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.

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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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…

Let the festivities commence…

Next: “Singin’ in the Rain at the Glasgow Film Festival”

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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.

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.

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.

The introduction of this Glasgow Film Series may be found here. More to come tomorrow…

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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:

• Glasgow Film Festival: An Introduction
• Singin’ in the Rain at the Glasgow Film Festival

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Monday, 20th February, 11:00 – Anchors Aweigh (1945)

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!)

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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.

The entire series may be found here: Glasgow Film Festival.

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Wednesday, 22 February, 11am – The Pirate (1948)

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…”

In case you missed them, here are my other reviews on the Glasgow Film Festival.

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Thursday, 23 February, 11:00 – On the Town (1949)

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.

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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.

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).

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. 

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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!

– Jasmine

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“100 Reasons to Celebrate Gene Kelly”

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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…

The post Gene and Frank: A Successful Partnership appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

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.”

Read more.

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UK fans, the National Media Museum is offering a seven-week course on Gene Kelly beginning in May. Click the image below for more…

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That’s right! Singin’ in the Rain in (U.S.) theatres for one night only.
Participating theatres are listed here.

Here’s the official announcement from Fathom:

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!

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If you’re in the NYC area in mid-July, the Film Society of Lincoln Center is putting on a 23-film salute for Gene Kelly’s centennial. More here…

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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’ 42^nd 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. 

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Helen continues her discussion of the Gene Kelly course at the National Media Museum…

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.

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).

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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.

More in the next installment…

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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.

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?”

For another take on Brigadoon, see Marc’s posts “Masculinity, Credibility, and Gene Kelly: A Scotsman’s Quandary” and “Brigadoon (and Gene Kelly Ceilidh) at the Glasgow Film Festival.”

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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.”

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.

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.

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On July 12, 2012, Turner Classic Movies (TCM), Fathom Events, and a helluva lot of Americans celebrated the 60th anniversary of Singin’ in the Rain (1952) together in cinemas around the country.

While a few audience members reported “feed issues” (Fathom beams its events over satellite) and sold-out theaters, the majority of the feedback via social media and the like was overwhelmingly positive. In fact, even those who experienced digital interruptions or were turned away at the box office seemed okay with the situation, somehow just knowing that Singin’ in the Rain was playing widely in cinemas was enough.

We’ve asked fans of Gene Kelly and Singin’ in the Rain to weigh in on their experience, and they have. We’ve also culled some of our favorite tweets, Facebook statuses, and message-board entries below. Also, if you were there or were, sadly, turned away, please feel free to share your thoughts on the event in the comments section.

No Fast-Forward Button in Sight

Tonight my family saw Singin’ in the Rain on the big screen. It opened with TCM’s Robert Osborne giving context to the movie and interviewing Debbie Reynolds. What a treat she is!

We enjoyed the familiar songs and jokes, but seeing it larger and brighter gave new meaning to scenes that I, frankly, fast forward through. I like the “hoofing,” as Reynolds called it but I find the soundstage dance sequences tedious.

But experiencing those scenes in this way — big, bright and spectacular — conveyed to me the message that Kelly may have wished to impart: there is joy and artistry, color and drama in dance. And perhaps it can be seen in a way that does more than further the plot. I don’t think I ever would have “gotten it” had I not seen it on a screen bigger than 27 inches.

Seeing the details was delightful — from Gene Kelly’s profile to Donald O’Connor light blue eyes to the eye-popping costumes. It’s hard to think of the ‘20s being “bright,” but this was the ‘20s through the prism of the ‘50s. I wish more of the oldies could visit us at our local theatres. — Julia Pheifer

Tears Ten Seconds In

You know you’re about to see something special when you tear up during the opening credits.

What a joy to be able to see Singin’ In The Rain on the big screen. Everything about this film — from the costumes to the music to the hypnotic dancing of Gene Kelly, Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor — remains as gorgeous and charming as ever. I challenge anyone to watch this movie and leave without a smile on their face and the desire to tap dance all the way home….rain or shine. — Dayna Johnson

Every Sequin, Every Bead

On my way to the movie theatre, it was pouring outside. What a great way to start off a screening of Singin’ in the Rain!  As I looked around before the lights dimmed, I was (pleasantly) surprised at the variety of people in attendance: young, old, men, women, children. And the theatre was mostly full.

I have seen Singin’ in the Rain close to 20 different times, and this was my favorite viewing by far. There was not a time during the movie  I wasn’t smiling, and I even got chills throughout. The (pre-movie) interview with Debbie Reynolds, Robert Osborne, Donald O’Connor, Cyd Charisse, and Gene’s third wife featured things we’ve all heard before about making of the movie and, you know, those “Debbie stories.” Still, it was a nice precursor to the event.

Onto the movie… First, the colors seemed more vibrant and brought out the backgrounds, costumes, and actors’ features. Boy, did Gene’s eyes and smile look phenomenal! As well, I could see every sequin or bead on on the costumes. The dance numbers would have to be my favorite part of seeing Singin’ in the Rain on the big screen; seeing every detail and preciseness of the dance, performance, and choreography was nothing short of spectacular for me.

Finally, the audience I was a part of was great. It was nice to be able to laugh and cheer amongst others who have just as much love for this amazing masterpiece as I do. This was a chance of a lifetime to see one of my favorite movies and Kelly’s most memorable performance on the big screen! – Brianna Wielbruda

Musical Chairs

I asked several people if they wanted to go with me to Singin’ in the Rain, and everyone turned me down. Judging from their reactions, I feared there was no longer the interest that this film deserves. I went off to the theater alone. I was prepared to argue that even though I was the only one there, they could not cancel the showing!

I arrived about 20 minutes early and was surprised to see a line at the box office. When I walked into the theater, it was over half filled with people of all ages, 5 years old to seniors. Soon the theater was completely filled with people scrambling for seats. Employees even had to bring in extra chairs, and several children sat in the aisles.

During the filming there was much laughter and clapping — all at the appropriate times.  At the end, people stood and cheered, whistled, and clapped. It was so thrilling that I had tears streaming down my face as I left.  Gene Kelly certainly lives on.  I will never forget the response to him from the multi-generational audience.  — Jane Fore

Gene’s (et al) Still Got It

I went to see Singin’ in the Rain on the big screen tonight. Wonderful! The audience clapped after every number. I saw two little girls about 6 and 7 years old as I was leaving the theater and asked them, “Did you like the movie?” “We loved it!” they said. Then, in the parking lot I saw and heard two teenage girls skipping and singing the title song as I was making my way to the car. Joyful entertainment! — DebraGene

I saw it 60 years ago today, the opening-day matinee at Shea’s Buffalo in downtown Buffalo, NY. Loved it then. Loved it now. — Brian Hawks

I went to the movies Thursday evening — a rare event because I’ve become disenchanted with the experience. But that changed when I sat among a sold out crowd of young and old at Movies 10 in Newport, Delaware. The packed house hadn’t come to watch the latest Batman movie or Ice Age or Spiderman. It was 1952’s Singin In The Rain, starring Gene Kelly, Donald O’Conner and Debbie Reynolds. It was refreshing to hear the amount of laughter at every comical moment as well as the cheering and applause that followed each dance number and the closing credits — all this in response to a movie most of the audience had already seen on television. It had been a long time since I left a movie theatre and felt the experience was worth the ticket price. — Author22

Singin’ in the Rain on Twitter

There were hundreds and hundreds of tweets regarding this release of Singin’ in the Rain, so many in fact, we couldn’t keep up with all of them. Here are some of our favorites:

• Singin’ in the Rain turns 60 years old today, and it has lost absolutely none of its movie magic. — Jake_Indiana
• Singin’ in the Rain on the big screen was simply magical. The best part? The little kid in the audience cracking up during “Make ‘Em Laugh.” — UnpluggedCrazy
• #SinginInTheRain Full house! 60 years later, Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds still packing them in! #TCM — HollywoodLegacy
• When the titular number kicked in, I thought of my grandma, and all the times we watched #SinginInTheRain together. I miss you, gramma. — J_Chlebus
• When Lina said, “Darn tootin’ she [lost her job] – I arranged it!” girl behind me cried indignantly, “Bitch!!” and I totally lost it. #LOL — eliz8726
• Singin in the Rain makes me want to drop my panties — Alexxithymic
• Singin’ in the Rain on the big screen w/ mom & grandma. 3 generations of enjoyment from one film. — PerspProsp
• As we are leaving theater last night, I noticed a blind guy in the back row. THAT is the power of these movies. #SinginInTheRain — joelrwilliams1
• At the end a woman yelled “Now show an American in Paris!” — SShavelson
• I smiled the entire movie. My heart hurts from an overdose of perfection. #SinginInTheRain #GeneKelly — GaeliLove

And we’ll leave you with these two tweets…and the photos to back them up.

• I thought I was the ultimate #GeneKelly fan, this guy takes the cake! — TravelBareFeet
• The cosplayers at Singin’ in the Rain are my favorite people. — Jess_Plummer

 A Few Words from Greensboro, NC

Joel Williams shares a few thoughts on his Singin’ in the Rain experience. Like most theaters Thursday night, it seems (mine included), his was packed.

The post Singin’ in the Rain on the Big Screen: Fans React appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Singin’ in the Rain, generally recognized as the greatest of all Hollywood musicals, is 60 years old.  For this anniversary, Turner Classic Movies celebrated by releasing a digitally restored print to theaters across the country for a special one-night showing.  As a fan of Gene Kelly and the film for the past decade, I bought an advance ticket and joined a fellow fan and friend (Gene Kelly Fans’ contributor Kelly) in order to experience the “glorious feeling” of seeing this film on the big screen.

This wasn’t my first go-round with Don Lockwood and company on the big screen.  A decade ago, it was released to select theaters for its fiftieth anniversary.  Even so, I was still excited to see it again.  Singin’ in the Rain is immensely enjoyable when one watches it alone, but when seen with a crowd, the enjoyment factor seems to be multiplied by the number of people in said crowd.  Comedies are not meant to be seen in solitude.  Laughter is contagious.  Hearing and seeing others react intensifies the viewer’s own reactions.

Last Thursday night, I was fortunate to be sitting right next to someone who chuckled throughout the entire film.  One of his companions was someone who had never seen the film before, and I envied her for her many moments of outright howling with laughter.  So much of comedy depends on surprise, and to some degree, I took more enjoyment out of anticipating and subsequently witnessing the audience’s response to specific moments than I did in seeing them for the hundredth time myself.  For example, I can recall the first time I saw the film, and my reaction to the “no no no/yes yes yes” bit when the sound at the premiere of The Duelling Cavalier goes out of synchronization.  I was on the floor, in a manner of speaking, and so were many of my fellow audience members at this showing.

Laughter is not the only contagious product to emerge from viewing a film with an audience.  I am not exaggerating when I say goose bumps arose on my arms as the crowd cheered during the familiar opening moments of the film.  Oddly enough, I also experienced a wave of pride and joy whenever the audience cheered after a musical number.  I am almost embarrassed to admit that with it came a sense of ownership, as though it were my movie that all of these people were clearly so smitten with. No doubt many of them felt the same.  After all, it is my movie.  It’s their movie.  It’s everyone’s movie.

I felt proud and happy for “my” Gene Kelly as well.  I never met him, but through learning so much about him, and knowing how hard he worked to evoke that feeling of joy, I couldn’t help but think he would be thrilled to know that 60 years later, audiences young and old still adore what is considered his crowning cinematic achievement.

If Singin’ in the Rain is the pinnacle of movie musical perfection, the title number is the tippy top – the Mount Everest.  Like nearly everyone else who was born after Gene Kelly had more-or-less retired, the first thing that came to my mind when I thought about him prior to becoming a fan was his famous rain-soaked paean to the joy of being in love.  I knew this number before I ever even saw it.  It is almost cinematic wallpaper in that respect: it’s always there and we know it before we know we know it.

I have seen this four and a half minutes of film more times than I could begin to put a number to.  And yet it still moves me; it still fills me with joy and awe and a sense of pride and satisfaction – not because I had anything to do with it, but because a human being – one of us – created something so perfect and magical.  Part of its purity and perfection stems from its ending.  It’s one of the few Gene Kelly numbers (and the only one in this film) that does not hold a pose and invite applause at its finish.  This man who reportedly loved to have his ego massaged created his most enduring art when no one was looking, so to speak.  There was a modest sprinkle of applause as it closed, but the overwhelming reaction was a collective reverent hush.

It was at this moment that my friend Kelly leaned toward me to whisper: “This part always makes me sad.”  It seems a strange thing to say, but I completely and immediately understood what she meant, and realized that I’ve always felt that way as well, though I’ve never fully articulated it to myself.  It’s a moment that virtually trembles with poignancy.

First of all, there is the obvious fact that Gene Kelly never rose to such heights again, as the death knell of the classic movie musical was already beginning to sound.  As he waves a quiet goodbye to the policeman and saunters silently away in the rain, it is as though he’s waving goodbye to all of us.  He made many more movies, but he was (probably) never this good again.  Who could be?  There is also a more general melancholy that seeps in as we consider, consciously or subconsciously, the fleeting and ephemeral nature of perfection, of happiness, of all being right with the world.  This is an iconic moment, but it’s only four and a half minutes long, and then we have to move on to the more mundane and ordinary.  So much of life is spent rowing upstream, which makes moments like the one Don Lockwood has on a rainy Hollywood street all the more meaningful.

As big of a fan as I am of Gene Kelly and of this film, during my many home viewings, I confess I often stop watching Singin’ in the Rain as the title number’s music fades and he silently disappears from view.  Maybe I only imagined it, but it seemed as though there was a sense of deflation in the audience as well.  The rest of the film can’t possibly measure up.  The “Broadway Melody” ballet that follows shortly thereafter is enjoyable in and of itself (particularly the sequences with Cyd Charisse), but the way Gene’s ballets stop the driving force of the narrative dead in its tracks became very obvious to me when watching with an audience.  I love these islands of pure dance and admire the creative force of the mind behind them, but even I must acknowledge that they do not serve the story.

Still, the movie as a whole is about as close to perfect as a movie can get.  As I exited the theater, I smiled to myself as I overheard one young woman talking on her mobile phone.  “I have a new favorite movie and I can’t wait to watch it with you,” she exclaimed.  Nice work, Gene.  You made your mark.

The post Laughter, Chills, and Joy: The Shared Experience of Singin’ in the Rain appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

In his memoir My Life As a Mankiewicz: An Insider’s Journey Through Hollywood, Tom Mankiewicz devotes a few pages to Gene Kelly.

Embedded below as a PDF, the first instance discusses (no surprises here) Kelly’s competitive spirit and hairpieces. Perhaps the most amusing part:

He had three different toupees made for him. One was quite modest, his “I’m just sitting around with friends” toupee. The next was slightly fuller, his “I’m going into Beverly Hills or having lunch in a public place” toupee. Finally, there was what I call the “Looms of Mohawk” rug. That fuller-than-full toupee was reserved for awards ceremonies or television appearances and made him look twenty years old.

And embedded below the PDF, the second Gene Kelly reference in Mankiewicz’ memoir is devoted to a more somber occasion: Kelly, Fred Astaire, and others convene at Robert Wagner‘s home after the death of Natalie Wood (1981).

On Gene Kelly

On the Occasion of Natalie Wood’s (Mysterious) Death

The post Gene Kelly in My Life As a Mankiewicz: An Insider’s Journey Through Hollywood appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

For fear that it will be erased from the ‘Net one day, I’ve pasted the full story below.

Dancin’ on the lawn: Pittsburgh Freshmen Set a World Record

August 24, 2012 12:03 am

By Molly Born / Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

More than 3,000 black umbrellas dotted the green outside the University of Pittsburgh’s Petersen Events Center Thursday even though it wasn’t raining.

Pitt’s freshman class descended on the lawn, popped up umbrellas and performed a six-minute dance in unison — both to break a world record and to honor dancer and actor Gene Kelly, a Pittsburgh native and 1933 Pitt graduate who would have turned 100 Thursday.

The freshmen channeled Kelly’s performance in the classic film “Singin’ in the Rain,” in which he dances while twirling an umbrella in pouring rain. If more than 1,461 students showed up, the school would also earn a place in the Guinness Book of World Records.

Instead of stepping back to yesteryear for this event, Pitt chose the “Cupid Shuffle,” essentially Generation Y’s “Electric Slide.”

“It’s like any school dance you go to, this always plays at least once,” said 18-year-old Anna Brewer.

What would Gene Kelly have thought of this selection?

“I think really it goes beyond the selection of the song,” his widow, Patricia Ward Kelly said in a telephone interview. “It’s really about young people gathering [with] some kind of spirit and the attempt to come together in some form.”

Still, the “Cupid Shuffle” had little to do with Kelly and more with an effort to gather thousands of students for the choreographed dance. And trying to round up a freshman class of 3,700 to rehearse Kelly’s frolic from the 1952 musical wasn’t really feasible.

“We wouldn’t have known how to dance to it,” said Alyson Landis, 18.

Ms. Ward Kelly did encourage that, though. The “Cupid Shuffle,” she said, “wouldn’t have been my first choice.”

Kenyon Bonner, associate dean and director of student life, said the university chose the “Cupid Shuffle” because so many students are familiar with the song, and those that aren’t can follow the directions in the lyrics.

The freshmen seemed to be having fun at this pep rally of sorts. A line of cheerleaders pumped up the crowd before the dance started, while Top 40 hip-hop songs blared on loudspeakers.

Ms. Ward Kelly said she received text and Facebook messages throughout the day — also the 60th anniversary of “Singin’ in the Rain”– including one from a Pitt freshman and former Gene Kelly award winner, who texted from the lawn mid-dance.

Most of the students said they’d heard of Kelly — probably because of an earlier presentation on the actor and his connection to Pittsburgh during orientation. A few admitted they hadn’t recognized the name before today.

Mr. Bonner made little to no mention of Gene Kelly during the actual event, but the umbrellas were adorned with “Singin’ and Dancin’ in the Rain” and Kelly’s name.

“Once again, we’re here to break the record for the largest umbrella dance in one venue,” Mr. Bonner said to the crowd.

They did — the count came in Thursday night: 3,524 participants.

The post University of Pittsburgh Freshman Honor Gene Kelly’s 100th Birthday appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Here’s a (growing) list of events celebrating Gene Kelly’s centenary (August 23, 2012) and beyond. If we’ve missed anything, please let us know.

May 2013

• May 15: Watch Singin’ in the Rain with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Chicago, IL.

March 2013

• March 8-9: Singin’ in the Rain — Live in Concert, Royal Albert Hall, London

October 2012

• October 25: University of Pittsburgh celebrates Gene Kelly’s centenary and its 225th anniversary [Review of event from audience member.]

September 2012

• September 19: Friday Night is Music Night: Gene Kelly-Gotta Sing, Gotta Dance (London, BBC Radio 2)

August 2012

• August: Gene Kelly festival at the Iowa City Public Library
• August 4–September 9: The Belcourt Theater (Nashville, TN). All seven films will be screened from archival 35mm prints.
• August 7, 14, 21, and 28: Gene Kelly Film Series (Coopersville, MI).
• August 15-17: “Hit Me with Your Best Shot: Singin’ in the Rain Edition” at The Film Experience (blogathon).
• August 20–25: Gene Kelly Centennial Blogathon (accepting posts from Classic Movie Blog Association participants only)
• August 23: “Gene Kelly Day” on TCM’s Summer under the Stars (begins at 6am EST)
• August 23: University of Pittsburgh shatters world record as it honors Gene Kelly with umbrella dance

July 2012

• July 4: “A Capitol Fourth” on PBS (8pm EST): musical tribute
• July 12: Singin’ in the Rain in theaters nationwide, U.S.
• July 13: An American in Paris (Boston, MA), presented by the Boston Harbor Hotel. (Thanks for the heads-up, @dancekellystyle!)
• July 13: Singin in the Rain at the Smithsonian’s new movie palace (Washington DC). (Thanks for the tweet, @vengrouskie!)
• July 13–26: Film Society of Lincoln Center’s 23-Film Salute (NYC)
• July 23–end of August (UK): Gene Kelly floral display in Blackpool Winter Gardens’ Floral Hall

The post Gene Kelly Centennial Events (and Beyond) appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Gene Kelly loved to work with children, and his scenes with kids were truly joyous and magic to watch. He had a saying: “If you can get kids to love you, they’ll do anything for you.” Indeed, when you watch the many scenes with children in Kelly’s movies and television productions, it is easy to see why the kids loved him like the Pied Piper.

One of Gene Kelly’s television specials was the 1967 remake of the fairy tale Jack and The Beanstalk. Kelly wrote his own character into the story, but needed a young actor to play the part of Jack. Bobby Riha, a relative newcomer, won the role (below).

In a phone interview from his house in Long Beach, CA, Bobby relayed to me several anecdotes and memories of his time with Gene Kelly. While he had heard of Kelly from his mother, the 8-year-old Riha could not possibly appreciate the star power and legend he would work with for three months.

Bobby was a child actor who worked mostly in the mid-1960s until about 1976. He appeared in numerous television shows and specials including Bewitched, Gunsmoke, Quincy, and Bonanza. He also worked with Debbie Reynolds, Kurt Russell, and other actors of the time.

Bobby starred with Gene in this hour-long special that debuted on NBC Sunday, February 26, 1967. This new version of the old English folktale “Jack the Giant Killer” (1809) was rewritten with Gene Kelly playing a new character, Jeremy Keen, a peddler. Gene Kelly directed, produced, and choreographed this new version that featured a mix of live-action and animation. The animation sequences were produced and directed by William Hannah and Joseph Barbera, with whom Kelly and his frequent co-director Stanley Donen had worked on the Jerry the Mouse sequence in Anchors Aweigh. The music was provided by Jimmy Van Husen and Sammy Cahn with voiceovers by Dick Beals for Bobby Riha and Marni Nixon as Princess Serena.

Bobby or as he is now known Bob Riha Jr., was born in 1958 and lived in New York just prior to his role as Jack. Gene Kelly was casting for the lead in 1966 and had heard of Bobby’s work with Soupy Sales. Just when Gene got to New York to find Bobby, his family had already moved to Los Angeles. Gene looked over hundreds of kids for the role and narrowed it down to a few.

Obviously, the part of Jack had to go to someone able to dance. If he could sing also, that would be a plus. Bobby got the part and met Gene Kelly for the first time. Kelly asked the then 8-year-old actor to enroll in ballet lessons. He also wanted Bobby to wear tights to enable free movement during the dancing rehearsals. Children being children, Bobby shot back at Gene and said, “Only sissies wear tights and take ballet.” Anyone who knows Gene Kelly’s stance on dancing’s being something “for sissies” doesn’t know the anger a statement like this would bring on. But Gene loved kids.

Gene was a staunch proponent of the idea that dancing equated to sports (similar movements, discipline, etc.). Dancing was not, he reiterated throughout his career, an effeminate undertaking. Kelly’s own childhood was the same as Bobby’s as he also wanted to quit dancing after being beaten up and harassed by other boys in his Pittsburgh suburbs. I’m sure he had to take a breath after hearing this brash young man make similar statements while standing up for himself. As Bobby tells it, after their exchange Kelly made a reference to sports being similar to dancing and told Bobby that he would bring in a trampoline to help with working on the various movements that would be needed for some of the animation sequences.

Moreover, Gene told Bobby he would not have to take ballet or wear tights, but he did ask him to find some loose fitting pants to rehearse in. According to Riha, the two used the better part of three months to rehearse the dances, dialogue, and complex aerobatic sequences that would have to be shot in front of a blue screen and later filled in with the animation portions of the show.

Bobby recounted the deep passion Gene had for staging the scenes. Since much of the show was shot with only Gene and Bobby in front of a blue screen, Gene had to get Bobby to envision the yet-to-be-created animated characters and backgrounds. They had to imagine, act, and pretend to look at things that were not there. The prop men would hold objects off camera for them to fix their eyes on giving them a target. They both had to be in sync or the final production would not seem real.

These two separate productions had to be seamless when combined at a later date in post-production, not unlike Gene’s brilliant work (also with Hanna-Barbera) in Anchors Aweigh and later in Invitation to the Dance (1956). Anchors Aweigh had Gene dancing alone on an empty stage, and later, Jerry the Mouse was added frame by frame. The task was groundbreaking in 1948, not much easier for Invitation to the Dance, and still not yet any easier in 1966 with Jack and the Beanstalk. The digitization of movies and special effects was a long way off.

As part of the sequences, both Gene and Bobby had to be fitted with a harness and two wires connected at the hips. They would both have to be hoisted into the air and again filmed in front of a blue screen. According to Bobby, Gene did not like these scenes. While he was a great athlete, acrobat, and dancer, he had his limits. The trampoline work helped Bobby handle these scenes and the crew would even hoist Bobby in the air so that he could have lunch 20ft over the stage. Gene ate lunch on the ground.

It could be said that Gene was vain and enjoyed displaying his athleticism and well-maintained physique. He was able to wear tightly fitted clothing throughout his career. According to his daughter, Kerry, he used his dancing to maintain his physical appearance and stay in shape without a dedicated workout regimen. He’d gain a few pounds between movies and then quickly lose it when another movie started. The one thing he could not change was his genetic make-up: he began to lose his hair in his early 30s.

But MGM could make dreams come true, and its make-up department was able to keep the moviegoing public from noticing Kelly’s (as well as many other male stars’) thinning hair throughout his stint at the studio. Later in life, he maintained three hair pieces depending on the occasion. Bobby got to see Gene without his hairpiece between takes, and the little boy almost made a comment about it in front of Gene. Luckily, the crew warned him not to say a word. In this case, silence was golden.

When the filming was finished and handed over to the animators and post-production folks, Bobby got a very special gift from Gene: a fully optioned Schwinn bicycle. It was this grounded person that Bobby came to know and revere in Gene Kelly.

Jack and the Beanstalk won an Emmy for Kelly and while Bobby did not get a mention or nomination as virtually the only other actor in the production, his time with Gene was the highlight of his acting career and was a springboard to work all over Hollywood in the 1960s and 1970. Years later, Bobby saw Gene at a ceremony where they shared an embrace and fond memories of their award-winning production.

Bobby was able to move from child actor to adult and then went on to get a degree from Cal State. He became a successful photographer and works for USA Today. According to Bobby, most of his co-workers don’t know about his past. Still, he is sometimes recognized by TV buffs, still thinks about those days working with the legendary Gene Kelly, and is contacted on occasion by people (like me) to reminisce.

There are other child actors and performers out there still to be interviewed who worked with Gene. While not having the perspective of an adult professional, they nevertheless have some interesting memories and anecdotes to share about the unique and amazing talent that was Gene Kelly.

The post Gene Kelly, Jack and The Beanstalk, and An Interview with Bobby Riha appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

The folks at Virginia Quarterly Review were nice enough to let me write an essay for them on Gene Kelly. In the piece I discuss

• the slew of centennial events celebrating Gene Kelly (some of which are still going on, btw),
• a few reasons Kelly and his image are circulating in pop culture of the twenty-first century,
• my attraction to and interest in the star, and
• Kelly’s complicated (masculine/feminine) star persona

So, if any of that interests you, head over to VQR‘s “Gene Kelly, Star Signification, and Centennial Celebrations.” Thanks for reading!

The post Centennial Celebrations and Gene Kelly’s Star Image appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Bid on Gene Kelly shoes molds. Description on eBay follows…

Gene Kelly Shoe Mold by Pasquale Di Fabrizio

Bid now on this original shoe mold made for actor and performer Gene Kelly by “Shoemaker to the Stars” Pasquale Di Fabrizio! This one of a kind mold was hand crafted (after a personal fitting) then was used to create footwear to match Gene Kelly’s specific needs.

Length from back heel to toe is about 10.5 inches. Measures about 2.6 inches from ankle to back heel and about 3 inches wide; labeled as a size 7.5.

Molds are in good condition, signs of aging and discoloration on tips and sides. Auction will also include the original box the molds were stored in and paper cut out designs used to create the shoes. A letter of authenticity will be included.

Pasquale Di Fabrizio was a well-known and respected shoemaker based in Los Angeles. He passed away in 2008.

A portion of the proceeds from this auction will benefit the Blind Children’s Learning Center. Their mission is to provide early intervention, education and services for blind, visually impaired or deaf-blind children and their families to empower independence.

The post Gene Kelly Shoe Molds (eBay) appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

COME OUT FROM BEHIND THAT SCREEN, MR. KELLY…

On March 8 and 9, the Royal Albert Hall in London hosted a showing of Singin’ In The Rain, re-mastered and in high-definition on a large screen, with the soundtrack played by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. I was present for both performances, accompanied by a different friend each night.

What a fabulous weekend.

How to describe the show?? Not really a ‘show’ but a film screening with live music. It was like nothing else, ever. The Royal Philharmonic orchestra, conducted by Neil Thomson, is superb, and John Wilson, who reconstructed the score by listening to the original orchestrations and transcribing what he heard, must be a genius. The original orchestrations, of SITR and of many other musicals — created by amazingly talented arrangers and musicians like Conrad Salinger, Johnny Green and Saul Chaplin — were destroyed by MGM and used as landfill in the making of a road in Los Angeles.

In preparation for the performance, they took out all of the music, leaving only the singing voices and the dialogue. Then they replaced the orchestral soundtrack with the live performance, synchronising it exactly.

The film was shown on a huge screen with the orchestra sitting in front on a lower level. The Hall was full, both nights, with every age from 5 to 85 I would think, male and female.

The atmosphere was incredible – people actually love SITR passionately. The middle-aged man sitting next to me on Friday was very excited throughout the showing, standing and cheering and generally enjoying himself. On Saturday, we met a lady in the next seat who had been a Gene Kelly fan since childhood.

The most amazing thing for me — apart from seeing Kelly on a HUGE screen — was his voice. When they were deconstructing the film they seem to have changed the timbre of the singing voices, and Gene sounded like he was right there, recording the songs with the orchestra. It was as if he was standing just behind the screen, ready to emerge and take a bow at the end. I admit to a few tears when listening to “You Were Meant for Me.”  His voice sounded absolutely wonderful with a smoky and plaintive quality, which reached right inside.

Then there was the dancing! The audience clapped and cheered after every number. It was a natural outpouring of appreciation and enjoyment. The senses were overwhelmed, watching him perform and seeing the complexity and beauty of his movements more clearly than you ever could on a DVD. “Moses Supposes” was just about the most amazing and mesmerising few minutes of the evening. Maybe we should remind ourselves that he was almost 39 years old when he did it. Donald was 13 years younger, but you never notice an age difference.

Parts of the “Broadway Melody” ballet were equally astonishing. The sheer cleverness and passion in the veil dance as seen on the big screen is mind-blowing. It is also extremely erotic! Thankfully that fact seems to have escaped the notice of the censors in the U.S. and England! And Donald’s “Make ‘em Laugh” number has to be seen on a big screen in order to truly showcase his physical comedy talents. He brought the house down.

The live music gave an immediacy and intimacy and an entirely new dimension to every part of the movie, as if someone had pressed the ‘refresh’ button. I’ve officially run out of superlatives.

There were a couple of things, however, that were not quite perfect. For instance, sometimes the music was a little loud for the voices, especially when the characters were speaking, and a couple of times the words and the mouths uttering them were not exactly in synch — just like in the movie!  But it was hardly noticeable. As well, sometimes the taps were a little too loud or not there at all, and there was no sound when Gene ran the umbrella against the railings in the rain number, though the squelchy taps in the dance were emphatic and convincing.

The Hall has a capacity of around 5500, and it was full, so far as I could tell, on both nights. That is 10,000+ people who were willing to pay around £45 each, in order to watch Singin’ In The Rain presented in this unique way. That says so much about the incredible hold this film has on the hearts of vast numbers of people all over the world.

The place was awash with love and joy and good feelings, and everyone had a smile on his/her face as s/he left.

SITR is still not my “most special” Gene Kelly film — I am waiting for them to give the same treatment to An American In Paris – and I know that Gene sometimes grew a little tired of the constant focus on SITR, seemingly to the detriment or neglect of acknowledgment of his other work, but at least he succeeded with this film more than any other, in his stated aim, to be a joybringer.

It was a privilege to be present on this great occasion, to be a part of the magic. And now I have more Gene memories to add to the multitude he has already blessed me with, to keep and to cherish until the stars turn cold.

*Sue originally posted this review on her site.

The post Singin’ in the Rain “Live” at the Royal Albert Hall (London) appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Several fans have posed the question: what’s the latest notable book on Gene Kelly?

My answer: Clive Hirschhorn’s 1985 biography (in which Gene participated). (Frenchman Alain Masson published a biography on Gene in 2012, but since it hasn’t been translated into English yet, I cannot comment.)

My point being: what would you—his fans—want to see in a book on Gene Kelly in the 21st century? His biography has been covered by many, so what else would you want to read about? Tell us in the comments below, or viat this thread on Facebook.

The post A 21st Century Book on Gene Kelly: What Would You Want to Read? appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

Motion Picture Magazine: Which of your traits do you hope your little daughter has inherited?
Gene Kelly: None. I only hope she’ll get as much fun out of life as her old man is getting. (Oct. 1944)

Gene Kelly had three children. His first was a daughter, Kerry (above), born in October of 1942 to Gene and his first wife, Betsy Blair. Although likely exaggerated (as fanzine interviews typically were/are), the Photoplay article “My Kids, The Kellys” (Feb. 1949) discusses young Kerry’s relationship with her father:

And with all of this Gene is great fun, too. He and Kerry sing together all the time. At five, Kerry knows the words of at least a dozen songs she’s learned from Gene. And sings them like Gene. And looks just like him, Gene’s eyes, his mouth, his mannerisms, and light as spindrift on her feet. I think Kerry is one of the luckiest little girls in the world.

In this Person to Person interview with (1958) Edward R. Murrow, Gene shows off a picture that Kerry, at age nine, drew for him (about 3 min in):

At present, Kerry and her husband, Jack Novick, work as child psychologists in Michigan. Recognized for founding the Allen Creek Pre-School, a laboratory for integrating psychoanalytic insight with early childhood education, the couple has co-authored several books:

• Fearful Symmetry: The Development and Treatment of Sadomasochism
• Emotional Muscle: Strong Parents, Strong Children
• Working with Parents Makes Therapy Work
• Good Goodbyes: Knowing How to End in Psychotherapy and Psychoanalysis

Gene’s second child and his first with Jeanne Coyne, is Timothy (above). He was born in March of 1962. Biographer Clive Hirschhorn documents how Gene apparently heard about the pregnancy:

While Gigot (1962) was being made in Paris, Jeannie became pregnant and informed Gene of the fact by sending him a birthday card which simply told him that she had his present inside her. (Hirschhorn)

Tim went to the University of Southern California’s Film School and, we think, still works in the film industry. In an interview for People magazine (1984), Tim opens up about his father, including their similar physical characteristics: “Our shirt, sleeve, neck, shoulder size, everything is the same. It’s amazing. I had the greatest black loafers of all time. Boy, I miss those loafers.” (The loafers, along with many of the family’s possessions were lost in a house fire.)

Gene’s third child is Bridget (above). She was born to Gene and Jeanne in 1964. Again, Gene recalls the occasion in Hirschhorn’s biography:

I was in the Cedars of Lebanon hospital waiting for Jeannie to give birth, when I received a phone call from a well-known newspaper columnist who congratulated me on becoming a father again and what, he wanted to know, did I have to say for myself? Well, I had no idea Jeannie had already delivered, and wondered how the hell the guy had heard before me! I knew it was impossible to keep a secret in Hollywood, but this, I thought, was ridiculous!

Bridget attended the American College in Paris and designs costumes for films. Some of her work may be seen The Truth About Cats and Dogs (1996), Airheads (1994), Dennis the Menace (1993), and The Mambo Kings (1992).

Being a parent is probably the most important thing you can do in your life.
My kids and I are very close. — Gene Kelly, The Star (February 1996)

The post The Basics: Did Gene Have Children? appeared first on Gene Kelly Fans.

In the opening voiceover from An American in Paris (1951), Gene Kelly’s character, Jerry Mulligan, neatly parallels Gene’s own thoughts on the subject at hand: “Paris is a mood, a longing you didn’t know you had until it was answered. Paris is like love or art or faith, it can’t be explained, only felt.” (Right: Gene flying high for Air France.)

As I rewatched An American in Paris for the umpteenth time today, it occurred to me that the first thing I loved about Gene Kelly was his love of Paris. I’ve been to Paris only through art, music, poetry, and the final stage of the Tour de France each year, but it is in my heart nevertheless. I believe I fell in love with Paris and France through the same initial channel as Gene Kelly — the language. Kelly had a comfortable mastery of French, which he studied in college along with economics and law. And when he began to realize his destiny as a dancer, he studied French writings on that subject, reading them in their original language in order to appreciate fully what was being said.

Gene Kelly successfully embodied the French esprit in his role as a WWII prisoner of war in the 1943 film The Cross of Lorraine. Later, after WWII, he spent a week in Paris, auditioning hopefuls for roles in the artistic musical tribute to France, An American in Paris. He fell in love with France, and they loved him right back for his earnestness in capturing their sensibility on film as well as his unique combination of vigor and elegance. Case in point: Gene’s homage to Toulouse Lautrec’s artwork in the “American in Paris ballet” (below, top-right).

During the early 1950s, Gene and his wife Betsy, along with their daughter Kerry, lived in London and Paris to take advantage of tax benefits and to afford him the opportunity to make films for MGM using European resources. Later on, he produced, directed, and appeared in several more films set in France as well as composed a jazz ballet for the Paris Opera (below top-left and bottom-right), appeared in advertisements for Air France, and spent time there whenever he could. The language, artistry and way of life in France inspired Gene Kelly and captured his heart. And the French people honored his devotion to their country with two national awards: The Legion of Honor and The Commander of Arts and Literature.

Sources:

• Hirschhorn, Clive. Gene Kelly. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1974.
• Yudkoff, Alvin. Gene Kelly: A Life of Dance and Dreams. New York: Watson-Guptill, 1999.
  

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