnelli and Judy Garland, young Liza frequently romped around the sets of movie musicals, several of which Gene Kelly was filming on. In her Private Screenings interview with Robert Osborne, which we’ve covered here, Liza fondly remembers Gene paying attention to her on the lot, occasionally teaching her dance steps between his takes. Adorably, she even recalls once trick-or-treating at his Beverly Hills home, she a tiny witch of whom he was supposedly “terribly frightened.” Consequently, it would have been rather preposterous — not to mention, creepy — for Gene Kelly, about 60 years old at the time, to play Liza’s love interest in Cabaret (Michael York’s role).

I’d argue the same regarding Joel Gray’s flamboyant Emcee. While Gene Kelly donned gobs of makeup in Invitation to the Dance [pic] and What A Way To Go [pic], and made many an exaggerated face onscreen, I don’t see him enacting such a stylized version of “Willkommen.” Nor do I see Kelly, especially at that age, playfully spanking and/or rubbing the backsides of his dancing female co-stars as does Joel Gray’s Master of Ceremonies. (I would, however, like to see that, at least just once.) So what gives? What the hell is Gene Kelly talking about in this Viva Knievel interview?

Further research indicates that Kelly was asked to DIRECT Cabaret (1972), not co-star in it, as the studio initially wanted a recognizable name behind the camera. See, for example, PBS’s Anatomy of a Dancer, Not Starring.com, and AuntSuzy‘s sources on Gene Kelly: Creative Genius. Gene Kelly also confirms this in an interview with Burt Prelutsky for the book The Secret of Their Success (published 2008):

“I regret that I couldn’t get to direct and choreograph [Cabaret], but did recommend to the producers that they go with Bob Fosse, who wound up winning the Oscar. I honestly don’t think I or anybody else could have done a better job” (circa 1994-95).

Ah yes, Gene Kelly as the director (rather than co-star) of Cabaret seems much more tenable. Or does it?

Along with musicals such as Jesus Christ Superstar (1973), Tommy (1975), and The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), Bob Fosse’s Cabaret (1972) is generally considered a “stylistic game-changer” in the history of the genre (Cohan 6). Indeed, these “lusty musicals,” my colleague Kelly Kessler claims (10-11), are much more ambivalent in their form, narratives, characters, and morals than the unified, idealistic studio-driven musicals in which Gene Kelly starred as well as those he directed later in his career, e.g., Hello Dolly! (1969), That’s Entertainment II (1976). For example, sex is no longer implied but simulated (or at least thrown into the viewer’s face); heterosexual coupling is not necessarily the norm; and drugs, skimpy costumes, and choppy editing supplant the bright white sets, elegant top hats/tails, and gliding camerawork of the classical period. Therefore, it would seem out of character for Kelly to have directed Cabaret, not to mention perhaps outside his expertise.

Before readers begin hatin’ and such, I say these things about Mr. Kelly as a compliment, not an insult. Arguably an auteur (at least a “performing auteur”), Gene Kelly possesses a defining style both behind and in front of the camera that does not necessarily jive with the tone, music, storyline, etc. of a musical like Cabaret — and that’s okay. Gillian Kelly has paired down Kelly’s auteur personality to these three elements:

• control of the body, filmic space (especially in his numbers), mise-en-scene, technology (behind/before the camera), his co-stars (i.e., teaching Debbie Reynolds and Frank Sinatra how to dance), and his characters’ relationships
• authenticity: casual clothes/shoes and wartime uniforms reinforcing an All-American persona, on-location shooting, his use of bricolage (i.e., interacting “spontaneously” with everyday items like a squeaky board or a trashcan lid)
• innovations in mise-en-scene: on-location shooting (On the Town, Hello Dolly!), double exposure (Cover Girl), three-way split screen (It’s Always Fair Weather), and animation vs. real life (Anchors Aweigh, Invitation to the Dance)

Certainly, Gene Kelly had the technical skills to direct Cabaret. But the sensibilities to produce a 1970s musical “game-changer”? Probably not. And again, that’s a good thing. Where Singin’ in the Rain (1952) and On the Town (1949), for example, soared because of Kelly’s (and Stanley Donen’s) creative direction, jubilant mise-en-scene, and tight control (see “You Were Meant for Me” for “control”), Cabaret does the same because of Fosse’s stylized, cynical sexuality, jazz hands, and gritty sets. Different styles, different auteurs, different types of films. So no worries, Gene Kelly and the fans thereof. As Mark Darcy (Colin Firth) once charmingly informed one unsuspecting Bridget Jones (Renee Zellwegger), we like you, just as you are.

The post Thank You, Gene Kelly, for Not Directing Cabaret appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Being a fan of Gene Kelly, and film musicals in general, has burdened me with two formidable dichotomies since my childhood: how to defend my masculinity as a heterosexual male and my credibility as a student of Scottish history.

The film musical genre, as I am told constantly, is the forte of gay men, a more potent defining characteristic, it would seem, than any lifestyle choice.  Stand-up comics and a host of poorly written situation and romantic comedies regularly endorse this understanding; I seem to remember a joke of this ilk in every other episode of Will & Grace (right; note the Judy Garland memorabilia on the wall).  That is quite enough to contend with.  However, it is a film musical, and a Gene Kelly film musical, that is held mostly, if not wholly, responsible for what is known as the ‘tartanification of Scotland:’ the cultural dismantling of the nation into the Highland jigging, kilted, and tartan clad land as portrayed on the front of shortbread tins around the world.

Unlike every other Gene fan I have encountered I can’t remember when I first saw him, I have absolutely no memory of the period B.G. (Before Gene).  He’s always just been there.  And I don’t mean in a spiritual sense; he hasn’t shone forth and bathed me in the ethereal light of his perpetual magnificence…

I cannot accept the current trend from some virtual devotees who attempt to portray Gene as some kind of beatific, infallible demigod, and easily dismiss as errant nonsense negative assessments of him like “tyrannical” (Debbie Reynolds) and “egotistical” (André Previn) simply because they contradict the preordained idolatrous image they have contrived to create.  Not for them the young, fiery hoofer who propelled himself into low-rent audiences to teach hecklers lessons in humility with his fists, or who retained a romanticised notion of Irish Republicanism late into his life, or who revelled in a bawdy, and sometimes cruel, sense of humour.  I don’t recognise their Gene Kelly and I doubt very much whether he ever existed at all.  It is his humanity, with all its flaws and contradictions, which makes his achievements all the more astonishing.

My love of Gene Kelly became common knowledge at school when I was 9 years old.  We were asked to name our favourite film stars; Steve McQueen was a popular choice for the boys, as were Sean Connery and Roger Moore (Bond was huge in the 70s), and I seem to remember that even Elvis Presley got a mention (he had just passed away and all of his films were shown on television).  As you have probably already anticipated my choice was met with particular derision.  Two things allowed me a modicum of redemption for this unforgivable betrayal of collective manliness: football and humour.  If you can play the national sport well and are also perceived as funny then the respect and freedom from your contemporaries can be invigorating.  Mostly.  It can also, however, engender resentment in those who feel that all the skill and comical flair in the world can’t, and shouldn’t, compensate for the pathetic admission of “poofyness” (his word) that a love of Gene Kelly musicals reveals.

Barry Floyd was his name, a tall, stocky bully with a huge mane of blonde curls: an anti-Harpo, if you will.  He made the next six months of my young life, a very long time to a nine year old, an absolute misery and would punch, kick, and spit on me with every opportunity that presented itself.  Despite a visit to the school by my mother and admonishment from teachers the bullying continued.  My father’s advice, doled out early on in the period of persecution, seemed to me like a last resort: “There’s only one way to deal with bullies, son… You hit them right back.”  I had never hit anybody in my life and the thought of any kind of violence abhorred me.

On the final day of school before the summer break my tormentor cornered me in the library and advised me that he was going to give me “something special that would get me through the summer.”  The experience of what had gone before allowed me to understand that something thoroughly unpleasant, not to mention extremely painful, was imminent.  I can only imagine that a combination of fear and the subconscious recognition of a breaking point are responsible for what happened next.

Barry Floyd had hardly advanced when I caught him square on the jaw with my right fist and sent him sprawling into a portable trolley of cheap paperback Westerns.  Fitting, I thought.  He stared up at me from the floor with an expression of pained incredulity, but said nothing more, while I turned and walked out of the library followed by, I like to think, the spirit of an athletic dancer in t-shirt and chinos who leapt into the air and triumphantly clicked the heels of his loafers.  Barry Floyd didn’t bother us again; he never laid another finger on me, nor did he ridicule Gene after that, well… not in front of me, at least.

In my teenage years my love of Gene is something I really only shared with those closest to me.  I found it easy to conceal that part of me from everyone else because I always had a love of contemporary music, films, and sport that identified me as ‘typical.’  However, with my family and my best friends I can lay claim to having spread the word of Gene with wonderful success: when I taped On the Town (1949) on betamax video in 1982 and played it constantly it had such a profound effect on my brother that years later when he began his career as a carpenter he would regularly walk onto building sites singing “I feel like I’m not out of bed yet;” when I taped Singin’ in the Rain (1952) a year later I caught my other brother watching the titular number (right) after, falsely, denouncing its merits, and after showing it to my friends for the first time they didn’t need much persuasion to literally dance around in puddles in the street afterwards.

With the women in my life it’s something I ensure to reveal as early as I possibly can, in fact the dvd of Gene’s AFI Tribute (below) was something I used in my courtship of a woman in the late 90s with whom I would soon embark on a nine year relationship; she had told me previously that she had never liked Gene Kelly, but admitted after watching it that she had found him funny, talented, and humble.  The next woman I was involved with in 2007 not only fell in love with Singin’ in the Rain after I showed it to her, but also bought it as a present for her little girl who similarly adored it and showed it to her friends.  And the woman I am currently seeing watched Singin’ in the Rain with me at Christmas and let’s just say she’s a work in progress…

In my adulthood I have never tried to conceal my love of Gene, on the contrary it is something I wear on my sleeve with pride — an adornment of muscular, joyous, and inventive brilliance.  Equipped with an extensive knowledge of his work, gleaned from a lifetime of admiration and love, and opinions formulated after years of viewing and reading, I will, and have, gone to figurative war in Gene’s defence.  I am more than aware, and the first to admit, that not everything he did was marked with brilliance and I recognise his limitations both as an actor and singer, but a handful of his films and a plethora of his numbers meet with no resistance.

However, it is an irony not lost on me that it should be one of Gene’s films that is regularly accused of perpetuating the myth and image of Scotland as a primitive country driven by an almost supernatural thirst for whimsy, legend, whisky, dancing, quaintness, outdated custom, and tartan… acres of tartan… swathes of tartan… huge, billowing, terrifying mounds of tartan.  If I am in the middle of a Gene rant to disbelievers, be they friends or otherwise, and they know that I am not only a fan of his, but a student of Scottish history at the nation’s oldest University, they simply bide their time before dropping into the debate a word that has as devastating an impact on my argument as an alien beaming in to a Christian pilgrimage: Brigadoon (1954).

Derision in Scotland, and the wider UK, for this hopelessly set bound travesty was instantaneous and the fact that it followed hard after Walt Disney’s equally ludicrous Rob Roy (1953) a year earlier, in which an Englishman (the ignominy) portrayed one of Scotland’s, and the world’s, most celebrated outlaws, compounded the resentment tenfold.  Some reports suggest that Gene came to Scotland to scout locations for the film in 1953, and there are photographs of him outside Glasgow Central Train Station and of him receiving an award in Edinburgh, but this seems rather implausible given that the film musical was on the wane and MGM no longer had faith in the genre.  Furthermore, if An American in Paris (1951) wasn’t shot on location during the genre’s zenith, then what would have compelled the studio to embark on a location shoot in a country notorious for intemperate weather and difficult terrain?

I’m not sure exactly where in the Gene pantheon I would place Brigadoon.  It doesn’t make my eyes and ears bleed like 1947’s Living in a Big Way (right) or Summer Stock (1950), easily the worst, in my opinion, of Gene’s musicals.  But then again, it doesn’t possess any flashes of individual brilliance that can be found, albeit fleetingly, in both of those films.  The soft shoe shuffle of “Go Home wi’ Bonnie Jean” is almost endearing, but Gene’s rendition of the score’s most celebrated song, “Almost Like Being in Love,” is lacklustre and the routine as a whole somewhat under whelming.  The film’s most historically, and culturally, inaccurate sequence, the Highland wedding, is, paradoxically, my favourite scene and I only wish it went on for longer before Harry comes in and starts groping ‘Bonnie’ Jean; some ruthless editing of most, if not all, of Gene’s interminable pas de deuxs with Cyd Charisse would have provided the scope for that.  Cyd, a woman I have desired since the 80s, is woeful throughout and her Highland lilt almost rivals Dick Van Dyke’s Cock-er-ney chimney sweep from Mary Poppins (1964) for the worst accent in cinematic history: her execution of the line “the kindest man in Scotland” is beyond risible.

The removal of the finest song from the score, Come to Me, Bend to Me, is a bewildering decision – perhaps Gene and Vincente Minnelli thought that it slowed down the narrative, such as it is, but Brigadoon is not blessed with the kind of score that can survive without its best song.  Those of you who have watched the DVD extras will surely agree that Jimmy Thompson’s rendition of the song is delightful.  Van Johnson is excellent as the cynical Jeff Douglas and it is a mystery why he doesn’t have a song of his own; a funny and derogatory number denouncing Brigadoon and everything it represents would have gone down a treat… or maybe a song at the end about how his best friend has left him to disappear into the Highland mist forever and he has to return to New York and explain to his fiancée, and the police, why he’s coming back from Scotland alone, that he doesn’t know where the body is, that he didn’t kill Tommy he’s just asleep, that he didn’t mean to kill the guy he actually did kill, but it’s just as well he did because if he’d made it across the bridge all the Brigadonians would have disappeared into the Highland mist forever and Tommy’s love for Fiona wouldn’t have been able to wake them up this time…

I place myself firmly in the Jeff and ‘Hothead’ Harry camp.  Brigadoon’s insular and pointless little world is as attractive to me as Tasmania must have been to British convicts in the nineteenth century.  In his Film Guide Leslie Halliwell described Brigadoon as ‘Lost Horizonish.’  I can’t agree with that.  The lamasery of Shangri-La in James Hilton’s novel was a Utopian ideal of contentment, long life, perfect health, and cultural preservation, but the village of Brigadoon has none of that… just some sheep, a market, men walking around aimlessly with bales of hay, heather ale (what is that?), and candy… Sorry, ‘candy?’

Caledonian condemnation of Brigadoon is not unanimous, however: a popular Glasgow DJ of the seventies and eighties admitted that he “loved it” and I can remember my own grandmother insisting, when Gene and Cyd turn to face the Highland landscape after desecrating its majesty with their ghastly “Heather on the Hill” routine (right), that it must have been filmed in Scotland because of how beautiful the scenery was… Extraordinary – and this was a woman who had seen the real landscape in all its glory.  It remains a popular choice for amateur musicals and a multitude of examples are but a click away on You Tube; I saw one myself a few years ago and silently cheered as the American accents of the actors playing Tommy and Jeff ensured that the linguistic atrocities perpetrated by Cyd Charisse were finally avenged.

For most of us, however, Brigadoon is the watchword for the trite, whimsical, and patronising manner in which the country of my birth has been portrayed in popular culture; and, dismayingly, it is happening still as the recent execrable Made of Honour (2008) testifies.  When Simon Callow is met by the sight of kilted dancers at the Scottish wedding in Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994) he exclaims: “It’s Brigadoon, It’s bloody Brigadoon!”  This is perhaps the greatest example of Brigadoon’s impact; that people need not have seen the film, nor the Broadway original, to understand the reference.

I used to describe my own hometown, unfairly, as a cross between Brigadoon and Salem’s Lot, and people always got the joke.  And yet, despite all of its faults, what Brigadoon has been held responsible for is rather unfair, at least when compared to other interpretations of Scottish legends and myths; Brigadoon is a fictional tale of fantasy and claims to be nothing more than this, whereas Mel Gibson’s Braveheart (1995) presented a woefully inaccurate account of the life of William Wallace and whipped the nation into a collective frenzy that even saw a political party adopt Gibson’s painted face on their literature and quote directly from the film in their parliamentary speeches.  Which is the greater crime?   

The biggest gripe I have with Brigadoon is one of missed opportunity.  A little more research would have provided Mr Forsyth with a more worthy excuse to ask God for a ‘miracle.’  In the story the year is 1754, only eight years after the annihilation of the forces of Charles Stuart (Bonnie Prince Charlie, if you must) at Culloden.  A defeat so crushing in its one-sidedness and so devastating in its impact on the national psyche that Scotland not only saw her last chance of a governing monarch evaporate, but the resilience and defiance that had kept the English at bay since the Middle Ages quietly ebbed away and was eventually replaced by the intellectualism of the pro-Union Scottish Enlightenment.  As a patriot, I can think of no better reason to disappear into the Highland mist for centuries…

Sources:

• Hirschorn, Clive, Gene Kelly, A Biography (W.H. Allen, London 1974).
• McArthur, Colin, Brigadoon, Braveheart and the Scots – Distortions of Scotland in Hollywood Cinema (I.B. Taurus & Co Ltd, London 2003).
• ‘Gene Kelly,’ The Hollywood Greats, BBC, 30 April 2001, Television.

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Over the years, Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly have been compared and contrasted endlessly.  They were often featured together in retrospectives in film, television, and even in a commercial.  I shouldn’t be surprised if they got a bit tired of seeing each other at some level!  And yet such a practice on the part of the public is understandable: when it came to male cinematic dancing in the 1940s and ’50s, the two of them were virtually all we had.  I have had plenty to say on the matter myself in the years I have been a fan of both.

The average viewer doesn’t necessarily know how to quantify any differences between them, but surely almost anyone can see that they are indeed very different.  I do not possess a great deal of technical knowledge about dancing, but I have spent untold hours watching them and I think I can speak articulately on not only their dancing, but also their singing and acting.  By necessity, I will be speaking in broad terms and making some generalizations.  Of course there will always be exceptions to generalities.

Starting Out

Before I dive in to the particulars, it’s important to discuss a bit of what was happening behind the scenes when they were first getting their relative starts.  Fred Astaire was 13 years older than Gene Kelly and was on Broadway by the time he was 18 (Gene didn’t go to Broadway until he was almost 30).  Because he arrived so much earlier and there was little to no competition from the cinema until much later, Fred spent much more time on Broadway than Gene.  In fact, he met George Gershwin before the name Gershwin meant much of anything, and the maelstrom of creative activity that ensued was a boon to the careers of both men.

In Fred’s day, the musical stage comedy was far less integrated than it was in Gene’s day.  Things were beginning to move toward a more integrated form, but for the most part, the average musical consisted of a loosely connected string of comic sequences tied together with catchy songs and pretty girls in scanty dress.  It was, in short, a venue for new hit songs to make a first appearance, and the action seemed to have been written around the songs.  For this reason, Fred is responsible for introducing dozens of songs that would go on to become popular standards (i.e., songs that belong to what is often referred to as “The Great American Songbook”).

When Gene was on Broadway, George Gershwin was gone.  Some of the greats such as Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern, and Cole Porter were still working, but many of their legendary tunes had already been written and were performed by others (including Fred Astaire).  Gene’s first Broadway show, Pal Joey (1940), featured songs by Rodgers & Hart – songs that flowed immediately from the surrounding action because they had been written specifically for such a purpose.  While Pal Joey was a much darker musical in many respects than Gene would ever be a part of again, the idea of a more integrated production was one that would stick with him throughout his career.  In brief, the dancers’ Broadway beginnings would shape their later Hollywood careers: Fred would concern himself largely with dancing and routines, while Gene’s primary concern was a larger one, advancing the art of cinematic choreography and the film musical genre.

Acting

All of this background information is important because it affected how the two approached acting.  For example, when Fred Astaire is onscreen, there is a humble “shrugging” quality about his acting that seems to be apologizing for itself.  He’s eminently likeable, but he seems to be saying, “I know I’m not very good at this, but I’m sure you’ll be kind enough to put up with me until we get to the next song.  Oughta be one in (glances at watch) just a few minutes.”  In fact, fellow dancer and some-time costar Ann Miller once recalled sitting next to Fred at an event in which scenes from his films were shown.  Reportedly, Fred made dismissive and embarrassed comments about his acting to himself as he watched. Similarly, director Vincente Minnelli stated that Fred “lacks confidence to the most enormous degree of all the people in the world.  He will not even go to see his rushes…He always thinks he is no good.”

I don’t mean to suggest that I agree; it’s just that within the realm of musical comedy, he tended to play the same sort of charming and affable character over and over again.  And in all but a very small minority of his musical films, this charming and affable character was a role familiar to Fred: that of a professional dancer.  The typical Fred character didn’t get angry or upset very often, and tended to take life as it came.  He never seemed to be trying all that hard because he didn’t have to.  The role didn’t demand it.

Gene couldn’t have been more different.  The character he tended to play was more brash and outspoken, and due to the more integrated form of musicals he was a part of and the resulting increase in their relative complexity, the roles he played were a bit more demanding.  Gene only played a professional dancer once, in his first role, Harry Palmer in For Me and My Gal (1942). But even this role was rather demanding when compared with most of Fred’s as it called for a dark edge: Harry was an opportunist and a draft dodger.

If Fred is “guilty” of not trying hard enough – something that managed to work in his favor; less is usually more when it comes to acting – Gene is equally as guilty of trying too hard.  The New Yorker’s Russell Maloney put it this way in a review of Thousands Cheer (1943): “Gene Kelly … is a beautiful dancer, but he’s not a musical-comedy actor…The horse of sincerity in the bathroom of musical comedy, that’s Gene Kelly.”  Gene reportedly once admitted that he couldn’t do a close take very well.  Because he didn’t always trust himself as a natural actor, there is a tendency to screw his face up a little bit harder, or put another inch or two of inflection in his voice.  This is why he was at his absolute lovable best when he played hammy actors, such as Don Lockwood (Singin’ in the Rain, 1952) or Serafin (The Pirate, 1948), or cocky sailors like Joe Brady (Anchors Aweigh, 1945) and Gabey (On the Town, 1949).  Over-acting becomes almost necessary.

Singing

A lack of confidence was common to both men when it came to their singing ability.  Fred appeared as the mystery celebrity guest on What’s My Line? in 1955.  When the blindfolded panel tried to ascertain his identity by asking if he was a singer, his answer was no.  When his identity was finally revealed, Dorothy Kilgallen protested and told him she thought him one of the finest singers who ever lived.  Fred demurred charmingly and almost bashfully.  While Ms. Kilgallen may have been a bit effusive in her praise, it is true that Fred was and is highly regarded not so much as a singer but as an interpreter of popular song, by fans and songwriters alike.  Greats such as Jerome Kern, Cole Porter, Johnny Mercer, and Burton Lane heaped praise upon his singing.  Irving Berlin reportedly got a bit nervous when Gene Kelly was initially tapped for the male lead in 1948’s Easter Parade because the songwriter had such confidence in Fred’s “conception of projecting a song” and less in Gene’s. (Fred eventually got the role anyway, after Gene broke his ankle.)

Fred’s lack of confidence stemmed, no doubt, from the quality of his instrument.  Thin and reedy like his frame, it does not project power or depth.  Nonetheless, it is warm and human and immensely charming.  Songwriters loved him because of his obvious respect for the lyric and where it should be placed in relation to the musical accompaniment.  No doubt Fred’s innate sense of rhythm, honed by years of dancing, contribute to his perfect timing and phrasing.  Additionally, he had the benefit of working with better musicians and arrangers – most notably with the jazz giant Oscar Peterson on 1953’s release Steppin’ Out: Astaire Sings.  There is no better showcase for Fred’s vocal talent.

Gene never gave us such a collection of gems.  Unfortunately, his albums suffer from poor production values and a general lack of quality material.  Perhaps he was never given the opportunity to produce something of better quality, but when it comes to singing alone, he does suffer somewhat from a comparison to Fred.  As much as I love Gene – and it almost pains me to admit it – I frequently enjoy listening to Fred in my car or on my iPod.  Outside of a few standout songs, I seldom listen to Gene just for the sake of hearing him.

Like Fred, Gene’s voice was thin, light, and oddly high pitched – and stands in stark contrast to the power and masculinity of his dancing.  He does have some shining moments, “Love is Here to Stay” from An American in Paris (1951) chief among them (below). But one senses he was often forced to stretch his voice beyond its powers.  The songs from 1954’s Brigadoon (particularly the outtakes) reveal his voice at its weakest (for more on Brigadoon, please see Marc’s post).  Unlike Fred, he seemed to lack the ability to translate to singing the musicality he so aptly expressed with his body.  The ability to project a song well is something we tend to feel more than we can quantify, but sometimes it does seem that Gene is guilty of trying too hard even when he is singing.  A case in point is a silly affectation that often adorns his voice – a tendency to purposely break it or put an overly cute and precious twist on it.  (One place this can be heard in “I’ve Got a Crush on You,” an outtake from An American in Paris).  But we can’t much fault him for this “flaw” as his own humility with regard to singing compels us to forgive him.  He never much liked his own voice and it was only with some reluctance that he agreed to sing at his own house parties.  Furthermore, his tremendous charm when putting over a song within the context of the film musical in many cases surpasses even Fred’s.  As much as I love Fred, I usually prefer watching Gene’s musicals.

Dancing

If it weren’t for their dancing abilities, neither Fred nor Gene would be famous today.  As implied above, their acting and singing skills alone would not have carried them to the legendary status their names now enjoy.  They were triple threats, but dancing was their true talent – and for this reason alone they are inextricably linked in the public consciousness.

As we’ve established, Fred came along first.  His dancing is characterized first and foremost by class and elegance.  Naturally, this is obvious when one considers that he often danced in top hat and tails, but his sense of class supersedes his wardrobe and any related label or socioeconomic standing.  It wouldn’t have mattered if he was in tatty burlap or rags (as he was in the fabulous “We’re a Couple of Swells” from Easter Parade), because he radiates inner elegance and graciousness.  He is like William Powell as Carole Lombard’s “forgotten man” in My Man Godfrey (1936) that way.  Everyone can see his inherent goodness, decency, and humility.

There is a supernal effortlessness about his dancing.  He worked like a pack mule to make it appear that way, but to the mere spellbound spectator, it’s as though God appointed His favorite angel as Fred’s celestial puppeteer.  He seemed to have invisible wings on loan from Heaven that allowed him to take flight in his shoes.  To borrow a bit from e.e. cummings, I would argue that nobody, not even the rain, has such soft feet.  His motions can be big and expansive, but no one is fooled.  It’s always tempered with sweetness and airiness.

Fred’s body was longer and leaner than Gene’s, and this higher center of gravity contributes to an overall lightness of form and movement.  No matter how fast he moves, he never seems to be working very hard.  In spite of his affability and his warm smile, this effortlessness gives him a remote, untouchable quality.  He almost becomes as one of the gods, and as John Updike once wrote, “Gods do not answer letters.”  We love him; we are charmed by him; we want to be like him, but he never quite lets us all the way in.  It has been said that Fred never let anyone watch him rehearse, and would keep guards on hand while he was working out a routine.  This carries over into his filmed performances: even when we are watching him, we aren’t seeing him.  The mechanism is never on display.

Gene’s dancing is in a different dimension, poles apart from Fred’s.  Where Fred is light and airy, Gene is powerful and earthy.  Gene was a bit shorter (5’7″ to Fred’s 5’9″) and more muscular and therefore always seems bound to the ground.  He had a greater desire than Fred to incorporate different styles of dancing into the mainstream musical, particularly ballet.  But when Gene leaps and soars he never quite takes off, because his thick and powerful legs anchor him to the terrestrial plain.  This muscularity and earthiness gives his dancing a greater vitality and dynamism – a volatile physicality and a pop that one can almost imagine hearing in addition to seeing.   Because he is so strong, he has tremendous control over his movements, so that even while he seems to be exploding in all directions at once, perfection and precision win out.  When he does a number with someone else, that other person is almost unwatchable in comparison because he or she can’t match Gene’s form and the immaculate lines of his body.  This becomes evident even with a strong dancer like Donald O’Connor in the number “Moses Supposes” from Singin’ in the Rain.  If the breakneck speed of the action is paused at virtually any moment, Gene could almost pass for a statue, whereas Donald’s limbs are blurred; he seems to be flailing in comparison – out of control.

If Fred’s dancing is characterized by an innate sense of class, Gene’s is characterized by joy.  He has the gift of being able to impart joy to everyone lucky enough to set eyes on him.  His boundless boyish energy and enthusiasm is one reason why.  His dancing seems to say, “Hey!  Life is wonderful and you’ve been given another day to live it.  Get out there and make the most of it.”  Another way he imparts joy is in how he inspires a person to think that if s/he just tries hard enough, s/he might be able to do what Gene does.  Fred’s dancing says, “Pfft.  Forget it.  You’ll never be this good.”  Gene’s dancing, while equally as spectacular in its own way, is honest and human.  He allows us to see that he’s working hard – constantly pushing and pulling against the limits of gravity and the human body.  We can see it all: blood, sweat, tears, and, quite literally, scars.  Writer James Lileks once said that Gene so embodies the American spirit that his face should be on money.  What could be more inspirational and American than the notion that if one works hard enough, one can accomplish anything?  Gene’s dancing gives us that illusion and keeps that dream alive.

Together

While Fred and Gene shared the screen in the 1974 musical compilation/documentary That’s Entertainment (right), they only danced together once in their prime: in “The Babbitt and the Bromide” number from Ziegfeld Follies (1945). Video below.

It is perhaps impossible that two tremendous talents could ever fully satisfy us with only one number, and many fans find this particular number lacking.  The choreography is not particularly challenging or innovative, and has a distinctly old-fashioned feel.  And no wonder: it was recycled from an old Gershwin show Fred had been in with his sister Adele, Funny Face (1927).  Reportedly, Gene had wanted to do something new but acquiesced to Fred, the older and more established man.  The story is that both men went out of their way to be accommodating as the number was being developed and rehearsed, which resulted in a finished product that is pleasant to look at but doesn’t really capture the style of either man.  It is obvious that the two men admired and respected each other and enjoyed working together, but there is a certain lack of gusto in the performance.

Still, despite these flaws, to fans of both men it must stand on its own merit as an unadulterated treasure.  I would much rather have “The Babbitt and the Bromide” than nothing at all.  It gives us our only opportunity to compare them side by side in their prime and to witness firsthand how great they were.  We can see that neither was better than the other, just vastly different.  It is the only time Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly is dancing with a partner and I can’t decide which one is most worthy of my attentive eyes.  They both deserve our acclaim and our affection.

The post Gene Kelly vs. Fred Astaire: A Fan Weighs In appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Last night, our pal and fellow Gene fan Elizabeth brought to our attention this replica of Cyd Charisse’s flapper dress from the “Broadway Melody” number in Singin’ in the Rain (1952).

From what we can tell, the dress was recreated and hand-sown by Maral Agnerian for this year’s Dragon Con, the “largest multi-media, popular culture convention focusing on science fiction and fantasy, gaming, comics, literature, art, music, and film in the universe.” Captions below Agnerian’s pics tell us

• the entire dress was beaded and sequined by hand
• the beading alone took 6 months to complete, and (for those who recall prom in the late ’80s),
• dyeable bridal shoes “hurt like a MOFO.”

We’ve featured three images of the dress here, but you can see more on the designer’s photostream. What talent!

The post Handmade Cyd Charisse Dress appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Last Saturday night, a slew of Gene Kelly fans from across the country tuned in to Turner Classic Movies to watch and live-tweet An American in Paris (Vincente Minnelli, 1951), the lavish MGM musical which earned Kelly an honorary Oscar and which Alec Baldwin and Robert Osborne introduced as one of The Essentials. Here’s Osborne on the film: “It’s joyous, it’s fun, it’s Technicolorful. It’s why people went to the movies.” Moreover, Osborne beamed, “it’s the perfect Gene Kelly movie. All that Kelly had — that smile, attitude, average Joe — he brought to the screen.”

Baldwin went on to discuss the film’s cinematography, in particular the long shots and long takes which Gene Kelly often used to frame his (as well as his co-stars’) body: “When you can do what Kelly can do — a god of contemporary dance — I wouldn’t let them cut the camera from me either,” Baldwin quipped. Yes, An American in Paris is an essential indeed.

And now, to the evening’s events…

Several portions of An American in Paris brought about an onslaught of tweets, especially the ballet dream sequence (you know, because of “dat ass“). But so did a random comment I made as Jerry Mulligan (Gene Kelly) kissed Lise (Leslie Caron) the first time; see tweet at right. My Tweetdeck lit up immediately with responses:

• Whaaaa? He did??
• NO!!!!! He slipped Debbie tongue?!?!!?
• If I were her, I wouldn’t be able to keep quiet if he did.
• Me either. And that was Debbie’s FIRST kiss? Ever? What a first one to have.
• I would melt. Or spontaneously combust or something.

Yes, according to Debbie Reynolds, her “more experienced” co-star unexpectedly French-kissed her while shooting the final shot of Singin’ in the Rain (1952), shown below. Much to the chagrin and sheer dismay of Kelly’s current fans, Reynolds quickly recoiled at the act, ran off the set, and gargled her mouth with Coca-Cola. Excerpts from Reynolds’s interviews, conducted in 2002, 2009, and 2011, are featured below.

“A Very Mature Kiss”

Only 17 — and completely innocent, which was why, when they were shooting the last scene, she ran off to her dressing room in tears after the 40-year-old Kelly gave her a big French kiss. “He gave me a very mature kiss,” she said demurely. “I was a young girl, and I was shocked and stopped the scene and pulled away and wouldn’t go on, you know, and finally he had to kiss me square on the lips or I wouldn’t do it,” she added, laughing — no, guffawing at the memory. “He was a little upset with that, but I was a very inexperienced young girl.” (Pittsburgh Post Gazette)

The French Connection

And there’s that fade-out kiss between 40-year-old Kelly and 19-year-old newcomer Debbie Reynolds beneath a movie billboard. The kiss that many moviegoers saw but few know about. The one that Kelly put extra effort into.

“I was taken totally by surprise,” says Reynolds, speaking by phone from California to mark the 50th anniversary of Singin’ in the Rain, which premiered in April 1952. The “surprise” wasn’t the kiss, which was in the script. It was the French connection.

“It was a great shock,” Reynolds says. “I knew he was going to kiss me, but I didn’t know there was anything else involved.”

The French kiss was such a shocker to Reynolds that she had to leave the set to gain her composure. “Filming was held up for about an hour while I drank Coca-Cola and gargled,” Reynolds says. She was eventually persuaded to return and reshoot the scene. This time around, an embarrassed Kelly promised that it would be a “simple kiss.” “I don’t know why he wasn’t aware that I had never had a French kiss. I was such a young girl. . . . I was really upset. Yes, that was an embarrassing moment.” (The Orlando Sentinel)

Gagging, and Shrieking, and Crying, Oh My!

She had never danced before Singing in the Rain, and she had never kissed, either.

She had to be shown how to kiss and be kissed, she recalls, and I won’t tell that entire story, because I don’t want to steal the thunder of the Hollywood legend whose memoir I am currently writing. Instead, that legend gave her a lesson, she said it took just a few minutes, and he claims that it went on for hours in how to kiss. Thus she was ready, or so she thought, for the moment when Gene Kelly would embrace her. To her shock and horror, Kelly not only kissed her once the cameras rolled, but jammed his tongue down her throat, which she had never expected or heard of. Disgusted, and outraged, she backed off, gagged, shrieked, and ran crying all the way to her dressing room.

Production halted until someone could coax her back to the set. She says that if you take a look at the last scene of the film, you’ll see a mightily annoyed Gene Kelly giving her the tiniest of unromantic, closed-mouth smooches at what should have been the happy triumph of a couple over all manner of Hollywood adversity. (Michael Levin)

The post Gene and Debbie (Not) Sitting in a Tree: That One Kiss Debbie Reynolds Cannot Forget appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

I’m so excited! The new print of An American in Paris (Vincente Minnelli, 1951), which opened the 2011 TCM Film Festival, is being released here in the UK!

What’s more, the British Film Institute is showing the Oscar-winning film for an entire month. With a a focus on MGM until Christmas, fans will also have the opportunity to take in On the Town (1949), Singin’ in the Rain, Take Me Out to the Ballgame (1949) and It’s Always Fair Weather (1955).

I’m also thrilled that on November 2, I’ll be there to hear Leslie Caron take part in a ‘conversation’ before the screening of An American in Paris. I have never seen AAIP, my favorite Gene Kelly film, on a big screen; in fact, I’ve not seen any GK film in a theatre other than Singin’ in the Rain. Needless to say, I will be making several trips to London before Christmas!!

I find the difference between Debbie Reynolds and Leslie Caron interesting, especially in Gene’s interaction with the two teenagers. Leslie says he was her protector and mentor, like a big brother who loved her a lot (I hope for some more on that theme when I hear her speak), yet he was also strict and demanding, something which she did not find at all unusual, having been a disciplined ballet dancer for many years.

On the other hand, Debbie must have seemed like a spoilt whinging brat in comparison, and I am sure Gene was aware of her innate toughness and resilience or he would not have been so hard on her. He always seemed to cut to the chase, being able to read characters so well — most of the time anyway. Encouraging her ‘poor little me’ attitude would not have been helpful,  either to Debbie or to the finished product.

And I never heard it said that Leslie complained about the way Gene kissed her!

The post An American In Paris in the U.K. appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Earlier this month, An American in Paris (Vincente Minnelli, 1951) aired in the UK on BBC2, and it aired last weekend in the U.S. on Turner Classic Movies.

Here are several tweets from those who watched, some as entertaining as the film itself:

• @melanie_jane How am I meant to get anything done knowing An American in Paris is about to start? fold laundry and tidy or watch Gene Kelly dance? duh.
• @MerylORourke Young followers who don’t know what a perfect specimen of manhood Gene Kelly is – BBC2 NOW
• PachecoJyz Gene Kelly…such an amazing actor. (Tweeting live on a Classic Movie Saturday )
• @chrissysagod Yes, the only thing that has the power to pause my horror movie-a-thon is gene Kelly’s ass in an American in Paris ( I heart tcm)
• @runjuliet Yeah, i know msu is playing wisconsin, but gene kelly is dancing on tcm. so.
• @JackieHunter1 Watching ‘An American in Paris’ on BBC2. Gene Kelly looked damn hot in a vest.
• @carloimperato1 An American in Paris BBC 2 gene Kelly 1951. What a natural.star. Understand now why my mamma used to love him
• @electropickle I’m watching An American in Paris. I like the part where the little french boy slaps Gene Kelly on the arse.
• @jenny0101 If Paul Newman had had Gene Kelly’s moves, I think women would have exploded. #AnAmericanInParis #TCMParty
• @chrissysagod gene kelly puts the “ass” in assets! #tcm #americaninparis
• @GeneKellyFans If I could just get my hands on Leslie Caron’s hair… #AnAmericanInParis
• @JTLovell1979 Cheer up, you’re Gene Kelly for crying out loud. There’s not one woman in the world you couldn’t get.
• @MissCarley Oh hell yes. Cuffed trousers, undershirt, rolled up sleeves … highly delectable. #tcm #GeneKelly
• @ros_clarke In fact, I cannot think of a single film which would not be improved by 20 mins of Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron dancing.
• @letsgoflyakeyt Gene Kelly is so hypnotizing
• @DroningEnnui Whenever Gene Kelly was given a note by the choreographer, you KNOW he was all like, “Look, asshole, I’m Gene fucking Kelly.”
• musical_life76 NAH, GENE KELLY PLEASE \\ RT @TheFumingLib: Someone invent a time machine so I can go back to 1951 and nail Leslie Caron #AnAmericanInParis
• @liliales  Photoset: An American in Paris, wishful thinking forearm edition tumblr.com/ZYn1OxA-JSw3
• @caralluch No one can ever look as masculine and sexy while dancing as Gene Kelly can. NO ONE. #genekelly #TCM #AnAmericanInParis #themajesticass
• @GeneKellyFans Aw, hell, y’all. This is how sex should be represented onscreen. #AnAmericanInParis #Ballet #PhallicSmoke #SexyDancing
• @ninal103 Watching the final ballet in An American In Paris. Love the way Gene Kelly moves.
• @dyanysus1116 You wear those tight pants, Gene Kelly!
• @girloftheplains And there it is. #AnAmericanInParis #TCM #TheMajesticAss #BounceAQuarterOffThatThing
• @MissCarley Can we please get #CountdownToTheMajesticAss trending?
• @njm4250 not the night for my #NJDEVILS but at least i saw the glorious #GENEKELLY abs KILL IT in An American in Paris
• @kevvwill Where were our lives before HD? “American in Paris” in HD makes it even clearer what a badass Gene Kelly was.
• @jenny0101 UNF. #AnAmericanInParis #INeedACigaretteNow
• @dyanysus1116 I’m fanning myself over here. #AnAmericanInParis #SexyBallet
• @shelikeswaves GENE KELLY’S ARSE YOU GUYS
• @girloftheplains And a cigarette. \\ RT @MissCarley: So… yeah, I need a drink. Who’s with me? #AnAmericanInParis
• @GeneKellyFans Damn, I love Twitter. Where else can you find hundreds of people commenting on #AnAmericanInParis all at the same time?

The post Live-Tweeting An American in Paris appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

On 2nd November I made a flying visit to London, to the British Film Institute, to hear Leslie Caron talk about her career and to see a newly restored print of An American In Paris (Vincente Minnelli, 1951). I am back home now but still on quite another planet. I was totally stunned by AAIP on the big screen. I am not usually lost for words, but I don’t really know how to describe it. I’ll try below.

On the Restoration

Firstly, the restoration is fantastic. They have taken some of the ‘orange’ tinge away, especially from Gene’s skin. It is all so sharp and clear. I knew Gene’s feet were dirty in the first scene but I didn’t realise just how dirty. And when he opened his eyes, I was almost blinded by the whiteness!

As well, the sound is incredible. I know it is always better in a theatre system than through TV speakers, but you can hear so much more background sound, which makes things more realistic. I love the river scene even on DVD where the sound changes from the busy street to the rather echoing riverbank, but now you can hear how clever and innovative the sound technicians actually were.

(If I keep on repeating the same superlatives please forgive me, but I find myself running out of words.)

Where to start describing Gene’s voice? You ain’t heard nothin’ if you only heard DVDs and CDs. Sometimes we may think that the emotional impact of his singing outweighs his vocal shortcomings but I heard no shortcomings in this restoration, even with the much more sensitive improved sound. He was pitch perfect. The first bars of ‘It’s very clear, our love is here to stay…’ reached right down to where no simple sound should ever reach.

In spite of An American In Paris being my favourite film, I never thought Jerry Mulligan was Gene’s most appealing character, but now I can see more of Gene himself in little throwaway looks or comments, and I have warmed towards the character considerably.

I’m trying to avoid getting to the ballet because it had such an impact it is difficult to know what to say. Just thinking about it now brings back vivid emotions. I think I already used ‘stunned’, ‘overwhelmed’ ‘intoxicated’. I eventually stopped trying to see everything and just let my eyes and my soul absorb Gene’s movements. I appreciated more, every step and line and perfect arrangement of his body, how thoroughly he had learned his craft, then imbued it with some magic, which lessons alone could never impart.

One thing I came away with is that Gene Kelly is much more sexy on a cinema screen than even I imagined him to be. I don’t mean that in any tawdry way; rather, it just oozes from him quite naturally. Yes, I know I’ve already seen this film and all of his others several hundred times on DVD (and Singin’ In The Rain on a big screen), and it sounds crazy to say I just discovered how sensual, lithe, graceful, appealing, beautiful, formidable, talented, love-joy-and-light-bringing he is.

If I didn’t ‘get it’ before — which I did — as to why the film scooped so many Oscars, I sure get it now. The film as a whole is such an assault on the senses that you eventually have to sit back and let it overwhelm you. It is quite intoxicating. Never let anyone in my hearing say that Gene is not a wonderful actor. It almost looked as though it was another version of the same film, with more attention paid to every detail and every word and expression of Gene’s placed perfectly. I even saw and heard a few things, which I am convinced are not on the DVD version!

On Leslie Caron and Audience Reception

The BFI interviewer said to Leslie that although Minnelli was the director, he gets the impression that it was Gene’s film, and she said that is true. She said that Gene was always behind the camera and directed everything except the crowd scenes and other actors’ scenes. He even taught her how to get the right accent for her lines and how to pronounce things. He wanted her to sing, but she refused as she says she had no voice. He did, however, get to her to hum a little during the riverbank scene. She says that she and Gene did not do a lot of rehearsing of their spoken scenes, that they just went with what felt right. Minnelli let them get on with it.

The audience at the BFI was not large but was responsive. The funniest scene was stolen by Oscar Levant, in the coffee shop. It really is much better when shown in larger format. The audience laughed out loud. They applauded at the end of the movie. There were young couples either side of me who looked like they might be a distraction — some people have no idea of theatre etiquette these days — but they were soon sitting as quiet as mice, except for the girl next to me who I could sometimes hear sniggering quietly — I think she had been drinking. But as the film went on, I saw her doing the same as I, surreptitiously wiping her hands down the side of her face….

Leslie Caron was entertaining. She was on the stage for more than 90 minutes before the film was shown. She looks very much younger than her age, 80. She and the interviewer talked about An American In Paris only at the beginning and showed the black and white Ball clip when Lisa and Jerry come face to face. That prepared me for what was ahead (i.e., seeing Gene’s face fill the large screen). Caron told the usual stories of how Gene found her and of cutting her hair with nail scissors just before shooting started. There was not much we didn’t know already from her book and other interviews.

The two talked about her other movies and the actors she worked with. She said that when making Gigi (Vincente Minnelli, 1958), Maurice Chevalier saved his smiling persona for the camera and Louis Jourdan was an insecure worrier. They also showed clips from some of her more serious roles, for which she has won several awards.

An American In Paris is supposed to be on general release in Britain, but it is in only about four cinemas so far as I can ascertain. The BFI is featuring MGM films until Christmas, with AAIP running throughout November, then On The Town, Take Me Out To The Ball Game, and It’s Always Fair Weather showing also. Another London theatre in Hammersmith will show AAIP along with Brigadoon for one day only. I hope to make it to all of them, if I can find the time and the money. And I hope to meet more Gene fans there. It is a 260-mile round trip each time, but I might never get the chance to see these films on a cinema screen again.

No matter how excited I am by the prospect of all of this, my ‘first time’ with Jerry Mulligan will be an evening I will never forget.

The post An American In Paris, A Brit In Heaven appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Today on BBC Radio 2, a host of people pays tribute to our favorite singer/dancer/director/entertainer, Gene Kelly.

Join Len Goodman (Dancing with the Stars), Matthew Morrison (Glee), Leslie Caron, Kerry Kelly Novick (Gene’s daughter), and yours truly for a documentary that plans to “celebrate the magical feet of a Hollywood legend, 100 after his birth in 1912.”

• UK: 10:00 pm
• EST: 5:00 pm
• CST: 4:00 pm

Listen online here. Press release below.

The post Dancing in the Rain: BBC Radio 2 appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Generally, comparisons of current celebrities to Gene manage to irk me in some way or another. Statements such as “He’s our generation’s Gene Kelly” only put a bad taste in my mouth. The ability to dance and smile does not make one equal to the presence Gene had. The talent is one thing (many others carry on that legacy), but the charismatic presence is another. While The Artist’s Jean Dujardin does not possess the same dancing abilities as Gene, he manages to capture that same charismatic presence. So, while the dancing eliminates him as “the next Gene Kelly,” it is the Kelly charm and smile that so many critics have identified when describing Jean. And I would have to agree. While Gene’s smile stands alone (in my opinion), Jean’s is awfully nice, too. The similarities I draw from between the two men stem from that twinkle in the eye that they use to captivate their audience. It’s that largely intangible quality that sets them apart from the crowd. It is what drew me to Gene and it is what caught my attention when I first heard of Jean a few months ago.

The post Jean Dujardin: The Next Gene Kelly? appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

I love Twitter.

This morning via Twitter, author Jennifer Niven shared with me the following poem by American poet/author/editor Carl Sandburg. Niven also recalled visiting Gene Kelly in 1983 at his Beverly Hills home while her mother, author Penelope Niven, interviewed him for a biography on Carl Sandburg (the poet and Hollywood star were friends). “Gene was magical,” she tweeted. “So kind and warm and funny and gracious. So real. I fell in love with him and have been in love ever since.”

Lines Written for Gene Kelly to Dance To

Spring is when the grass turns green and glad.
Spring is when the new grass comes up and says, “Hey, hey!
Hey, hey!”
Be dizzy now and turn your head upside down and see how
the world looks upside down.
Be dizzy now and turn a cartwheel, and see the good earth
through a cartwheel.

Tell your feet the alphabet.
Tell your feet the multiplication table.
Tell your feet where to go, and, and watch ‘em go and come back.

Can you dance a question mark?
Can you dance an exclamation point?
Can you dance a couple of commas?
And bring it to a finish with a period?

Can you dance like the wind is pushing you?
Can you dance like you are pushing the wind?
Can you dance with slow wooden heels
and then change to bright and singing silver heels?
Such nice feet, such good feet.
More lines from this poem are featured over at Gene Kelly: Creative Geneius

The post Carl Sandburg on Gene Kelly appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

I’ve written before, mostly in jest, about the public’s interest in Gene Kelly’s backside. That’s right; devoted to his bum are individual tumblelogs and Facebook pages, recurring hashtags, animated gifs, and dozens upon dozens of tweets. Regarding the latter, a few recent cases in point:

• Gene Kelly had a most spectacular ass. Watching it is akin to a religious experience. (via @phoenix_emrys)
• Gene Kelly’s ass. Like for real, tho. #favoritethingsinclassicfilm (via @avardvark)
• Gene Kelly should pretty much *always* be in tights. #AnAmericanInParis (via @jillian6475)
• Gene Kelly puts the “ass” in assets! (via @chrissysago)
• GENE KELLY’S ARSE, YOU GUYS. (via @shelikeswaves)
• Chillin’ on the couch knitting while watching Gene Kelly’s ass. Doesn’t get much better than this. (via @phoenix_emrys)

And earlier this week, the heart-bedazzled picture above as well as this animated-gif montage of Gene’s accoutrement emerged on my Tumblr dashboard.

But it’s not just Gene Kelly’s rear-end that fans — women and men, straight and gay — are objectifying on a daily basis (yes, daily). It is also his arms, chest, scar, legs, clothes, and body in general. To accompany the following images, here are some captions, all taken from Twitter over the past month or so:

• “He was the whole package. Arm porn FTW.” (via @gamerchick02)
• “Gene, you put on your shirt far too soon!” (via @kellyakabilly)
• “Gene Kelly’s little scar drives me wild.” (via @bubblegenius)
• “Thank you God for giving us Gene Kelly…in short shorts.” (via @nxlee)
• “Gene Kelly looked damn hot in a vest.” (via @JackieHunter1)
• “Was there ever a male body as perfect as that of Gene Kelly?” #MEOW (via @saratuppen)

Still, the objectification and fetishizing and gazing and fantasizing don’t stop there. In fact, many social media users envision themselves having sex with Gene Kelly. For example, were she alive in the 1940s, The_FilmFatale “thinks [she] would have lost [her] virginity to Gregory Peck, married Jimmy Stewart, and had a brief affair with Gene Kelly.” Similarly, Fat Heffalump professes on Twitter, “Oh Gene Kelly, I do have indecent thoughts about you.” As well, while watching Anchors Aweigh (1945) one night, Bitchy Leia may or may not have “thrown [her] panties at the TV” while another fan, Mrs Friday Next, professed that Gene, the equivalent of “tap-dancing sex,” can “take [her] any time.” Finally and perhaps most directly, Donna Penski admits that she’d “fuck Gene Kelly in a New York minute.”

Men, straight and gay, play the game as well. Take BenLaVegetables and Eh_Young, for instance, who tweet respectively, “Ok, I admit it, I have a man crush on Gene Kelly #SoWhatSueMe” and “Gene Kelly really knows how to swoon anyone of any kind.” The same goes for Grand Hotel, who with “no fucks to give,” informs his followers he has “fantasized about sex with Gene Kelly because [he] imagines him as very versatile and fantastic at it.”

All this and we still haven’t made it to the Gene Kelly artwork and fan fiction currently being disseminated across social networks like Tumblr, livejournal, and deviantART. Some of the drawings like this one here and here from vintagestyledheart are of Kelly explicitly. But most, such as those below which are inspired by Calvin Klein’s black-and-white ad campaign and shots like this one and this from The Pirate (1948), tend to “ship” Kelly and his frequent musical co-star Judy Garland. Further, as the image to the right attests, some fans have even created the name Jugenea, borrowing from other celebrity supercouples and portmanteaux like Brangelina (Angelina Jolie/Brad Pitt) and TomKat (Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes).

And then there are the fan-written fictional narratives featuring/objectifying the two stars. For example, in “Gene Is Liza’s Father” readers discover that on the MGM lot in 1943, Kelly and Garland “fornidanced” (i.e., “when two very talented people use their extreme talent to dance and fuck at the same time”) and thereby conceived Liza Minnelli. More graphically, the author of “Do I Love You?” envisions that “Judy slid her hand around to the front of [Gene’s] pants and felt the unyielding hardness of his erection. She caressed him and his grasp got stronger. He looked at her as if he was considering taking her right there, but he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Gene liked having room to make love.” The writer of “A Single Touch” and “Weak Will” likewise describes an affair between “Kelly” and “Garland” in detail: “He grasped onto her hips with a surprisingly painful grip, pulling her towards him and pushing into her with the same hunger yet fulfilling tenderness she yearned for.” Finally, I’ve also been directed to pieces of Singin’ in the Rain fan fiction that place Gene Kelly’s Don Lockwood, Cosmo Brown (Donald O’Connor), and Kathy Selden (Debbie Reynolds) in a ménage à trois.

So what is going on here? Why is the world of social media objectifying and fetishizing Gene Kelly (as well as his co-star) so much and so often? Of course, this is not limited to the song-and-dance man; it occurs hourly on the Internet via shared images, memes, fan fiction, and artwork of other classical stars like Paul Newman and Clark Gable as well as current public figures like Ryan Gosling, Timothy Olyphant, Josh Charles, Colin Firth, and the Old Spice guy. With this in mind, I asked a romance scholar (she reads/researches romance novels) her opinion on the matter and whether this new/inverted gaze was fueled, in part, by the TV series Sex and the City as well as the Internet and our ability to self-publish. She replied that actually, romance novels began heavily objectifying men and grew more erotic in the early 1990s, pre-Carrie Bradshaw and company. Ultimately, she thinks that “the gaze just shifted” and that perhaps (or hopefully) “it’s feminism finally doing its work.”

I’d venture to bet, however, that Sex and the City as well as other shows and pop-culture phenomena that preceded it like Oprah, Madonna, Designing Women, The Golden Girls, Murphy Brown, and Seinfeld (Elaine Benes), all of whom/which (at times) consider men from a female perspective, did play a little part in this shift. I further argue that the steadying decline of religion, an institution that traditionally constrains women’s activity, voice, and sex drive, as well as our society’s growing openness about and/or attention to gender and sexuality contributes to this female gaze as well.

But mostly, I think we can thank (or admonish?) the Internet, smartphones, and social media for this as they have leveled the playing field somewhat. In other words, while much of the entertainment and news media still reinforce a conventional male perspective (e.g., women function as objects, victims, and arm-candy who should maintain impossible body images), social media, which in many instances is currently dominated by women, may promote a modern female perspective. Indeed, popular sites/blogs like Jezebel, The Hairpin, Ms. Magazine, Bitch Media, After Ellen, Healthy Women, Arianna Huffington, Feminist Ryan Gosling, Dooce, and Feministing have put women’s issues, interests, etc. in the forefront on a daily (and sometimes, hourly) basis. The same goes for hundreds of other Twitter accounts and Tumblrs and Facebook Pages, too many to list here.

This is not to say that our objectification of Gene Kelly’s and Ryan Gosling’s lips or eyes or scar or ass is not without controversy or question. After all, should women be doing the same thing to men that they’ve done to us for the past, oh, since time began? Shouldn’t we rise above that? And ultimately, shouldn’t we be teaching our children that it’s wrong to objectify either sex in this way? Those are the sorts of questions tackled recently by bloggers at The Daily Femme, Jezebel, The Good Men Project, and Salon. (See? At the forefront…) Unsurprisingly, most of these posts say no, women should not feel remorse for fetishizing men and that this is not a double standard. Here’s why, according to the authors:

1. Unlike many women, “men do not have trouble being taken seriously based on their looks or perceived sexiness, nor is their worth in society primarily judged by them.” Moreover, men will not be told throughout their lives that “their primary value is based on whether women want to fuck them. They will not be paid less on the dollar, or subject to violence in representation or acts. They will not be treated like meat or chattel.”
2. As well, in the long run, men’s objectification of women is far more harmful than vice-versa. Some proof to this is that “women do not harass men on the street, hire as many prostitutes, or think that a ‘titty bar’ for lunch is an excellent business get-together. Similarly, women don’t typically view men as nothing more than a sexy thing only good for a fuck.”
3. Along these same lines, recent studies have shown that when men objectify women, the latter perform more poorly in school; the reverse did not affect males’ performance. As well, unlike objectified men, objectified women may also undergo mental illnesses and shame, and in some cases, become silent and closed-off from others.
4. Finally, contrary to societal beliefs (and some religious teachings), “women like to look.”

Some of my readers will (perhaps correctly?) interpret these claims as mere justifications for women who want to fetishize male soccer players, take pictures of hot dudes on the London subway, or tweet about the majesty that is Gene Kelly’s ass. And that’s fine. It’s arguably a complicated matter that deserves more room/research than I’ve allowed here. But one thing seems fairly certain: the more widespread social media becomes and the more Gene Kelly (as well as other male stars/figures) keeps finding his way into the spotlight — yes, 15 years after his death, he’s more popular than ever — the more we’re going to see “appreciation” sites and images like these…

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Fans, scholars, and critics alike talk all the time about Gene Kelly the dancer, Gene Kelly the director, Gene Kelly the choreographer, and Gene Kelly the actor. But rarely do they discuss Gene Kelly the singer. As a singer who is completely enchanted by Kelly’s light, clear, and pure tenor voice, I often wonder why it doesn’t get the appreciation it should. In fact, I once did a presentation on his singing voice in a high school music class just to give attention to another side of Gene Kelly. While Kelly is constantly heralded as one of Hollywood’s favorite song-and dance men, the “song” aspect of this phrase is too often silenced or dismissed in discussions of Kelly’s work and talents. I’d like to amend that here.

I was prompted to write this post because I’m currently reading Todd Decker’s Music Makes Me: Fred Astaire and Jazz, a book focused solely on Astaire’s singing career. It’s a fascinating account of the dancer’s contribution to American popular music, and it made me wonder why there is no similar source devoted to Kelly’s vocals. Granted, Kelly didn’t introduce countless original standards by the likes of Irving Berlin, George Gershwin, and Johnny Mercer as Astaire did, but his singing voice was almost always his segue into his legendary dances. And before Hollywood, he was singing live on Broadway in the critically acclaimed Pal Joey. Kelly was no slouch as a singer, to be sure.

A few examples of Kelly’s singing prowess:

• What would “Singin’ in the Rain” be without his joyful vocal rendition preceding it? He sings in the rain before he dances, remember. Plus, his version of the song, though recorded by countless others including Judy Garland, Usher, and Jamie Cullum is still the definitive rendition.
• Moreover, would Kelly’s dreamy “The Heather on the Hill” duet with Cyd Charisse in Brigadoon be nearly as romantic without his soft and crystal clear voice serenading her before they dance on MGM’s soundstage version of Scotland? I think not. The cut track from Brigadoon, “There But For You Go I,” is my personal favourite vocal performance of Kelly’s, and it’s a crime that it didn’t make it into the movie. Not many singers are able to make me tear up just listening to them, but the first time I heard the outtake, there were definitely tears in my eyes as I marveled at his emotional and honest performance.
• Finally, just this morning I was listening to the Les Girls soundtrack and was blown away by the power in Kelly’s voice at the end of his duet with Kay Kendall, “You’re Just Too Too!” Take a listen when you get a chance! It’s a side to his singing he shied away from showing us until 1957.

In a discussion of Kelly’s singing voice, we must not forget his pairings with Judy Garland. She brought out the best in his singing voice, and he brought out the best in her dancing — arguably a match made in heaven. Their infectious “For Me and My Gal” duet showcases her alto voice, which blends perfectly with his tenor. Moreover, their “You, Wonderful You” duet in Summer Stock is the definition of adorable as their two vocals blend in perfect harmony. Forget Garland and Sinatra’s or Garland and Crosby’s duets: I’ll take Garland’s and Kelly’s perfectly paired voices over theirs any day (not that I’m biased, of course).

One singing-related anecdote from the set of Kelly’s 1944 film Cover Girl has always stayed with me. In the film, Kelly premiered to the world one of Jerome Kern’s most beautiful songs, “Long Ago and Far Away.” Kern was in the studio the day Kelly recorded the song, so the latter was noticeably nervous. In fact, Kelly was never particularly confident and even self-conscious about his voice, so to have Kern himself in the studio that day only added to his tension. Kelly went for the first take, and nervously waited for Kern to weigh in. After some silence, Kern replied, “If you want to make the old man happy, please sing it again.” Pretty high praise from one of the great American songwriters.

In closing, Kelly had a unique tenor voice, great control of his sound, and more than ably serenaded his many leading ladies. So the next time you watch him in a movie, while you’ll likely always gravitate to his dancing first, you might also pay close attention to his singing voice. If you do, I think you’ll gain a whole new appreciation for the Hollywood legend that is Gene Kelly.

Sources and Further Reading

Hirschhorn, Clive.  Gene Kelly: A Biography.  New York: St. Martin’s, 1985.

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The year was 1974. The Vietnam War was still raging and the Hollywood studio system was dead. But that year, That’s Entertainment, a documentary celebrating MGM’s 50th birthday, was a huge box-office hit. First, it reminded filmgoers of the “good old days” and second, it gave the American people a new hope during war times just as musicals did throughout World War II.

After the famous MGM lion’s roar, we first hear in That’s Entertainment the iconic song “Singin’ in the Rain.” Soon after, we spot Frank Sinatra, who begins the narration and presents a montage of films in which that song was used: from the pioneer The Hollywood Revue of 1929 to the unforgettable film that bears the same title starring Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds. But it will take almost an hour until viewers actually see Kelly on screen at age 62 praising Fred Astaire’s dancing skills and proclaiming Astaire his favorite dance partner (from Ziegfeld Follies‘ “The Babbit and the Bromide,” 1945). Then sweetly, as if to repay the favor, Astaire — alone onscreen — hosts and complements several clips from Kelly’s works.

The success of That’s Entertainment made a second movie almost mandatory. That’s Entertainment, Part II (1976) boasted two special hosts: Kelly and Astaire. Seeing them onscreen together after 30 years was magic — just like seeing Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton together in Limelight (1952). This sequel featured other stars who weren’t in musicals like the Marx Brothers, Katharine Hepburn, and Spencer Tracy. Also, this second documentary showed lesser-known numbers such as the amazing dancing sequence by Greta Garbo and Kelly’s dancing with cartoon cobras in An Invitation to the Dance (1956).

Nine years after That’s Entertainment II, another dance/musical documentary was released, That’s Dancing! (1985). This one didn’t focus solely on MGM productions however; rather, it featured several clips from other studios and presented talents never seen on the previous films of the series. Jack Haley Jr., who produced the first two That’s Entertainments, also wrote and directed That’s Dancing! Likewise, Kelly narrates and hosts a segment on, oddly enough, break-dancing.

Released in 1994, That’s Entertainment, Part III, the final movie of the series, included stills and numbers never before shown onscreen including Judy Garland’s deleted “Mr. Monotony routine” from Easter Parade (1948), which would be revised for the finale of Summer Stock (1950). Although TEIII brought Esther Williams as a hostess, marking her first screen appearance since 1963, it was also a bit sad because it was Gene Kelly’s last film; he passed away two years later.

Without a doubt, Kelly’s scenes in the That’s Entertainment trilogy and That’s Dancing! are a highlight. I should also note that in the second part, Gene is the director, a function he mastered in previous musicals like On the Town (1949), Singin’ in the Rain (1952), and Hello Dolly! (1969). He also insisted on Astaire as his co-host, taking the actor out of retirement and rehearsing with him the brief numbers that introduced the clips.

This entire series wouldn’t have been the same without Gene Kelly, not only because of his hosting abilities, but also because of his undeniable contribution to musicals. As our readers likely know, Kelly revolutionized the genre with memorable numbers like the on-location sequence in On the Town, the huge “An American in Paris Ballet” (cited in That’s Entertainment as the biggest success at MGM), the title number from Singin’ in the Rain, and the surprising tap-dance in roller skaters in It’s Always Fair Weather (1955). He also danced with himself, with Cyd Charisse, Leslie Caron, Rita Hayworth, Jerry the Mouse (right), and with a squeaky board and a newspaper.

Finally, there is Kelly’s capacity to make people smile. It’s evident wherever you look: in tweets, in comments on YouTube, in blogs and forums. In fact, watching Kelly’s films and numbers has allowed me to survive some tough times with happiness and hope. This That’s Entertainment trilogy is clearly my “guilty pleasure,” but that’s okay. After all, Gene Kelly is still the epitome of joy and, like Frank Sinatra announced in That’s Entertainment!, boy, do we need it now!

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For my second post here on Gene Kelly Fans, I present to you a list of reasons why I think people love MGM’s musicals:

Unmatchable Talent and Star Power

Sure, many classical film fans still love “non-MGMers” like Betty Grable, Dan Dailey, June Haver, Gordon MacRae, and Doris Day, but there is no question that MGM’s contract players were in a class by themselves. No other studio can compare to MGM’s “triple-threat-trio” of Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, and Judy Garland (below). It’s virtually impossible. The other studios tried and, in turn, fared relatively well on the whole, but with those three names (among many others), the musical stars of other studios couldn’t compare.

The Freed Unit

What do Singin’ in the Rain, The Band Wagon, Easter Parade, Meet Me in St. Louis, On the Town, and Gigi have in common? Other than the distinction of being some of the greatest musicals ever made, they were all produced by one brilliant man: Arthur Freed (pictured below with Vincente Minnelli and Judy Garland). While to this day it’s hard to determine Freed’s exact contributions to all of these films, we can say with certainty that his movies and his “Freed Unit” at MGM are virtually beyond compare.

The producer also had the gift of honing the best talent, both in front of and behind the camera. For example,

• Gene Kelly made his film debut in the Freed-produced For Me and My Gal and rarely worked outside the Freed Unit.
• Similarly, Cyd Charisse made her journey from featured dancer to leading lady in Freed’s capable hands.
• As well, Vincente Minnelli was brought into films (and directing) because of Freed, who admired his work on Broadway.

Arthur Freed also had the knack for choosing the right talent for the right movie, whether it was enlisting arranger/later Associate Producer Roger Edens, voice coach and arranger Kay Thompson, or screenwriters Betty Comden and Adolph Green. For more information on these geniuses behind the scenes, check out Hugh Fordin’s book entitled MGM’s Greatest Musicals, the most in-depth book published to date about life at the Freed Unit.

The MGM Studio Orchestra

While Twentieth Century Fox might have had the highest quality sound studio, MGM contracted arguably the greatest players, conductors, and orchestrators. Once MGM’s musicals grew in popularity around 1944, the studio expanded to hire more professional orchestral musicians. The result? The signature MGM sound heard in every musical from Meet Me in St. Louis onward. A strings section without peer, a killer horns section, and brilliant arrangers and orchestrators at the helm like Lennie Hayton, Roger Edens, Alexander Courage, and the grossly underrated Conrad Salinger, MGM’s Studio Orchestra possessed a finesse like no other.

Joyful, Memorable Moments

The MGM Musicals are full of iconic moments that make us smile, simple as that.

• Gene Kelly dances in the rain and flashes us that dazzling smile.
• Judy Garland “gets happy” in Summer Stock. 
• Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse effortlessly dance in the dark in The Band Wagon.
• Garland finally breaks down Astaire’s impeccable style and class when they mug like “A Couple of Swells” in Easter Parade.
• Louis Jourdan realizes he’s actually in love with Leslie Caron’s Gigi.
• Garland and Mickey Rooney sing and dance their way to stardom by “putting on a show” over and over.

Of course, I could go on and on as MGM’s musicals are some of the most joyful ever made.

A Comfort-Food Quality

MGM musical stars are our close friends and extended family, and the films themselves are our medicine when we’re taking a sick day or when we’re feeling down. Plus, they’re easily rewatchable. I’ll never get sick of revisiting Judy Garland and Gene Kelly together in Summer Stock, or Garland and Astaire in Easter Parade. In fact, I’d even say that — as a singer and film buff — my life is happier and richer because of MGM’s musicals. I’m thankful that for a few magical years, the “stars in the heavens” were perfectly aligned and movie magic was created on those MGM soundstages. The films are irreplaceable, and to say they’re special is an understatement. They’re an important part of film history, and they are eternally joyful.

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It was August 2008 (around the time of Gene Kelly’s 96th birthday) when Turner Classic Movies featured a 24-hour Gene Kelly Marathon. I had no idea it would totally change my life for the better.

While watching the film fest, I quickly got a hint of Kelly’s physical capabilities with the Brando dance at the end of Les Girls (1957), but An American In Paris (1951) was a virtual thesis in his athleticism and fitness: the feisty tap on the piano in “Tra La La La” (why did he have to cover that tank top up?), jumping onto the fountain, wearing that skintight jumpsuit.

Great art makes you think. Here was Gene bouncing around like a kid at 39, and I could barely waddle across the room. I never considered that I could be fit, but Gene made me think that maybe it was possible. Still I remained stationary, except for searching for “everything Kelly” I could get my hands on. For instance, I couldn’t stop admiring

• The Pirate‘s (1948) fantasy ballet sequence (those thighs, oh dear).
• The vaudeville scene in Singin’ In the Rain (1952), which showcases his biceps in a sleeveless shirt.
• The bandit chief tango and swing through the air in Anchors Aweigh (1945).
• His graceful and seemingly impossible tap-dance on rollerskates in It’s Always Fair Weather (1955).
• And his athleticism in Take Me Out to the Ballgame (1949), where he threw Frank Sinatra around like a sack of feathers, leapfrogged up a balcony, and tapped on one foot in “The Hat My Father Wore.”

If these films are a master’s class in the physical fitness of Gene Kelly, then The Three Musketeers (1948) is the doctorate. Note, for instance, Kelly’s leap over the statue, the shishkebabbing of half of France, and the signature move of his lying on his back with legs afloat and leaping to his feet, a move also seen in Thousands Cheer (1943) and Anchors Aweigh.

I also loved the Saturday Evening Post article from around the time of Summer Stock (1950) when Gene said his warmup was “60 pushups in 60 seconds!” Then I found the Ed Sullivan video where he did the push-up thing with Sullivan on his back, assuring him he wouldn’t drop him. The next day I went downstairs and began riding my old stationary bike; eventually I moved outside when the weather got nice. A year later I walked/jogged my first of six half-marathons.

Gene Kelly comes along during my training and these races via iPod. You can only guess what I was listening to and singing in a downpour last fall (the other racers got a hoot out of it.) While there were other factors involved in my decision to get in shape, Gene’s example was certainly a motivator. I think he’d appreciate the thought and the effort. And I hope the same inspiration happens for other fans for years to come.

Patty Grove
Rothschild, Wisconsin

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Last night I had the pleasure of attending a presentation at the Detroit Opera House on the life and career of Gene Kelly. The event was a part of a series on dance in film. But this wasn’t just any ordinary presentation; it was given by someone very near and dear to Gene — his eldest daughter, Kerry Kelly Novick.  For about two hours, Kerry shared memories and stories about her father, showed clips from some of his movies, and took questions from an enthusiastic audience.

The patrons came up with excellent questions about Gene Kelly, from his height — 5 feet, 8¾ inches and “he was serious about those three quarters of an inch” — to his political activism and how it influenced his work (e.g., he refused to make The Pirate (1948) unless the Nicholas Brothers could be in it). And there was the expected question of whether or not Gene had a favorite dance partner. From my research, Gene was always very tactful about answering that question. Kerry was as well, saying that he always picked his dance partners based on the style of dance the scene called for. And although she did mention that he particularly enjoyed working with highly trained dancers, she said that even they came with their own set of challenges.

Ever wonder what Gene did to stay in shape when he was in between movies? Surprisingly, he didn’t have a set exercise routine.  He would play various sports, but that was pretty much it. According to Kerry, “He was blessed with the best metabolism in the world.” He would gain a little bit of weight when he wasn’t working on a movie, but as soon as he went into rehearsals, it dropped right off again.

When asked about her father’s friendship with Fred Astaire, she pointed out something that I didn’t know about Easter Parade (1948). Like many fans, I knew Gene was originally supposed to star in the musical with Judy Garland but because he broke his ankle, the part went to Astaire. What I didn’t know is that before Gene broke his ankle, he had choreographed the first dance number and they kept his choreography for that scene. So in Easter Parade, you can see Fred Astaire doing Gene Kelly’s choreography, which is something I’m going to have to watch for next time I see that movie.

Kerry also had plenty of childhood memories to discuss. She talked about how after dinner every night, she would choose a topic and she and her father would read about it together in the encyclopedia. When asked if she ever considered getting into the film industry, she mentioned briefly wanting to be a set designer, but she knew pretty early on that she was interested in psychology. Earlier in the evening, while introducing “The Mexican Hat Dance” number from Anchors Aweigh (1945), she said that she really wanted to play the little girl but wasn’t allowed to because she couldn’t pass as a Mexican.

One person asked if Kerry had a favorite memory of visiting her father’s sets and she said that during the production of Singin’ in the Rain (1952), she found it interesting to see adults learning new things. “When you’re a kid, you tend to think that adults just know everything,” she informed us. So by going to the set and seeing Debbie Reynolds working so hard to learn the dances, it showed her that nobody ever just knows everything and that it’s important to keep learning new things.

Overall, the evening was truly wonderful. Kerry was nice, approachable, and witty, and I’m thrilled to have had the opportunity to hear more about Gene from someone who was so close to him. (Image at right: Kerry Kelly Novick with her husband, Jack Novick. More about them, their books on child psychology, and their Ann Arbor preschool here.)

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After a screening of Brigadoon, a ceilidh closed the Gene Kelly section of this year’s Glasgow Film Festival. Pictures available here on Flickr.

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I was introduced to Gene Kelly at a young age.

I’ve been a dancer for 20 years now and can still recall a youth recital in which our class danced to “Singin’ In The Rain,” complete with coats and umbrellas. We watched Gene’s number before rehearsing, but that was about it for Gene and me. In fact, I didn’t watch any of his movies until the 2011 Christmas holidays. Now, I am engrossed in, as some of the other fans have said, “everything and anything Gene Kelly” including movies, books, articles, and anything else I can find!

Here’s what happened: I was recently talking with a co-worker about classic musicals, which led me to seek out films with Judy Garland, the first of which was “For Me and My Gal.” But as I watched, I found myself more interested in Garland’s handsome co-star, and then I realized it was a very young Gene Kelly. As soon as his character stepped off the train, he caught my eye. But then he danced, and I felt like that little girl in dance class again, watching him perform “Singin’ in the Rain.”

I then fell in love with more of his films including The Pirate (black shorts!), An American in Paris (“I Got Rhythm” and that ballet!), Anchors Aweigh (sailor costume, sexy phone conversations!), Cover Girl (dancing with himself), On The Town, Take Me Out to the Ballgame, and Summer Stock. As you can likely tell, I especially enjoy his appearances opposite Judy Garland. But I also love his non-musical films. So far, The Devil Makes Three and The Three Musketeers are my favorites.

Gene Kelly looks so charming in a hat, especially because he never wore one the right way. Moreover, as I alluded to above, he is incredibly handsome: his eyes, that bright smile, the rugged scar he refused to cover. And as others have noted, the man did have an amazing body (those legs and, yes, that ASS). I also love the fact that he is from Pittsburgh. I live about an hour away from there, so it’s nice to read about Gene and know exactly where and what the author is referencing. For a Hollywood star, he seems as though he was a hometown guy who didn’t forget where he came from. I do hope the city erects a statue downtown in his honor, especially for his upcoming 100th birthday.

Gene Kelly continues to be an inspiration to me. In fact, I recently started dancing again because of his films. I would have loved to have met him, but seeing his hand/footprints in Hollywood will have to do for now, I suppose.

— Brianna

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