Glasgow has always been a city in love with cinema. Since the 1930s the city has borne the proud title of ’Cinema City,’ a testament to the 130 cinemas (more, per capita, than any city outside of the USA) catering for film-obsessed Glaswegians during Hollywood’s Golden Age. Sadly, all but a couple have been demolished or redeveloped into Bingo Halls, Social Clubs and, on one occasion, an Adult Cinema — itself an eventual casualty of changing tastes and advancements in home entertainment that destroyed its more noble predecessors.
For cinemagoers who need substantially more than vegetarian vampires and excruciating romantic comedies with indistinguishable female leads (who could be Goldie Hawn’s daughter, or that ’mean girl’ who went on to crash weddings, or maybe it’s that one from Friends with the hairdo), there exists, amidst the plethora of multi-plexes that now dominate the city-scape, a little picture house in the city centre that has for the past 36 years provided a cultural life-raft to the more discerning film fan.
Glasgow Film Theatre, or GFT as it’s more commonly known, takes pains to insist that it’s not exclusively an ’art house’ cinema, it has been ‘leading the way in specialised cinema for 36 years — from art house cinema to late night cult screenings and from classics back on the big screen to independent documentaries, there’s something for everyone at GFT.’
So, it was with an enormous sense of pride, overwhelming elation and some genuine surprise that I learned of GFT’s intention to include in their Film Festival the work of one of the most important creative forces in the history of film musical and a man I have adored all my life. It strikes me now as I write this that I shouldn’t have been at all surprised. Glasgow is the most obvious city in the UK in which to hold a Gene Kelly Festival: he did, after all, visit the city in 1953 (right) while scouting locations for the film Brigadoon (he visited the Trossachs, Burns Country [south Ayrshire] and the Borders), and if that link isn’t tenuous enough to make my point, how about this one? His Irish Grandfather fled to Dunfermline in Fife where he borrowed money before embarking on his trip to the USA… All Celts together.
Initially, I was astonished that the BFI in London was not screening a similar festival until it suddenly dawned on me that you simply can’t have a Gene Kelly Festival in England: I hold the romantic notion dear to me that, like everybody of Celtic heritage, while maintaining all possible civilities with our overlords from the south, Gene still harboured for them an affectionate mistrust, a friendly suspicion and a genial resentment.
The Glasgow Film Festival has always been overshadowed by its more renowned east coast equivalent, although recent reports suggest that the Edinburgh Film Festival is dwindling in popularity while ours grows from strength to strength and that, quite frankly, is precisely how it should be. The decision to screen a Gene Kelly retrospective to commemorate the centenary of the great man’s birth prompted me to cast my eyes skywards and breathe a silent “thank you” — no small feat for an atheist. Finally, this lifelong Gene fan would get to see some of the films that have helped shape and define the person he is…
Singin’ in the Rain (1952) | Saturday, 18th February | 1:30pm
‘SOLD OUT!’ A huge red sticker slapped gleefully across the billboard. What a start. What other movie would you choose to kick off a Gene Kelly Film Festival? You bring out the big guns first and if you happen to have the greatest musical in the history of cinema and one of the top five best films ever made in your canon then you load her up…
There’s always a degree of trepidation when approaching a gathering of Gene Kelly aficionados, either virtually or otherwise. Even though I have been blessed enough to encounter some intelligent, well balanced, and thoroughly engaging people through my love of Gene, I find it prudent to prepare myself for the usual barrage of giddy middle-aged housefraus gurgling inanely at all to brief glimpses of Gene’s biceps, his legs, his ass, and the prospect of the celebrity marriage that never was but really should have been: Gene Kelly and Judy Garland. (Yes, I realize I’m stereotyping here.)
Nevertheless, I was still eager to meet some Glasgow-based Gene fans and by chance found myself seated next to a retired Social Worker called Pat, a wonderfully irascible and slightly eccentric old gentleman with flowing white hair and a beard to match — who, judging by his walking clothes, footwear, and bag of large scrolls — is either a part-time delivery man or Glasgow’s oldest fly-poster. After a warm welcome and an informative and engaging introduction from Allan Hunter, one of the Directors of the Glasgow Film Festival, Pat told me that he had never seen Singin’ in the Rain, so I told him to prepare himself for a celluloid miracle.
Allan Hunter and Allison Gardner. GFF 2011
I won’t waste much time reviewing the film, for there really isn’t much that can be said about this celestial masterpiece that hasn’t been said already. Pacing, direction, editing, screenplay, choreography, score and performances: just perfection. If you remove the musical numbers then you still have a great film and I maintain that Singin’ in the Rain is the only musical about which than can be said, so take a bow Betty Comden and Adolph Green for a quite brilliant and endlessly hilarious script.
The audience burst into spontaneous applause during the film on three occasions: Donald’s physically impossible ‘Make ‘em Laugh’ routine; Gene and Donald’s ‘Moses Supposes,’ one of the most scintillating tap routines on film; and, of course, Gene’s peerless titular number and the sequence that bestowed upon him a cinematic immortality — I’ve waited about 40 years to see that number on the big screen and I’m not ashamed to admit that I welled up a little, not just for obvious reasons, but for the memories of childhood viewings with people long since departed: the power of Gene, folks.
The audience found Donald extremely funny, but I still laughed more at Jean Hagen’s Lina Lamont, surely one of the funniest creations and greatest comic characters in cinema. Don Lockwood is one of the few characters of Gene’s that I actually like, yes he’s cocky and full of himself, but he has the good grace and humility to realise it. Cyd’s legs on the big screen deserve to be marked with a national monument and unlike Angelina Jolie’s gaunt gam and bony knee thrust deliberately in front of a bewildered Academy Awards audience, they’re show stopping for all the right reasons.
Cyd vs. Angelina
When I asked Pat, buried beneath a sky blue fishing hat, for his opinion, he remarked that the comedy was ‘too broad’ and that he was more of an ‘Astaire man.’ He appeared shocked to learn that I, too, was an ‘Astaire man,’ because it’s either/or, not both, apparently…like The Beatles and The ‘Stones. Most of us know this is patently not true, of course; read Jennifer’s excellent essay for a complete understanding and appreciation of their differences.
The atmosphere upon leaving the cinema was electric, a cacophony of euphoric exclamation and elation. I had taken an umbrella with me in the hope that it was still raining outside and that I might get a chance to ‘use’ it. It wasn’t raining but I still put it up and quickly jumped into a puddle on the secluded street where I parked my car; it wasn’t a passing policeman that brought me to an abrupt halt, but a parking ticket on my windscreen. So, all in all, this afternoon spent watching my favourite film of all time has cost me £66 (£36 if I pay the fine in a fortnight), but I’d happily pay much more than that to repeat today’s experience.
Packed house for Singin' in the Rain at the GFT.
The introduction of this Glasgow Film Series may be found here. More to come tomorrow…
Sunday 19th February, 11am – An American in Paris (1951)
An American in Paris at 11 o’clock on a Sunday morning? This will gauge the true extent of Gene’s appeal in the old city, and, I have to say, the turnout was pretty good, much better than I had anticipated — not like yesterday’s packed-to-the-rafters crowd, but pretty close. As usual we began with an introduction from Allan Hunter and a thank you to the sponsors of the festival — Glasgow City Marketing Bureau, Creative Scotland, and Event Scotland.
A chap in the seat in front of me, who had clearly been dragged to the cinema by his girlfriend, asked, “Is this a musical?” Not a good start. Then, to my utter astonishment, I spotted Pat bounding up the stairs and waving at me like an old friend. An “Astaire man” at a Sunday morning screening of An American in Paris? This was much more promising. [Read yesterday’s post for more on Pat.]
Fans usually place An American in Paris either at the summit or at the second spot in the Gene pantheon. For the score, the choreography and the dancing, I would place it third. There are some problems, not least of which is the character of Jerry Mulligan: a petulant, self-righteous narcissist who also exhibits the behavioural patterns of a serial stalker. Mulligan’s wooing of Leslie Caron in the Perfume Shop is perhaps the most implausible courtship recorded on film — she makes the transition from revulsion to breathlessly charmed in precisely 1.8 seconds and all because her relentless suitor (not even Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Terminator possesses that kind of doggedness) pretends to squirt perfume in his mouth and put one of the bottles on his head…
Gene is supposed to be playing a much younger man here, so we can maybe forgive Jerry’s atrocious behaviour in the nightclub, mere minutes after his haughty and precious indignation at Milo’s little ruse to lure him to her apartment. Personally, I’ve always preferred Nina Foch’s predatory heiress to Leslie Caron’s irritatingly childish gamine; the giant bow on Milo’s blouse when we first see her is identical to those favoured by Romantic poets like Keats, Shelley and Byron, and it tells us much about her character — the romantic notions that define her will also be her undoing.
Directorially and choreographically, the film is an unadulterated joy. Vincente Minelli and Gene have never been more masterful. Gene’s heavily choreographed morning routine was met with titters of delight by the audience and I found myself marvelling again at the movement of Minelli’s camera during the initial introductions and his use of subjective camera — very reminiscent of Ernst Lubitsch. When the camera pans from Georges Guetary and Oscar Levant to the mirror where their reflections dissolve for the beautifully framed ‘Embraceable You’ medley that showcases the various aspects of Lise’s personality, it’s difficult to think of anybody who has received a more gorgeous on screen introduction than Leslie Caron is favoured with here.
Georges Guetary is more than an able replacement for the original choice of Maurice Chevalier and his rendition of ‘I’ll Build a Stairway to Paradise,’ complete with unruly displays of affection from adoring fan girls, is a splendid evocation of Parisian Music Halls. Although his romantic ‘advice’ to a typically self-absorbed Jerry amounts to this: tell her you love her and ignore every other aspect of the relationship… and reality. That Jerry is not only dumb enough to believe this, but to actually put it into practice, is always met by a silent cheer from me and the wish that both men should be woefully unhappy for the rest of their lives.
Oscar Levant was possibly as big a hit with today’s audience as Donald O’Connor was yesterday. The endearingly misanthropic and cynical Adam Cook fits Oscar’s hangdog expression and pessimistic demeanour like a surgical mask. The scene where Adam is composing ‘I Don’t Think I’ll Fall in Love Today’ while a troubled Jerry is lying on the bed is one of the film’s most natural scenes: it begins and ends with Adam whistling the tune’s melody, fitting bookends to his subtle implications about the real nature of Jerry and Milo’s relationship. It is beautifully written and played, but is all too brief. Oscar is a great pianist, too, and I wondered exactly how many people in the audience instinctively reached for the fast-forward button when he sat down to perform the Concerto in F… Ah, the magic of cinema.
Gene’s most important co-star in An American in Paris is, of course, the music of George Gershwin. The audience is treated to a compendium of varying interpretations and styles throughout: from the lushness of ‘Embraceable You,’ through the jazzy medleys in the nightclub and the achingly romantic ‘Our Love is Here to Stay’ number to the breathtaking interpretation of the ‘An American in Paris Suite’ that closes the film, you merely have to sit back and allow the genius of a master craftsman to bathe you in a heavenly light. Those close to Gershwin have commented that he probably wouldn’t have liked ‘The American in Paris Ballet,’ but surely for a dance fan who would often offer Fred Astaire terpsichorean advice on set there are many elements that would have pleased him? As a film ballet and the realisation of Gene’s vision, it simply stands alone. The music, the costumes, the colour, the lighting, the interpretations of the styles and moods of various artists, the choreography and its execution… It is a cinematic gift of riches and time has been unable to diminish its majesty.
“I much prefer this to yesterday,” said Pat excitedly, the ballet clearly having worked its considerable magic on him. “Here you can see Gene Kelly the artist, whereas yesterday it was Gene Kelly, the all American.”
More to come tomorrow… And here’s what you may have missed so far:
A fairly sparse crowd as expected, but still better than I anticipated for a Monday morning. This is not a favourite musical of mine and when I bought my tickets initially this film was not included. However, a combination of the fact that this was one of the films that introduced me to Gene in the mid ’70s — I also remember a ‘Christmas with Kelly’ season on BBC 1 with Anchors Aweigh on 22nd December, On the Town on 23rd December and Singin’ in the Rain on Christmas Eve — and the sense of joy that had started to pulsate through my bloodstream at being in the midst of a film-a-day Gene festival, I happily succumbed. I also got a huge kick of saying to the girl in the ticket office: “One for Anchors Aweigh, please.” A phrase I never thought I’d hear myself say at any point in my life.
The daily ritual had now been well and truly established: take my usual seat at the back of cinema, wait for Pat to appear, explain the reason why the GFT is having a Gene Kelly Festival (again) and listen to today’s complaint — the music playing was not the correct accompaniment for the film, apparently (even though it was a Gene CD) — and enjoy Allan Hunter’s engaging introduction.
I always had three major problems with Anchors Aweigh: José Iturbi, Kathryn Grayson and the running time. Iturbi, I can only imagine, must have been Hollywood’s idea of a great conductor, in the same way that Mario Lanza was considered a great tenor. He mugs his way through the entire picture with the subtlety of a scenery chewing homunculus. Thanks to the ludicrous running time of over two hours and twenty minutes, George Sidney’s pointless meanderings around Hollywood Bowl, the stuff with that way-too-cute kid and a bunch of numbers that should never have seen the light of day Iturbi is in good company. “It needs tighter direction,” whispered Pat halfway through in a spirited attempt to nab the ‘Understatement of the Century Award.’ However, to my complete amazement, the woman I had previously denounced as having the sex appeal of a female footballer in a bear suit effortlessly won me over. Maybe it was the big screen, or maybe it was, again, a result of Gene festival disarmament, but I found Kathryn Grayson just adorable — even in that ridiculous sky blue angora sweater. Her classical singing is still an acquired taste, I must say, and if Snow White on helium is your thing then she’s your gal; it’s like having your ears assailed by a Victorian teakettle.
Then there’s Joe Brady… Joe Brady. These two words probably have more impact upon the female populous of Gene Kelly fandom than any others. I’ve lost count of the number of postings I’ve read about the sea wolf in the sailor suit, the phone call to Lola the skank and the ‘Suzy Song.’ Maybe if I wasn’t a heterosexual male I’d appreciate the film just a tad more. It is undoubtedly one of Gene’s better acting performances, which isn’t really saying a great deal, and much of that must be attributed to the obvious chemistry he had with Frank Sinatra. Frank is the better actor by some distance and possesses a wonderful naturalism that Gene was rarely capable of; Gene is excellent in the ‘let’s pretend Aunt Suzy gets passed around the military like a slutty peace pipe’ scene, but it belongs to Frank. Other than an all too brief rendition of ‘I Fall in Love Too Easily’ Frank’s songs are mostly forgettable, an inexplicable fact given that they were written by Jules Styne and Sammy Cahn.
According to most critics Gene’s solos are a mixed bag, but I love them all. His number with Jerry the Mouse is one of the most magical moments in cinema, his routine with the little Mexican girl who hated Stanley Donen is sweet and engaging. And even though his Spanish Bandit routine is about as authentic as a plate of paella at Coney Island, he pulls it off with his unique brand of chutzpah: I heard a bellowing laugh from the middle of the theatre when Gene was unveiled in his bright yellow shirt and had a little giggle myself. It’s too easy to be flippant and cynical about this film; I need to remember that it was made just after the war when people were looking for joy and escapism and Gene gave them plenty of that here — the film also made an absolute fortune. I, sort of, rediscovered an old affection for it and as Pat wandered off to complain to GFT staff about the pre-feature music I found myself unconsciously whistling ‘We Hate to Leave’ in the cinema’s crowded toilet. What’s that old saying about whistling the tunes as you’re leaving the show?
Come back tomorrow for another review, and if you missed the others, please find them at the series home. (More Pat is included, we promise!)
Tuesday, 21 February, 11am – Take Me Out to the Ball Game (1949)
NOTE: If you haven’t met my fellow viewer Pat, be sure to check out my previous reviews before embarking on this one.
Back into Gene’s ‘great’ period this morning with a musical that is criminally underrated. Pat thought he had heard of Busby Berkeley before and as I explained who he was and how Gene was diametrically opposed to his directorial style via the “back to 1930” story — Berkeley was instructing the camera to go “back, back, back” and Gene was heard to mutter “Yeah, back to 1930” — Pat barked rather abruptly: “Kelly should have known his place! There were other people around then, too. I mean, who did he think he was?” Hmm… Maybe this so-called “Astaire man” isn’t quite ready to join the Gene Appreciation Society just yet, or maybe this morning’s choice of music, Ritchie Valens’ ‘La Bamba’ (chosen, I’m quite certain, by cinema staff specifically to irritate the old curmudgeon), had put him in a worse mood than I thought.
Again, Gene’s performance here in Take Me Out to the Ballgame is one of his best, particularly in the ‘Umpire’ scene and in the dinner scene with the rest of the ball team, which is so good, in fact, that I can forgive him that woefully unfunny impression of a cooch dancer. Since Gene and Stanley Donen wrote the story, it’s reasonable to assume that the scene where Gene and Jules Munshin coach Frank in his attempted seduction of that big amphibious broad with shoulders like Johnny Weismuller is a conceit of Gene’s and a result of his affection for Cyrano de Bergerac. Whatever its genesis, it’s played with genuine comic flair and had the audience hooting with delight.
Jules Munshin adds another dimension to Gene and Frank’s obvious chemistry, his Jewish sense of humour a perfect foil for the Irish hoofer and the Italian crooner – quite a cosmopolitan trio when you think about it. The ‘O’Brien to Ryan to Goldberg’ number is a constant source of joy and Jules shines with his violin/baseball anecdote. I gather he divides Gene fans and that’s understandable, I suppose, given that his type of humour could be perceived as a bit too broad for some and his dancing is barely average, but I have nothing but a deep and abiding affection for him. I feel exactly the same way about Betty Garrett, she is an irresistible little bundle of joyous energy and visibly sizzles in her scenes with Frank – the ‘It’s Fate’ number an obvious forerunner of On the Town’s ‘Come Up to My Place.’
It’s impossible to know for sure exactly how much of the film was directed by Berkeley and how much of it by Gene and Stanley, the latter standing in for the former on several occasions due to his personal problems. There certainly wasn’t much scope for Gene to push the boundaries of dance on film, but with one of the great American perennials and a simple Vaudevillian construct for the opening number, who’s complaining? Another Comden and Green script helps immensely and with the added caveat of their lyric. Also, how many songs can you name that reference college suicides and the age of sexual consent in certain southern states? They also provided Gene, possibly with the help of an uncredited Roger Edens, with the only opportunity he ever had to do an ‘Oirish’ number: ‘The Hat My Dear Old Father Wore,’ complete with Emerald green cocked ‘tile,’ shillelagh and noble expression while tin whistles, bodhrans, and bagpipes segue seamlessly in and out of The Wearing of the Green. His footwork in this number is mesmerising — clean, crisp and hinting at the greatness that was to follow.
As much as I adore this film there is one moment that just… Well, two words: Look away. And is that the guys who minced around with June Allyson in that lame medieval number in Words and Music (1948) on the team? The twins that pass Jules the bread at dinner, I mean. Pat was nonplussed at the end, I’m afraid to say, and quickly went off to complain about the temperature in the cinema, Baltic, while I popped into the toilet to whistle ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game.’
Oh, I read somewhere that Berkeley wanted to showcase Esther Williams in one of her usual ridiculously overblown water features, but Gene vetoed the idea… God bless that guy.
Pat wasn’t happy with the management, something about “academic introductions” and “pains in the arse.” Related, I think. Although he did remark that our daily host, Allan Hunter, “does very well.” He does, indeed. So well, in fact, that while espousing on Gene and Judy’s onscreen partnership he mentioned Summer Stock (1950) and explained its omission from the festival for anyone moronic enough to be offended by its absence with a barely concerned “it isn’t that good a musical” and thereby submitting his own entry for ‘Understatement of the Century Award.’
If I don’t get the appeal of Joe Brady, then I am practically fumbling around in the dark trying to pick up pine needles with boxing gloves when it comes to the much-vaunted sexual chemistry between Gene Kelly and Judy Garland. Love them both. Don’t see it. Have never seen it. It doesn’t exist. Gene and Judy’s onscreen vibe is one that you might find between brother and sister, or very close, extremely platonic friends. Yet virtual oceans exist in the realms of Gene fandom devoted to this very subject:
mock facebook pages showing ‘Gene Kelly is in a relationship with Judy Garland’ status updates;
hybrid usernames incorporating both artists – Judygenefan, Jugenea, Garlandkelly, Kellygarland, Garkel, Kelgar (OK, I made the last two up, but I bet they exist somewhere); and
YouTube videos of love stricken teenagers mooning over imagined trysts.
[For more on this Garland/Kelly “shipping,” see Kelli’s essay on social media’s current objectification of Gene Kelly.] I understand this is flying in the face of the general consensus of online opinion when I say that Gene and Judy are good together, but not great – they both did their best work with other partners.
Having said all that, I enjoyed The Pirate in a way I never have before. It simply HAS to be seen on the big screen; only that kind of ratio can contain the overblown spectacle of its vibrancy, colour, and Gene’s exaggerated performance. His dramatic shortcomings are exposed badly here — when he first makes his appearance, it’s impossible to take your eyes off his hands, which he throws around in affected gestures like a Marionette puppet possessed by the spirit of Peewee Herman. I confess I nearly had a seizure when he recited the line: “You should try underplaying sometimes, very effective.” Good advice for us all, Gene…
Still, as always, the moment Kelly starts dancing, nothing else matters. In the world. His ‘Niña’ routine is really all we need to be introduced to Serafin, a lithe, athletic, self-absorbed showman. Add Cole Porter’s delicious rhyming couplets to the mix and it’s impossible to resist – Niña and schizophrenia? What more do you want for your money? Well, how about ‘Be a Clown’ with Gene and The Nicholas Brothers? This number is the film’s undoubted highlight, and Gene deserve enormous credit for breaking all kinds of pre-Civil Rights Movement taboos with a dancing team who, because of their colour, never had the career they deserved. And in the eldest brother, Fayard, had, in my opinion, the finest dancer cinema has ever known. The three of them threaten to burst forth from the screen and cartwheel up and down the aisles.
The number that had the biggest effect on me was easily the ‘Pirate Ballet.’ I’ve always loved it, but in its proper setting, good God… Ladies and gay guys, I get it! Gene moves with the ferocity of a sexual panther, a testosterone-fueled force of malevolence with masculinity crackling through every rippling sinew. When Gene made his first appearance in the film, I had scrawled in my notes: ‘Douglas Fairbanks he ain’t.’ However, after the ‘Pirate Ballet,’ I put a line through that and replaced it with this: ‘More swash in his buckle than a thousand Fairbanks.’
With so much attention focussed on Gene this week, I had forgotten that I had never seen Judy on the big screen before, either. She was truly something to behold. The camera doesn’t so much love her as caress her face with an adoration and gentleness I didn’t even know existed. Judy Garland has an innate light that pulsates through every fibre of her being and you could illuminate the Eastern Seaboard with the wattage of her star quality. If ‘Mack the Black’ reveals the passion that is bubbling under the surface in Manuela, then the expression on her face prior to her ‘Pirate Ballet’ fantasy reveals a hitherto unexplored psychosexual and sadomasochistic side to her nature – she wants Macoco to ravage her completely then scoop up her withering remains with a spoon. Begs the question why she then settles for the preening, spineless Serafin? Still, Lois Lane was in love with Superman and settled for Clark Kent, so what do I know?
I must also mention the supporting cast here who are uniformly excellent, particularly Walter Slezak, whose snivelling Mayor scuffs the ground repeatedly with his foot to underline his pomposity, and Lester Allen as Manuela’s Uncle Capucho who has no more than a couple of lines to utter and spends the rest of the time smoking a pipe and grinning like a slightly sinister monkey.
1948 is perhaps the most important year of Gene’s career, he made giant leaps both as a choreographer and a performer with his work here and on ‘Slaughter on Tenth Avenue’ in Words and Music. You can see the creative genius beginning to emerge and redefine the genre; it not only heralded the beginning of Gene’s great period, but also announced that the zenith of the film musical was imminent.
Last word, as usual, to Pat: “That was remarkably good! I had never even heard of it. It was great to see him not playing an American for once…”
I could barely contain my excitement as I bounded up the stairs of the GFT this morning. After Singin’ in the Rain, this is the Gene Kelly film I have watched more than any other. In fact, in the days of Betamax video, I taped it one Easter and watched it until the tape wore out, literally. On the Town is the second greatest thing Gene Kelly ever did and it is, without question, the greatest musical of the 1940s. The opening credits alone are enough to induce palpitations, not only a searing sextet of principles but also Betty Comden, Adolph Green, Jerome Robbins, and Leonard Bernstein. To some people the peripheral names on the creative team barely warrant much attention, at all — I’ve even read virtual reviews of An American in Paris that don’t mention George Gershwin — but the depth of talent that swirled around Gene allowed his own genius to flourish and, I think, nowhere is that more evident than here.
You can keep your aerial shots of the Alps and singing nuns (the favourite musical opening of all time by popular consent apparently) because I’ll take the cinematic sweep of the New York skyline and a singing shipyard worker every single time. In fact, I’d go as far to say that the sound of Bern Hoffman’s booming baritone elicits more excitement than the premiere of a silent movie at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. There is a deft economy of language at work in the opening exchange between the three sailors and the shipyard worker: barely twenty words spoken, but we discover that this is their first time in New York, how long they’ve got to stay and how they intend to spend their time. Comden and Green breathed rarefied air. Not a single second is wasted, neither by screenwriters, nor co-directors.
Gene and and his co-director, Stanley Donen, are concerned with one thing in On the Town: forward propulsion. The film ebbs and flows with movement — the deserted dockyard suddenly swarming with sailors, the frantic sightseeing tour, the subway up town, the trips in Hildy’s taxi, the dinosaur collapse, the elevator in the Empire State Building, the ‘On the Town’ number, the car chase (maybe the only car chase in musicals?), and the final pursuit in Coney Island. Even the time updates that flash across the screen enhance the sense of motion. It’s just an exhilarating ride from beginning to end. One last word about the opening: it features the greatest song written about New York. Ever.
Another Comden and Green script, another decent Gene performance. He really does rise to the occasion here as he’s genuinely sweet in the courtship scene with Vera-Ellen, downright hilarious in the scenes with Alice Pearce and the two sailors, Simpkins and Kovarsky, and rather touching in the scene with Frank immediately after the ballet sequence. I still think that Gabey needs a slap, mind you. “You don’t want to waste your time looking for one girl, Gabe,” advises a sage Jules Munshin, but, unfortunately, yes, he does… and yours too.
A twenty-four hour pass in New York? Wow! Sounds like just about the most fun you’re going to have, doesn’t it? Not for Kelly’s gloomy Gabey, who’d rather attach the kind of Shakespearean gravitas and emotional devastation to the occasion that would have Ingmar Bergman popping anti-depressants. Thankfully, Chip and Ozzy, Frank and Jules, respectively, are on hand to lighten the mood whenever they’re on screen. The chemistry between the three of them in Take Me Out to the Ball Game fizzled nicely, but here it nearly burns a hole in the screen, and when they eventually hook up with Vera-Ellen, Betty Garrett and Ann Miller, it bathes Manhattan in an incandescent light. None of the vitality is lost when Alice Pearce replaces Vera-Ellen in the party and ‘You Can Count on Me’ is my favourite ensemble number, a genuine delight with warmth, humour and joy clearly visible between all concerned.
Gene once said that the ‘Dancing in the Dark’ number from The Band Wagon (1953) was the greatest courtship number ever captured on film. I’m not going to disagree with him, but I think with ‘Main Street,’ he has one that is, at least, the equal of it. It is his most affecting and touching number with a female partner. The initial steps are simple and gentle during the ‘walk’ along Main Street, but this allows the number to segue seamlessly into the dance. It is a thing of exquisite beauty and proof, if further proof were needed, that Vera-Ellen was Gene’s greatest dance partner — she is adorable throughout.
‘A Day in New York’ polarises opinion; some feel that a serious ballet in such a lighthearted musical all but kills it, while others are entranced by its hypnotic spell. I tend to lean towards the latter. It certainly slows the film down, but don’t forget that it’s supposed to represent what’s going on inside Gabey’s head and just be thankful that it’s not an accurate representation; that would surely involve the Grim Reaper shimmying with Beelzebub in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Bernstein’s music, the masterly control of Gene’s movements and the erotic pas de deux on the ballet barre renders any complaints about narrative and momentum utterly meaningless.
If Gene’s highbrow balletic pretensions aren’t your thing, then you can derive the pleasure you seek in every other number in On the Town, the remaining of which are: Vera-Ellen’s ‘Miss Turnstiles Ballet’ (Gene certainly knew how to showcase his partners); Ann Miller doing what Ann Miller does in ‘Prehistoric Man'; and Frank and Betty Garrett’s ‘Come Up to My Place’ and ‘You’re Awful,’ one hilarious, the other quite moving in a quirky kind of way. The lyrics of all these songs are a joy and I have to go back to Comden and Green, again. I don’t know how many of New York’s cultural attractions are named in ‘Come Up to My Place,’ but it must be close to twenty. There are also pop-culture references with Goodbye, Mr Chips and The Lost Weekend, an in-joke with the reference to Ava Gardner, Sinatra’s off-screen wife at the time, and even the author of a sexual study gets a mention — Dr Kinsey. The script is sprinkled liberally with all kinds of peppy dialogue from the gossiping women on the subway to the two dancers Gene passes in the Academy of Performing Arts — how about this for an exchange:
First girl: “Are you auditioning for Grab Your Spats?”
Second girl (in broad Noo Yawk accent): “No, I’m only interested in classical ballet.”
They predate Stephanie, Saturday Night Fever’s upwardly mobile snob, by nearly 30 years. Also, I have no idea what Grab Your Spats is, but I want to see it. I wouldn’t mind seeing Comden and Green themselves in the original Broadway Show… that must have been quite something.
The final scene maintains the underlying theme of momentum, a new batch of sailors flood the shipyard and the story continues. The film ends, but life goes on. That Gene and Stanley created something of such magnificence with almost no basis for comparison is remarkable, that they amassed the location footage they did in so little time is miraculous. Final word today goes, not to Pat, but to Gene himself, who believed that On the Town was his greatest contribution to the innovation of musicals. He also said that Summer Stock was “a piece of crap.” The man knew his musicals.
Saturday, 25 February, 19:30, St Andrews in the Square – Brigadoon (1954) | Gene Kelly Ceilidh
Finally! This is the event I’ve been waiting for all year since I first learned of the GFT’s Gene retrospective. What on earth would a Gene Kelly Ceilidh comprise of? A Ceilidh (caley), for those of you who may be unfamiliar with this uniquely Caledonian pastime, is an evening of traditional Scottish dancing, a social gathering to renew old acquaintances, make some new ones, and hoot and holler long into the night. Think of the structured dances you may have seen in Jane Austen adaptations and then imagine them with decent music, real contact, and people who are actually alive.
However, before all that… Brigadoon. As I accepted the ‘wee dram’ (shot of whisky) that welcomed us into the venue, I was fortunate enough to have a minute or two with Allan Hunter — who, when I suggested that watching this musical for the second time in as many days should be marked with some kind of endurance award (Brigadoon was also screened at the GFT yesterday morning) — admitted excitedly that he wasn’t staying for the film and had the same expression on his face that Tim Robbins had in The Shawshank Redemption (1994) after he had crawled through a sewer pipe of ‘shit-smelling foulness’ to his escape. Publicly, however, Hunter was less inclined to be flippant, and in his introduction tonight suggested that we as Scots should endeavour to reclaim Brigadoon for ourselves, and accept and embrace it for what it is, but warned with his closing salvo that “some accents were harmed in the making of this film.”
To coincide with the Gene Kelly Festival, the Herald newspaper has arranged a small photography exhibition at the Royal Concert Hall, featuring various Hollywood alumni who had visited the city in the mid-twentieth century like Judy, Frank, Sammy Davis Jr, Irving Berlin, Cary Grant, Roy Rogers and Trigger, Marlene Dietrich and Danny Kaye. Gene was there too, of course, in the photo of him taken outside Glasgow Central Train Station in 1953 as he prepared to embark on a location scout for the ‘Scottish musical’ (above). The following photo is also included in the exhibition and one I was unaware even existed – Gene and a certain Arthur Freed planning possible routes around the old country.
Gene Kelly: master of dance, reader of maps.
I won’t spend any time reviewing the film itself as I have already devoted an entire essay to it on this very site, but I must comment on audience reaction to it. I recommend everybody to watch Brigadoon with a crowd of Scots ready for a Hooley (party) and with easy access to a bar. It is the only way to watch the film. There were howls of derisive laughter throughout, mainly at the wedding authenticated by the ‘ancient laws of Scotland,’ Mr Lundy’s description of what it feels like when he goes to sleep, and pretty much everything Cyd Charisse says. There were also guffaws of appreciative laughter at the superb Van Johnson and the Manhattan scene where a haunted Gene tries to cope with the mini-Brigadoon musicals that are sounding off in his head.
Kudos must also go to the solitary woman who applauded defiantly after the second of Gene and Cyd’s numbers, in a Brigadoon-hostile environment that took a special kind of devotion, misguided thought it may have been. A huge roar greeted the end of the film and I’m not entirely sure that was just determined by alcohol and the opportunity to finally lift posteriors from the most uncomfortable seats in Scotland, because I detected a smudge of affection — the kind of affection, admittedly, that you might have for a disintegrating childhood family toy that is barely hanging together by your grandmother’s pre-war stitching, but affection nevertheless.
Even though I didn’t have to use the bar, during the screening I felt comforted, safe and secure in the knowledge that it was there. It burned steadily in the corner of my eye with an ethereal glow… I imagine when I get round to watching Summer Stock again I will need not only access to a bar, but also an analyst constantly whispering reassurances in my ear as well as a device attached to my arm steadily pumping valium into my bloodstream and those two huge animated Middle-Eastern chaps Gene dances with in Invitation to the Dance (1956) standing on either side of me who, when given the nod, will beat me slowly to death using large socks filled with horse manure.
So, to the dancing, well not quite yet, there was another uniquely Scottish flourish – stovies. Stovies recipes vary, but essentially it’s a meat and potato stew with onions, beef, dough, and whatever happens to be leftover from Sunday dinner… ‘Yum,’ I hear you say. Not the best preparation for a period of exertion, you might think, but you’d be surprised. And the meal pleasantly passed the time as the room was transformed from cinema to dancehall by the staff of St Andrews in the Square who maintain this beautiful, renovated Church towards the east of the city. After spending so much time with Gene this week I warned my dance partner for the evening, current best friend and former girlfriend, that I was powerless to stop some of his athletic masculinity seeping into my pores and that she may find herself under siege by a testosterone bombardment she won’t be able to cope with (hint: to pull that kind of comment off, you really need to choose someone who doesn’t know you intimately).
Gene Kelly Ceilidh. St Andrews in the Square.
The great thing about ceilidhs is that any ceilidh band worth its salt will walk you slowly through the steps prior to each dance. Tonight’s band was worth several pillars of salt, so eternal thanks to them for guiding us through The Gay Gordons, The Dashing White Sergeant, The Canadian Barn Dance, The Progressive Canadian Barn Dance (where you changed partners constantly and got to talk about Gene with strangers), Strip the Willow (a nightmare of intricate spinning and cross-group reeling) and, in honour of the man we were celebrating, The Pride of Erin Waltz, which I felt I excelled at, if I do say so myself (I’m replacing aptitude with eagerness here). There were other dances, but alas I was too tired to remember them and my feet too sore to get me from the couch to the computer to google them.
So, how does a Gene Kelly Ceilidh differ from any other ceilidh? Well, not at all as it turned out, but it was no less enjoyable for that. The abiding memory of the evening is the number of people who made comments about Gene’s ability to bring people together, which he did at his home in Rodeo Drive and continues to do even in death, be it a gathering of Scots in a small venue in Glasgow or thousands across the world connected virtually and emotionally by their love of this extraordinary artist. This week, I have smiled, laughed, and danced more than I have in almost twenty years. I have walked with a spring in my step and attended job interviews by metaphorically entering the room by sliding across the floor in my knees and screaming at prospective employers: “Gotta dance!” I have adored every rain soaked, artistic, naval, piratical, shortstopping, and Grouse-hunting moment of the Gene Kelly Festival at the GFT. I leave with a deeper affection and greater appreciation for the man I have carried with me in my heart since I was four years old.
Oh, I got the job. Thank you, Mr Kelly.
You’ve made it to the final part of this series. To read all reviews, visit Glasgow Film Festival.
Gene Kelly has the best smile in the world. When he smiles, his whole face lights up.
His smile is sometimes one of smug self-satisfaction like the phone scene in Anchors Aweigh (right). Other times, it is a sweet, dreamy smile directed at his leading lady as when he gazes at Kathy Selden (Debbie Reynolds) during “Would You” (Singin’ in the Rain). But most of the times, it is an expression of pure joy; see, for example, his roller-skating routine in It’s Always Fair Weather. His characters and that grin often remind me of a young child who’s viewing the world with fresh eyes, someone constantly bursting with happiness.
I think that Gene Kelly’s smile is best displayed during his famous number in Singin’ in the Rain. As he strolls down the sidewalk singing, he stops, takes his hat off, looks to the sky, lets the rain shower his face, and exultingly sings, “I’ve a smile on my face” (below).
Gene Kelly never fails to put a smile on my face. Thank you, Gene, for the joy that you bring to this world and to our lives!
In the 1940s, three musicals united two future legends of entertainment: Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra. Onscreen, their characters displayed opposite personalities, and offscreen, the stars’ careers were in very different moments. But without a doubt, this partnership represented a turning point for both Kelly and Sinatra, marking their rise to bigger stardom.
In 1945, the two dress as sailors for the first time in Anchors Aweigh (right), co-starring with singer Kathryn Grayson and Jose Iturbi. Four years later, the duo reunite and add a third male member to their already successful partnership: the funny and entertaining Jules Munshin. In this film, Take Me Out to the Ballgame (1949), the trio faces a new reality when their baseball team hires a new manager, played by Esther Williams. This would be the final film of Busby Berkeley and also the first time that Frank’s love interest is played by the delightful Betty Garrett.
Kelly’s and Sinatra’s most successful pairing would come the same year with On the Town (1949). Dressed again as sailors, their characters take shore leave in New York City on a mission: to score with women and sightsee (well, this is what Sintra’s character originally planned to do). On the Town again starred Jules Munshin and Betty Garrett as well as dancers Ann Miller and Vera-Ellen.
In fact, one could argue that Anchors Aweigh is the prequel to On the Town (just as It’s Always Fair Weather is a sequel to the same). The narratives and characterization are virtually the same; Kelly’s sailors are more talkative and active in love while Frank’s are shyer and passively charming. Years later, in a stage show, Gene was still playing off this image, asking his co-star and friend if he had lost his standing with women. (Frank got married five times, while Gene had three wives.)
Almost from the time he landed in Hollywood in the early ’40s, Gene Kelly enjoyed both personal and collaborative successes and was often paired with some of the most talented people in the industry. Frank Sinatra, however, saw his popularity and music career decrease in the mid-1940s and, thus, signed on for this “musical trilogy” (with Kelly) as a way to keep himself in the eye of the public. The crooner-turned-musical-star would only get over this phase after winning an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor for his role in From Here to Eternity(1954). But this is a subject for another time…
Our pal over at the New York Post, Lou Lumenick, is currently attending the Turner Classic Film Festival where, last night, he and many other fans screened the 60th Anniversary digital restoration of Singin’ in the Rain (1952).
Lou also was there for Debbie Reynolds’s introduction. His report:
Warners’ new 60th anniversary digital restoration of “Singin’ in the Rain” had its world premiere Saturday night at Grauman’s Chinese, and it’s a richly detailed, vibrantly colored knockout. The musical numbers sound better than they ever have before.
Even the film’s elaborate optical effects — often the most challenging thing for restorers — look fantastic. And the beloved classic itself makes this year’s Oscar winner, “The Artist,” look like a puny achievement by comparison.
“Singin’ ” will be showing again at the Smithsonian’s Museum of American History in July and is premiering on Blu-ray before the end of the year.
Robert Osborne had a chat with Debbie Reynolds before the film, and she had the audience in stitches with her mildly salty humors, including references to her “t—s.”
I interviewed Ms. Reynolds before the festival, but she told a story about the film’s production I had never heard or read before.
A ladder is a prominent prop in the “You Were Meant For Me” number and Reynolds said that during rehearsals, she sat on the ladder chewing gum (“I hadn’t discovered wine yet,” she cracked to a huge laugh).
She said that when time came to shoot the number, she took the gum out of her mouth and affixed it to the ladder. But when Kelly’s head brushed next to the ladder while he was dancing, the gum “stuck to his [toupee] and took it off. He was mad at me for a year after that.”
Turner Classic Movies Presents Singin’ in the Rain 60th Anniversary Event in Select Movie Theaters Nationwide on Thursday, July 12 at 7:00 PM (local time)*
The event begins with a Turner Classic Movies original production featuring TCM host Robert Osborne in an exclusive specially produced interview with star Debbie Reynolds. In this interview, audiences are taken behind the scenes of one of the greatest musicals of all time as Ms. Reynolds shares memories of working with the late great Gene Kelly and Donald O’Connor.
Immediately following these exclusive behind the scenes extras be carried away by the songs, story and romance of one of the greatest musicals of all time – Singin’ in the Rain – as it graces the silver screen for only one night fully remastered and more beautiful than it ever has been before!
Don’t miss this timeless classic on the big screen for only one night on July 12th and celebrate the release of the Blu-Ray™ on July 17th.
*Additional matinee showings available at select movie theater locations. Check your local listings for details.
TICKETING: Tickets will be on sale to the public on Friday, June 8th!
THEATERS: Click here for a current list of participating movie theaters.
Whilst flicking through Twitter one evening, I spotted a tweet from @GeneKellyFans promoting a course at the National Media Museum in Bradford, UK. to celebrate the centenary of Gene Kelly’s birth. Long story short, I immediately cleared my Wednesday nights for the next seven weeks and signed up.
I must confess to both a personal and academic interest here as I start a part-time PhD later this year, researching fantasy dream ballets in Hollywood film musicals. With that in mind, I thought this course would be a fitting warm-up.
I’ve also been lucky enough to visit film archives in Los Angeles and New York whilst studying for my Master’s degree (researching Arthur Freed’s musicals unit focusing on Gene Kelly films). But of course, like many others, I’m a life-long Kelly fan. I grew up watching his films and being spellbound by his extraordinary dance talent, confident and charming persona, and, let’s be honest, his rather handsome features on display in musicals, dramatic roles, and documentaries. But I digress…
The course — Gene Kelly: Star, Choreographer, Director — was led by Keith Withall, a freelance teacher/writer on film and regular at the National Media Museum, and was managed by the Museum’s Film Education Officer, Jen Skinner. It was essentially a mixture of screenings (e.g., The Pirate [1948], Brigadoon [1954], Les Demoiselles de Rochefort [1967]) and discussion focusing on Kelly’s place in the classic MGM musicals, role as dancer and choreographer, star persona, and contribution to the film musical genre.
I joined a group of about 10 locals of all ages. Most were regulars at the Museum and had taken Keith’s courses before, so they were well-informed, knowledgeable, and enthusiastic, unafraid to share their views (positive or negative). Notably, some participants weren’t Kelly fans and had not seen most of his films; they, in turn, gave us long-time fans a fresh perspective as well as an opportunity for nurturing them in this endeavor. Via this series, I’ll attempt to outline some of our discussions and experiences.
Gene Kelly 101
Gene Kelly was billed to us as the “greatest innovator in the Hollywood musical,” which was evident in a montage from That’s Entertainment III (1994). But first, we needed to understand the context in which Kelly arrived in Hollywood. So Keith introduced us to a brief history of the movie musical across the different studios with clips of
Ruby Keeler and Dick Powell in Warner Brothers’ 42nd Street (1933),
Eleanor Powell and Fred Astaire in Broadway Melody of 1940 (1940) at MGM,
Fred and Ginger in Swing Time (1936), and
Mickey Rooney & Judy Garland in Babes in Arms (1939) at MGM.
Following that were first of many lively discussions about film and dance styles, techniques, stars, and directors; pre- and post-Hays Code influences; the classic romance and backstage narratives; the influence and appropriation of black culture through tap and jazz; and the use of the Great American Songbook. We also explored how the different studios approached musicals, e.g., Warner Brothers’ snappy dialogue and focus on mass movement, MGM’s stars and interest in the central romantic couple, and RKO’s escapism and stylised set design.
Then, we returned to Gene…
The year 1942 marked the onscreen arrival of Gene Kelly in the black-and-white musical For Me and My Gal, co starring Judy Garland (right).The film showcases Kelly’s Pal Joey persona (his turn in the Broadway production of Pal Joey earned him a ticket to Hollywood) — cocky, confident, charismatic, and lots of smiling/grinning. Arguably, this character defined his Hollywood persona.
We then moved on to the alter ego sequence from Cover Girl (1944), which introduces recurring tropes visible throughout Kelly’s musical career:
dancing “outdoors” (although technically, most of the “exteriors” were made in a studio),
use of movement and levels, both camera and action, and a
hybrid mixture of dance styles.
In addition, Cover Girl brings in the Kelly sidekick or buddy, the use of props, and signature solo dances. And we learned that Gene Kelly doesn’t quite fit the traditional musical narrative, as he has no regular romantic partner throughout his films.
Please tune in next for our discussion on The Pirate.
I was excited to see a 35mm screening of The Pirate (Vincente Minnelli, 1948) on the big screen in the Museum’s cozy Cubby Broccoli Cinema, as I’d only ever seen it on TV and VHS. From the outset I was transfixed by the bright colours, outlandish costumes, Minnelli’s camera movements, and Kelly’s general swagger and athleticism. I’d also forgotten just how funny the script is and particularly how wonderful Judy Garland is, despite her well-documented troubles offscreen.
One of the highlights was Manuela’s “Mack the Black” daydream (right): Kelly in a skimpy, sexy, black outfit brandishing swords and flying through fire – it really does take your breath away, and it’s still surprising that the sequence made it past the censors although they had removed the voodoo references! [For another scene that skirted past the censorship board, see Kelli’s “A Brush of Sorts in The Pirate.”]
Other highlights for me included the opening Kelly number “Nina” (below), in which his character captivates every woman in the village, young and old, with his overtly flamboyant, flirtatious, and athletic prowess; I also enjoyed the fight scene between Kelly’s Serafin and Garland’s Manuela – perfect comic timing from both.
“When I arrive in any town, I look the ladies up and down…”
In our class discussion of The Pirate the following week, for many it was the first viewing. Feedback was mostly positive although some felt let down by the “Be a Clown” ending without a romantic conclusion, claiming the scene somehow felt like an afterthought. This is understandable since in some ways, Garland’s character is a substitute for Kelly’s recurring male “buddy” role (discussed in my previous post), and moreover, the film’s Freudian and surrealism influences and sexual connotations within the film overshadow any romantic narrative.
A strong influence of modern dance and ballet is also evident in The Pirate as is Kelly’s swashbuckling homage to Douglas Fairbanks’s silent film The Black Pirate (1926). Kelly was certainly influenced by Agnes de Mille’s use of ballet in Broadway musicals, Martha Graham’s groundbreaking modern dance, and of course classical ballet, in which he had received training and for which he had a lifelong passion. This is evident in the fantasy-dream formats repeated in his musicals, used to expression real emotion and in this case, passion. The fantasy framework freed Kelly and his collaborators from the constraints of contemporary drama.
The Pirate‘s inclusion of the extraordinary Nicholas Brothers (below), though woefully underused, provoked a broad-ranging discussion about the stereotypical portrayals of African-Caribbean actors/dancers in Hollywood film (i.e., they were mostly relegated to speciality acts or subservient roles such as butlers, maids, and servants). This was highlighted by a clip of the hugely influential, ex-vaudeville tap dancer Bill “Bojangles” Robinson and Shirley Temple dancing together in The Littlest Colonel (1935).
Helen continues her discussion of the Gene Kelly course at the National Media Museum…
Now focusing on Kelly as a dancer and choreographer, our class at the National Media Museum explored the star’s style, influence and recurring motifs, and the development of his techniques both in front of and behind the camera. In particular, we examined how his wartime experiences in a film unit sparked his interest in the technical aspect of filmmaking and how he used and adapted this knowledge. Additionally, we looked at how Kelly’s experience of working with gifted directors like Stanley Donen and Vincente Minnelli changed the way dance numbers were choreographed and filmed for the screen.
Anchors Aweigh (1945) demonstrates the achievements of Kelly, Donen, and the animation team in developing new techniques to show shadows as well as Kelly and Jerry the Mouse (right) moving behind each other in the dream sequence. What is striking here (and elsewhere in the Kelly canon), in comparison to earlier musicals, is the difference in mobility of the camera and how the camera travels with Kelly as he dances up and down (stairs, pavements, buildings etc), side to side (often in ‘exterior’ locations) and along wide-open settings (usually streets).
Another recurring feature is Kelly’s ability to make props dynamic, animating the everyday (this is also visible in Fred Astaire’s later MGM musicals too, no doubt influenced by this significant change). As one of the class stated, “The world’s his stage.”
But it was the focus on creating integrated film musicals, pioneered by producer Arthur Freed and Minnelli, that Kelly was particularly interested in developing. The creation of an integrated narrative was one of his lasting achievements whereby the dancing and singing helped to drive the story rather than interrupt the flow of the film.
In discussing the look and feel of MGM musicals, and especially the lush colours in dream sequences, Keith (our instructor) drew our attention to Technicolor’s influence in the representations of colour and colour coding. For instance, Natalie Kalmus, Technicolor’s colour coordinator on most of the MGM films, had very fixed ideas as to which colours represented different emotions. Thus, colour was a major influence on a film’s design, particularly the dream sequences. A classic (non-Kelly) example is Rodgers and Hammerstein’s dream ballet (or rather nightmare) in Oklahoma! (1955).
Kelly’s and Vera Ellen’s “Slaughter on Tenth Avenue” number from Words and Music (1948) sparked a discussion around female representation in film musicals. In the 1950s female representation was changing and in the musicals, women could be the centre of male attention rather than merely one-half a dancing couple (Eleanor Powell was always the exception!). See, for example, Jane Russell dancing with men in a gym in 1953’s Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (right) and Cyd Charisse dancing with boxers in It’s Always Fair Weather (1955).
The famous scene of Kelly dancing with a newspaper and squeaky floorboard in Summer Stock (1950) prompted chat about the star’s proletarian, working class, Irish persona and desire to develop an “everyman” dance style, very much of the street. However, as we learned, his naturally cocky character often needs to be softened by other characters to help to humanise him, whether that’s Frank Sinatra in Anchors Aweigh, Take Me Out to the Ballgame (1949) and On the Town (1949), or children in An American in Paris (1951) and Anchors Aweigh.
By this point in the course, the class was sharing articles, book references and general Kelly facts and figures, adding to the meticulous preparation, planning, research and excellent handouts by Keith.
Over the weekend, The Boston Globe published “Remembering Gene Kelly, True Song-and-Dance Man.” At first glance, this column, written by arts critic and occasional-professor Mark Feeney, serves as yet another precursor to Gene Kelly’s centennial celebration on August 23 and yet one more reminder to get yo’ tickets for TCM’s nation-wide screening of Singin’ in the Rain this Thursday night. Seriously, get ‘em.
To this end, I nearly glossed over the post. After all, I don’t need to read another critic blathering on about Kelly’s 103-degree fever, shrunken wool suit(s), and the milk/rainwater in “Singin’ in the Rain.” This is a TOTAL MYTH! No milk was used. But I’m glad I didn’t pass up this one. Feeney’s piece on Gene Kelly differs from most of the other recent write-ups I’ve seen. Aside from his claim “It’s impossible to talk about Kelly without talking about Astaire” (actually, it can be done), here are a few reasons I like it.
In my mind, this is the length of Thursday’s Singin’ in the Rain ticket line.
Huh, Girls? What Girls?
First, Feeney’s post opens and closes with two lesser-known Gene Kelly films, ones that most mainstream audiences and even some self-described Kelly fans have likely never heard of: Les Girls and The Young Girls of Rochefort.
Opening: “Why do you want this job?” Gene Kelly asks Taina Elg after she’s auditioned for his act in Les Girls (1957). “Because I’ve seen you dance,” she says. The answer makes perfect sense; his dancing’s that irresistible.
Closing: In The Young Girls of Rochefort (1967) […] here are all these French kids singing and dancing and, in a sense, doing their own version of Summer Stock […] and Kelly’s delighted to be around them. He’s an elder statesman of the musical, yes, that’s why Jacques Demy has cast him. But he’s also part of the action (and even at 55 a better dancer than anyone else in the movie).
When I saw these references, I knew (or at least, hoped) I was reading a journalist more deeply familiar with the song-and-dance man’s legacy than the majority of the other critics covering Kelly’s centenary and/or the upcoming Singin’ in the Rain screening. So far, I believe I’m correct.
Girls, girls, girls. And Gene.
Gotta Dance?! Well, Not All the Time, Gene
Feeney is also confident enough in his knowledge of Gene Kelly’s (slightly?) ego-centric, pretentious persona and oeuvre — um, dude performs a number called “I Like Myself” (which is actually quite awesome) — to take down Kelly a notch or two. I actually laughed aloud when I read Feeney’s commentary on Kelly’s ballet sequences, which can be both riveting and frustrating to watch:
“That ‘Broadway Melody’ segment does go on. ‘Gotta dance’? Yes, but gotta stop, too. That said, it’s nowhere near the kitschy ordeal that the title ballet is in An American in Paris (1951).”
I understand Feeney’s argument here: for the most part, Kelly’s dream ballets do halt the narratives to which they’re (loosely) attached. But at the same time, I could never imagine Singin’ in the Rain without “Broadway Melody” or An American in Paris without that nearly 20-minute ballet in which freakin’ French Impressionist paintings come to life. Here, revisit a little bit of both numbers; I’ve included the sexiest parts for you cause that’s just the kinda gal I am:
Along these same lines… while Feeney humorously mocks Kelly’s ballet sequences in his column, he also rightly acknowledges why the star creates, choreographs, and inserts such elaborate and imaginative numbers in his film musicals: “There’s this fundamental restlessness to Kelly. In terpsichorean terms, he’s always lighting out for the territory, seeking something new, better, different…” This, of course, also explains Kelly’s dancing with Jerry the Mouse in Anchors Aweigh, with trashcan lids in It’s Always Fair Weather, and with himself in Cover Girl.
Kineticism and Gene Kelly’s Writings
Third, I appreciate the enthusiasm and language with which Feeney discusses Kelly’s title number from Singin’ in the Rain:
Has exultation ever been expressed more memorably — let alone meteorologically? It’s also a marvel of economical filmmaking. Lasting 3½ minutes, the sequence consists of no more than eight cuts. Two of them are among the most gorgeous crane shots in movie history — yet so perfectly placed as to be among the least obtrusive, too. There are so many things to cherish in the number — how Kelly hums his way into the song, how he grins under that downspout, how he splashes in those puddles, how he turns his umbrella into a dance partner — but there may be nothing more exhilarating than the utter ease with which he leaps up onto that light pole at the very beginning. Kelly’s control of his kineticism is at once lovely in itself and an italicization of his athleticism.
It’s the last bit that especially makes me smile, this talk of kineticism, as it reminds me of some of Kelly’s writings.
When I browsed Gene Kelly’s archives at the Boston University library earlier this year, I came across a box of essays Kelly wrote for publications like fan magazines, Sports Illustrated, and Seventeen (yep, that one). It’s widely known that classical Hollywood publicists (as well as those today) penned, distributed, and planted articles and photos in the media on behalf of their star employers. A few reasons for such fabrication: to maintain the star’s image (the key goal), to skirt or detract from a scandal, to keep stars in the public eye, to offer fans “intimate” confessions and “real-life” looks at the star and his/her family. Regarding the latter, I came across several fan magazine clippings at the archives that highlighted “the real” Gene and Betsy, e.g., Betsy Blair and Gene Kelly, the nicest twosome around…eating steak and drinking milk…Gene’s world revolves around Betsy and their daughter Kerry…etc.
In other words, I am aware all of this manufacturing existed then, just as it does now (heard anything about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes lately?). At the same time, after reading “Gene Kelly’s essays” from Box 3 (of 29) at the BU archives, I don’t know that someone else penned them. If so, it had to be someone who was a dancer and choreographer and stage performer and filmmaker. Some of the details are too specific, the terms too technical, the history of cinematic and Broadway dance too exhaustive for a marketing professional. So while I cannot confirm that Kelly wrote these articles, based on their content, I’m going to assume he did. (Another scholar who’s spent more time in the archives than I agrees; she thinks he penned them and a publicist perhaps helped clean them up.)
In these lengthy papers — some around 10 double-spaced typed pages — on cinematic dance (or cine-dance), Kelly writes eloquently and knowledgeably about his body, the dancer’s body, and its relationship to the camera, frame, and narrative. For example, in one essay for Sound Stage (1965), the musical star informs his readers that because dancing is “a three-dimensional art-like sculpture,” it is actually not a good medium for motion pictures. In fact, he continues, when such movement is transferred to screen, “you lose most of the muscular or physical force (dancers call it ‘kinetic‘ force). You also lose the presence of the dancer, which might be termed his three-dimensional personality — not necessarily the facial expressions, the look, or the feelings, but the personality of the dancer’s whole body, which coupled with line and style, form the basis of a dance performance.” These are some of the reasons Kelly (and his co-director Stanley Donen) worked so arduously to modify the way dance numbers were shot onscreen.
Kelly also discusses in this article why singing doesn’t translate as well onscreen as it does onstage (“a song can sustain four times as long onstage as it can on film…”) and the rarity of triple-threats, which can now “be counted on one hand” (at the time of writing, his hopes were pinned on Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke). And among other things, Kelly waxes poetically about the future of film musicals, which were dying rapidly by this point in time: “It’s like trying to walk across a foggy moor on the flatlands of Wales. You know what might lie ahead, but you can’t see it. You can only sense a stir, a feeling of excitement, an undercurrent of movement toward a great new world of the original movie musical.”
This sense of optimism as well as love of the industry and the people therein is something else Feeney points to in his Boston Globe column:
Kelly’s career has one other defining quality: generosity. What’s most American about him isn’t his wearing jeans or looking ‘like a guy on your bowling team, only classier,’ as Bob Fosse once said. It’s his creative stance toward others. Kelly’s is an inherently egalitarian talent, or as egalitarian as virtuosity allows.
I don’t know that I’ve much more to add at this time as Feeney has done a nice job “Remembering Gene Kelly, True Song-and-Dance Man.” I do hope, however, that whoever’s reading this will recognize some of the above attributes in Singin’ in the Rain on the big screen Thursday night. You are going, right?
Helen continues her discussion of the Gene Kelly course at the National Media Museum… [Entire series here.]
The class’s next screening was the much-maligned Brigadoon. This musical is not one of my Kelly favourites although there are some delightful moments such as the “Heather on the Hill” number withKelly and Cyd Charisse (right) and the wonderfully fast-paced, noisy, neurotic New York scenes with Kelly and his “buddy” Van Johnson as his cynical, alcoholic, misogynistic sidekick. [For more on this “buddy” theme, see my initial post in the series.]
For many in the class, particularly those for whom it was their first viewing, they struggled to get past the artificial Hollywood representation of Scotland and frankly appalling Scottish accents. It was also felt that the film showed up Kelly and Charisse’s weaknesses as actors, and there was debate about the conviction of the central romance and chemistry between Kelly and Charisse.
The film Brigadoon was changed significantly from the successful Broadway stage production from which it was adapted, but many argued that it still felt like a stage production. On the other hand, others claimed as it was a fairy story and therefore fantasy, and so the Scottish representation in a studio setting was irrelevant. Finally, some would like to have seen a more abstract representation to articulate the mythical utopia of Brigadoon.
For those who had seen Brigadoon before (and I’d only ever seen it on TV and VHS), we enjoyed the opportunity to view the film in Cinemascope at a ratio of 2.35.1 in Anscocolor format, though one classmate commented that Technicolour should have produced the print for a better colour. It certainly makes a difference watching the marching drummers enter the “Wedding Scene” from all sides.
Many thought the film more pessimistic and darker than they’d remembered and that the verve, energy and enthusiasm of earlier Kelly and Minnelli films were lacking. The New York scene was popular with the majority of the class, particularly the articulation of the lost American dream, even echoes of what was to come in Sweet Smell of Success (1957). Others enjoyed the scene’s brilliant sound design, and the importance of the scene in recognition of the need for the audience to understand and accept the return and ultimate absorption of Kelly’s character into Brigadoon. There was a feeling that the challenges of pre-production — changing tastes amongst the viewing public, the slow demise of the big Hollywood musical, changes within the management at MGM studios, and the inability to use real locations as was initially hoped — all had a negative impact on the final version.
Boozin’ it up!
But there was one area that provoked a lot of interest: Van Johnson’s character (above, right). Was his character a repressed homosexual (allegedly Johnson was gay in real life), and does he subvert Kelly’s usual persona? Johnson’s character is more of an “extreme version of the familiar Kelly character.” Is his condition a reflection of the ‘empty, cynical and commercialised world of the large, modern city?”
Helen continues her discussion of the Gene Kelly course at the National Media Museum… [Entire series here.]
An introduction to Richard Dyer’s five categories of non-representational elements that suggest the feelings of a utopia kicked off our session on Kelly’s persona. Dyer’s five categories — Energy, Abundance, Intensity, Transparency and Community — were discussed in the context of Kelly’s films.
For example, in terms of Brigadoon, the village offers a community who appear to enjoy abundance despite an apparent lack of labour or much cultivation. The community is marked by transparency, the sense of which is that of honesty and openness. The visiting New Yorkers bring energy to the dream world, and the intensity arrives in the several romances of the plot.
Dyer’s categories are mainly apparent, not so much in the dialogue or action, as in the settings and the dancing. There is usually a need for Kelly’s character to undergo some kind of conversion within his films to be able to “achieve the transparency necessary for his union with the heroine.” As in Anchors Aweigh, Kelly’s vulnerable side is brought out by both Kathryn Grayson’s and Dean Stockwell’s characters of the aunt and young nephew. His brash, ambitious, and sexually confident persona has to succumb to a more gentle romantic vulnerability.
As discussed in my first post of this series, certainly within Kelly’s choreography, there are noticeable tropes/motifs that recur again and again throughout his films: particular dance steps, the use of ballet to evoke emotion, bricolage (the use of his surroundings and props), dancing/’teaching’ children, dancing with his hands in his pockets, certain formations of multiple dancers, etc. etc. But it his innovative use of the camera to film dance that was just as important as his choreography; in fact it was a collaborative process between camera and choreography, and for this in particular, he benefitted from the partnership with director Stanley Donen, himself a former Broadway dancer.
The Musical (and Drama) Turn Sour
In It’s Always Fair Weather the plot is the US dream turned sour and the struggle to resolve the alienation between the 3 wartime buddies, ten years on. Even more cynicism is present in this film and the resolution is forced through via the power of television, despite the negative portrayal of the genre. Keith argues here that the “utopian world that Dyer posits in the Hollywood musical appears to be declining alongside the decline of the genre itself in the 1950s.”
Such drama! (Marjorie Morningstar)
Similarly, touching on Kelly’s dramatic roles in the 1950s, a number of his characters showed a darker more cynical side whether in Marjorie Morningstar (1958), starring with Natalie Wood, where there is no conversion moment and he is therefore unable to consummate the relationship. See also his the wise-cracking big city reporter dispatched to Tennessee to cover the trial of the century in Inherit the Wind (1960).
Les Demoiselles de Rochefort
The final screening of our course was Les Demoiselles de Rochefort (1967), Jacques Demy’s homage/pastiche to the great Hollywood Musical. I was especially excited to see this film as I, and in fact all of the class, had never seen it before. As with Brigadoon, it split opinion with approximately a third of the class really enjoying it, another third hating it, and the rest a little indifferent.
Gettin’ down in Les Demoiselles de Rochefort
I personally enjoyed Demoiselles, having recently seen Les Parapluies de Cherbourg (1964) also directed by Demy, starring Catherine Deneuve, and another homage to Hollywood Musicals. I confess that I was a little apprehensive as I had forced myself to watch it through to the end. Though it was disappointing that Kelly’s singing voice was dubbed in Les Demoiselles de Rochefort, as were the rest of the cast too, his performance lit up the screen, gave the film gravitas and it was generally felt that he was underused. I also liked the quirky nature of the Gemini twins – real-life sisters Deneuve and Francoise Dorleac, especially as a Gemini twin myself!
French film star Danielle Darrieux playing the twins’ mother gives a warm-hearted engaging performance, as does her beau Michel Piccoli in what is a thinly plotted film focused on the coincidental search for love for three couples. As with the French chanteuse style, the rather unforgettable music and lyrics help to drive the narrative.
Demy’s approach to the mise-en-scene (use of pastel colours and stylised settings), filming of the dance sequences with a moving camera, joyful choreography, and lyrical romanticism echo the past glories of the heyday of MGM musicals. Kelly’s persona is much more relaxed, even a post-Pal Joey persona, with recognition of his illustrious past but transformed by love at first sight and the need to find his soulmate. Categorised as a “nouvelle vague” musical by one of the class, the film has clear references to films such as An American in Paris, though some felt it was too saccharine and a pale imitation of a Hollywood musical.
Glasgow has always been a city in love with cinema. Since the 1930s the city has borne the proud title of ’Cinema City,’ a testament to the 130 cinemas (more, per capita, than any city outside of the USA) catering for film-obsessed Glaswegians during Hollywood’s Golden Age. Sadly, all but a couple have been demolished or redeveloped into Bingo Halls, Social Clubs and, on one occasion, an Adult Cinema — itself an eventual casualty of changing tastes and advancements in home entertainment that destroyed its more noble predecessors.
So, it was with an enormous sense of pride, overwhelming elation and some genuine surprise that I learned of GFT’s intention to include in their Film Festival the work of one of the most important creative forces in the history of film musical and a man I have adored all my life. It strikes me now as I write this that I shouldn’t have been at all surprised. Glasgow is the most obvious city in the UK in which to hold a Gene Kelly Festival: he did, after all, visit the city in 1953 (right) while scouting locations for the film Brigadoon (he visited the Trossachs, Burns Country [south Ayrshire] and the Borders), and if that link isn’t tenuous enough to make my point, how about this one? His Irish Grandfather fled to Dunfermline in Fife where he borrowed money before embarking on his trip to the USA… All Celts together.
If I don’t get the appeal of Joe Brady, then I am practically fumbling around in the dark trying to pick up pine needles with boxing gloves when it comes to the much-vaunted sexual chemistry between Gene Kelly and Judy Garland. Love them both. Don’t see it. Have never seen it. It doesn’t exist. Gene and Judy’s onscreen vibe is one that you might find between brother and sister, or very close, extremely platonic friends. Yet virtual oceans exist in the realms of Gene fandom devoted to this very subject:
