An American in Paris

An American in Paris

1951

Director: Vincent Minnelli

Starring: Gene Kelly, Leslie Caron, Oscar Levant, Nina Foch, Georges Guetary

Right off the bat, I will say that An American in Paris doesn’t hold a candle to Singin’ in the Rain.  Of course it doesn’t.  Nothing does.  And even I, an avowed fan of movie musicals, admit that An American in Paris is not even close to my favorite movie musical, nor do I think it deserved to win the Best Picture Oscar for 1951 over A Place in the Sun or especially over A Streetcar Named Desire.  And, when considering Gene Kelly musicals, it’s an absolute travesty that THIS film was recognized by the Academy when Singin’ in the Rain didn’t even garner a single nomination the following year.  Basically, An American in Paris suffers from being a pretty decent musical that, frankly, got more praise than it deserves.

But Gene Kelly.  Gene Kelly with rolled up sleeves.  Gene Kelly speaking French.  Gene Kelly cures a great number of my ills.  And it’s an MGM musical, with some pretty darn staggering set pieces.  So you know what, I still like An American in Paris.

Jerry Mulligan (Kelly) is a struggling street artist living the poor bohemian life in post-WWII Paris with friend and struggling pianist Adam (Levant).  Enter rich heiress Milo (Foch) who takes an interest in both Jerry’s art and Jerry himself, and makes an offer to Jerry to be a kept man.  Jerry’s hard up for money, and seriously considers it – after all, Milo’s not too bad.  Problem is, Jerry also just met Lise (Caron), a young ingénue who completely swept him off his feet.  But Lise isn’t exactly unattached; in fact, she’s engaged to one of Jerry’s good friends, Henri (Guetary), Jerry just doesn’t know that yet.  How on earth will this complicated entanglement of love and lovers ever possibly resolve itself?

My biggest problem with An American in Paris lies not with the fact that it garnered more awards than it probably should have, or that it indirectly lead to Singin’ in the Rain being shut out come nomination time.  No, my big problem with An American in Paris is in its story.  It’s a bit sordid, a bit seedy, and it never quite gels.  Do I need my musicals to have perfect or completely moral stories?  No, I don’t (Cabaret is pretty awesome and certainly not G-rated), but in An American in Paris, it’s as if the film cannot decide which way it wants to swing with regard to its characters.  Is Jerry a wholesome do-gooder or is he a desperate playboy?  Is Milo a cunning cougar or honestly in love?  I wind up feeling sympathy for characters that the film tells me I shouldn’t like, and I dislike the characters who are clearly meant to be the heroes.  In other films, I embrace this sort of role reversal because it was obviously intended, but in An American in Paris, this is more down to poor character development than any sort of intended moral ambiguity.  I just can’t sympathize as much as the film tells me I’m supposed to with Jerry’s plight – wealth and riches or honest love? – especially when it comes at the expense of peripheral characters who I rather like.  Even when I first watched An American in Paris when I was a wee child who absolutely adored MGM musicals, this one never sat well for me and I seldom, if ever, asked my parents to rent it again.  I liked the lovely dancing and the gorgeous setpieces, but the plot never worked the way it thinks it does.

Now, having said all of that, I still like An American in Paris, and that’s because 1) Gene Kelly 2) Gene Kelly dancing 3) incredibly colorful dance sequences 4) Gene Kelly 5) an amazing ballet finale and 6) Gene Kelly speaking French. 

Yeah, I have a thing for Gene Kelly. 

No, not a thing.  A full on, hardcore crush that has been raging for years and will continue to burn with the heat of a thousand flames for the rest of my life.  We’re talking number one or number two in my all-time crush list.  All time.  Top Two.  The man simply does things to my ovaries.  Like exploding them all over the nice wallpaper.

And man, is he on form in An American in Paris.

We first get the lovely little opening scene where he opens and closes trick contraptions in his tiny little Parisian studio apartment, indirectly showing off his keen sense of choreography and physicality.  Then we get Gene Kelly being goofy and silly with Oscar Levant.  Then we get Gene Kelly singing “I Got Rhythm” with a group of French children, and I honestly don’t think I can handle how utterly adorable he is.  Then he pulls out his classic “falling hopelessly in love” bit and I melt.  I utterly melt. 

Stop it.  Just stop it.  You're killing me.

He’s just. 

I mean. 

So handsome. 

I can’t.

Added for obvious reasons.

When Gene Kelly dances, the world stops spinning to wait until he’s done.  I am entranced, utterly fascinated, with the way he can make his body do things with what appears to be little to no effort.  He’s so smooth and despite the athleticism that he is rightly remembered for, it’s the grace he has that makes him my favorite performer from the era of movie musicals.  Yes, he does all this absolutely staggering choreography, but he makes it seem so easy.  One of my favorite parts of any Gene Kelly musical is when he dances with a partner, because it is here that his talent is most evident.  A dance partner, any dance partner, really shows me how amazing he is, because despite his best efforts to make the dance a true partnership, Kelly always manages to shine.  I can’t take my eyes off him, not for a second, and he just puts everyone he dances with to shame.  If it’s a tap dance sequence, Kelly is smoother, less stilted with his movements.  If it’s a slow dance, a romance, Kelly is more effortless.  If it’s a wild and crazy dance, Kelly commits more.  His talent was so immense, there was simply no containing it, even when he tried.  I can’t tear my eyes away from him when he dances.  This is true star quality. 

And then there’s the final ballet sequence.

I will say, right here, right now, that if movie musical ain’t yo thang, that final ballet sequence must be rather interminable to sit through.  Sixteen uninterrupted minutes of film that doesn’t speak to you in any way doesn’t sound like fun to me either.

Thing is, though, that ballet sequence IS my thing.  To me, it’s the highlight of the entire film.  It’s an extraordinary capper to a film whose story fails to completely captivate me; the extended dance sequence ends the experience on an incredible high note.

The film fantasy to end all film fantasies, the sets, costumes, and choreography are all astounding.  When it is combined with Leonard Bernstein’s incredible score, you have filmmaking that wins all around for Siobhan.  I adore how clever the different styles represent different French painters.  It’s art, plain and simple, art put to film.  (and there are worse things in life than Gene Kelly in a skin tight dance costume during the Toulouse Lautrec sequence.)  And has Technicolor ever gotten a better workout than in this sequence?  It’s simply extraordinary.  To me, it is easily the highlight of the entire film (and even those who don’t enjoy must admit that it gave Gene Kelly a chance to contemplate how to set up the amazing ballet sequence in next year’s Singin’ in the Rain).

I would never count An American in Paris amongst my favorite film musicals, but it’s not a bad musical either.  Gene Kelly is definitely on his game here, in full on ovary-‘sploding mode, and the dance sequences are fantastic.  The story is weak, but the production value is strong.  Whenever I feel the need for a Gene Kelly fix (which is pretty darn often), there are far worse options I can reach for (Summer Stock, anybody?  Which I still rather like) than An American in Paris.

Arbitrary Rating: 8/10.  Because Gene Kelly reasons. 

The African Queen

The African Queen

1951

Director: John Huston

Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Katharine Hepburn

I shall not mince words: I consider The African Queen a disappointment.  It’s Katharine Hepburn.  It’s Humphrey Bogart.  It’s John Huston.  It’s got quite a pedigree, and a definite reputation.  It’s on a lot of Best Of lists.  It’s one of those films that I had huge expectations for.  A great classic film.  I was excited about seeing it.

And then I saw it.

And had a huge attack of the “mehs.”

Rose “Rosie” Sayer (Hepburn) is a prim and proper reverend’s sister living and working in German East Africa in 1914, trying, with her brother, to bring Christianity to the locals.  Charlie Allnut (Bogart) is a rough and tumble mechanic in the local mine who runs his boat, the African Queen, up and down the river carrying supplies.  When World War I breaks out back in Europe and German soldiers destroy the local village, Rose’s brother dies leaving her with no other option than joining up with Allnut on his boat.  She decides that Charlie is capable of both navigating a treacherous river and building torpedoes in order to destroy a German ship, The Louisa.  As the two make their way together down the river, they encounter many different adventures, including the blossoming of love.

  

Look, The African Queen is hardly a bad film.  I would never call it a bad film.  But for how much I was anticipating finally getting a chance to see it and revel in its glory, it came up sorely lacking.

And I realize that right there, that issue of expectations versus realities, The African Queen was already set up for a bit of failure on my part.  Having such huge expectations meant it would be quite a feat, living up to them.  I’ve certainly had this experience before, of eager anticipation, only to be let down.  My husband and I have had lengthy discussions about this (I will always remember that I somewhat enjoyed my time with The Scorpion King because I expected it to be utter crap, while he was disappointed because he thought it might be good).  

  

To get back to the film, itself, however, it is, as I said, not a bad film.  It’s a blend of adventure, comedy, and romance.  Think Indiana Jones-light.  But while I will usually be diverted by such a mixture of genres, it never quite gels for me in The African Queen.  The adventure seems too superficial.  We get our thrills from a quick episode where The African Queen runs down the rapids, or an all-too-short sequence when she drives past a German fort.  The tension has barely had time to develop before it is resolved. 

Undercutting the attempt at adventure is the comedy aspect of the film.  A soundtrack full of cheery, happy boop boop de doo xylophone melodies does nothing whatsoever to convince you of the perils of our main characters.  The comedy itself is fine, very gentle, very nice, very much based on the opposing personalities of the two main characters.  We laugh at Rosie emptying the bottles of gin into the river and the pained expression it gives Charlie.  It’s nice, it’s cute, it’s perfectly acceptable gentle family comedy.  It just doesn’t gel with the other parts of the film for me.

The romance of The African Queen, the genre which it is best known for, is, once again, fine.  What an awful word, “fine.”  Practically an insult, really.  Like the comedy, the romance is gentle and family-friendly, and despite that it is so clearly playing off of the polar opposite personalities of Rosie and Charlie, both characters still feel too nice and wholesome (yes, even gruff Charlie feels wholesome) to give their falling in love any kind of desperately needed edge.  I don’t necessarily expect “edge” from a romance in a movie from 1951, but I think of some of the searing heat of film noir, and I wish there was just a dash of that here.  The wooing of Charlie and Rosie does little to woo me.

  

Bogart and Hepburn turn in perfectly acceptable performances.  Bogart won his only Oscar for his role as Charlie Allnut, and I’m alright with that.  Do I think it’s the best Bogart performance I’ve seen?  Not even close.  (I’m thinking Treasure of the Sierra Madre and In a Lonely Place instead)  But it’s more than just a “standard Bogart performance,” if you know what I mean.  He doesn’t feel as if he is simply rehashing his standard film anti-hero in Charlie Allnut.  Hepburn delivers everything I would expect from the character of Rosie: tough as nails and surprising you at certain turns despite her uptight demeanor.  Hepburn was nominated for an Oscar for her role in this film, and although I am a fan of Katharine Hepburn, I will add that the Academy got it right (or at least, right-ish) in awarding Vivien Leigh for Streetcar Named Desire.  While Hepburn’s performance is definitely good, I would stop short of calling it great.

My favorite part of The African Queen is the fact that it was, in fact, shot in Africa.  From what I’ve read, the tales of the filming seem easily more exciting than the actual film itself.  The perils of shooting in an exotic location like that – disease, contaminated water, etc. – were constantly an issue, and to keep themselves from getting ill, Bogart and Huston were apparently drunk most of the time.  Better to drink alcohol than contaminated water, they thought.  For her part, Hepburn protested their drunkenness by drinking only water and getting herself frightfully ill in the process, to the point where she needed a bucket constantly offscreen to vomit into between takes.  But all the misadventures pay off in the shots of going downstream when it is clearly Bogart and Hepburn actually on a boat.  It is so refreshing to see a film from 1951 use a minimum of back projection to convince us of foreign locales.  There is some, true, but for the most part, that boat was actually on that river, and Bogie and Hepburn were actually on that boat.  Cardiff’s cinematography takes advantage of the real location to produce some very nice images indeed.

It’s tough when I have every intention of loving a film and then… I don’t.  I suppose it’s not really The African Queen’s fault.  It’s a fine movie.  I was just expecting something so much more.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

The Lavender Hill Mob

The Lavender Hill Mob

1951

Director: Charles Crichton

Starring: Alec Guinness, Stanley Holloway

A great deal of comedy deals with ordinary people getting whisked up in extraordinarily ridiculous situations.  I do believe that nearly all countries with film industries have, at one point or another, made a comedy like this.  That being said, however, I particularly enjoy watching the Brits deal with ludicrous situations.  After all, the basis for essentially every P.G. Wodehouse story EVER is some sort of outrageous situation that must be resolved by the end of the novel, and P.G. Wodehouse is my favorite author of all time.  The Lavender Hill Mob is cut from similar cloth.

Henry “Dutch” Holland (Guinness) opens the film by recounting his story in a restaurant in South America where he is clearly known as a big spender.  He tells his table-mate about how he came to be in such a position, telling a tale of his former life as a staid gold bullion transport overseer at a bank.  Don’t let his formal exterior fool you, though, because Holland is plotting a heist.  All he needs is an accomplice, and when he meets artist and die-caster Pendlebury (Holloway), he sees the means he needs to smuggle the gold out of the country.    The pair recruit two more thugs into their mob and start to put everything in place to execute their plan.  Naturally, complications arise, most comically when a group of schoolgirls inadvertently make off with some of the stolen gold.

  

The Lavender Hill Mob is most definitely a story from an older era.  With the evolution of technology and the slew of investigative crime shows that focus on the efficacy of forensics, one has to suspend a bit of disbelief when a crime as rudimentary as this one is presented.  I’m sure at the time it was considered rather sophisticated, but I can’t help but watching it with a feeling of “yeah right.”  Having said all of that, though, if you *can* suspend disbelief, The Lavender Hill Mob will take you for a very fun ride.

The major theme of the film is not so much the heist itself, but the idea of breaking free from one’s daily humdrum life and going adventuring.  As Holland becomes more and more embroiled in his thieving plans, and even as things go more and more astray, he seems happier and happier.  Even when dealing with the aforementioned schoolgirl debacle, Holland and Pendlebury have the biggest smiles on their faces.  A bad day thieving is still better than the best day in the bank, is what Holland seems to be thinking.  But it’s not simply Holland and Pendlebury who espouse this idea.  The boarding house where Holland and Pendlebury live and meet holds several ordinary humdrum people who likewise dream of more outrageous ideas.  The little old lady who knits while Holland reads to her likes to listen to outlandish spy novels.  A fellow boarder constantly jokes, jovially, about stealing gold.  I am never really concerned in this film about Holland getting away with his grand schemes, because that’s not the big point.  It doesn’t matter if he gets away with it; it matters that he tried.  He threw off the shackles of his regular life and lived big, if only for a time.  The film is joyful because of it; I feel happy watching our somewhat hapless criminals deal, even inexpertly, with their heist.

  

This is also a very British film; I chuckled so many times at watching our stiff upper lip protagonist flounder in his crazy antics.  Holland attempts to trap a safecracker whilst recruiting for the gang, but is so damnably polite about it, it’s ridiculously comical.  Our heroes might be trying to pull off a major bank heist, but this doesn’t mean they’ll forget their manners or the societal niceties.  Heaven forbid they jump a turnstile or bypass customs with their stolen gold; oh no, the rules must be obeyed!  Not as over the top as the superior Kind Heart and Coronets, The Lavender Hill Mob certainly does play with archetypal British mannerisms.  Pendlebury angrily yells at a fellow conniver about his art skills that “You must have some sense of proportion!”  Good stuff.  Gentlemen thieves indeed!

Before I had begun watching films from 1001 Movies, the only films I knew Alec Guinness from were, of course, the Star Wars trilogy.  He was Obi-Wan Kenobi, and that was it.  Then I hit the forties and fifties and the comedies he has in 1001 Movies.  Oh, how foolish I was; Guinness was such an amazing actor, and revelatory to me in his genius comedic roles.  While he certainly gets more word of mouth about his eight roles in Kind Hearts and Coronets, I think he does an even better job here.  His Holland is a complex character.  He could have been a simple caricature, but Guinness is careful to show us his evolution.  Even as a sad sack bank employee, we are aware of Holland’s imagination, subdued though it might be.  In my opinion, Guinness is the main reason why The Lavender Hill Mob graces the ranks of 1001 Movies.  He is superb.

Plus he discovered Audrey Hepburn, so that's a definite win.

Hardly hefty or significant, The Lavender Hill Mob is an enjoyable little caper romp that has an unexpected sense of joie de vivre throughout.  It’s funny and clever (watch the police car incapable of making a three point turn and not laugh, I dare you).  Will it change your life?  No.  Is it old fashioned?  Yes.  But it’s diverting and charming and thoroughly likeable.

Arbitrary Rating: 7/10

Strangers on a Train

Cool fan made poster art.

Strangers on a Train

1951

Director: Alfred Hitchcock

Starring: Farley Granger, Robert Walker

I haven’t seen all of Hitchcock’s films, but I think by now I’ve seen about twenty of them.  I’ve seen great ones, and I’ve seen craptacular ones (I Confess… really?!?!?).  The more I see of him, the more I tend to really appreciate the films where he was firing on all cylinders.  I didn’t appreciate Strangers on a Train at first.  I do now.  Based on a fantastic conceit from Patricia Highsmith’s novel, Hitchcock must have been falling over himself to get himself on such film material.

Tennis star Guy Haines (Granger) has a cheating estranged wife who refuses to make way for Guy’s new love interest.  Rich playboy Bruno Antony (Walker) has an overbearing father who disapproves of his son.  Bruno meets Guy on a train and suggests they swap murders, crisscross.  Guy laughs, Bruno doesn’t.  Not too long afterwards, Guy is highly disconcerted to find Bruno at his doorstep, reporting that the deed has been done.  The rest of the film plays out as Bruno begins to torment Guy into holding up his end of the “bargain.”

Evil giddiness right here, ladies and gentlemen.

  

There’s a sense of evil giddiness that’s pervasive in Strangers on a Train that I find incredibly appealing.  This is almost entirely realized through the amazing performance of Robert Walker as Bruno Antony.  His Antony is insane and over the top, and that’s putting it mildly.  But he’s also a charmer, an oily con man, who can talk his way into situations, diverting attention from his true intentions.  The evil giddiness is manifested greatly through Bruno’s flamboyance in not only personality (which, by the way, also includes classic Hitchcock mother obsession) but also wardrobe.  When we first see Bruno, we only see him from the knees down, and he is wearing a loudly pinstriped suit with black and white oxfords.  When we eventually see his top half, you’ll note that he’s wearing a tie printed with large lobsters.  Seriously, a lobster tie.  Next up is one of the loudest dressing gowns you’ll ever see in a black and white film.  Later, at an elegant dinner party where everyone else is in black tie, he even manages to stand out wearing white tie with sponge bag trousers.  Hitchcock specifically draws attention to his loud “Bruno” tie clip.  I love how the wardrobe combines with Walker’s performance to create a terrific off-his-rocker blatantly homosexual psychopath.  Walker is revelatory in the role; tragic, too, considering he died of a drug complication months after the film wrapped shooting.  He shows what he’s capable of here, and it’s too bad we were unable to get any more crazy psychopaths out of him after this.  

A lobster tie.  I should buy one for my husband.  Also, nice placement of the lighter.

But Walker’s portrayal of Bruno isn’t the only source of said evil giddiness in the movie.  Guy’s cheating wife Miriam is sleazy and trampy and cold and calculating, completely in control of her creepy little world, but made more than slightly comical with her coke bottle glasses.  Guy’s new squeeze Anne Morton is rather uninteresting, but her younger sister Barbara (played, interestingly enough, by Hitchcock’s daughter Patricia) is a hoot and a half.  Almost as obsessed with crime and murder as the next door neighbor in Shadow of a Doubt, she spits out razor sharp observations that are of the type usually left unsaid.  And lastly, there’s Bruno’s mother, only in a scant few scenes, but highly memorable as a doddering old lady who clearly has no idea – or doesn’t want to, at least – that her son is a raving lunatic.

I can't even tell what it is that's supposed to be on his smoking jacket, but it's completely ludicrous, whatever it is.

All of this adds up to an unexpected humor in this film.  Strangers on a Train is marketed as a film noir, but I can’t quite buy it.  It’s too damn funny to be a noir.  Granted, not laugh out loud funny, but when we cut to a little boy giggling, his mother shrieking in horror, while he rides the runaway carousel, you can’t quite take the “drama” seriously.  And then when said little boy starts punching the two main characters as they duke it out – well, really, I do believe Hitch wanted me to laugh here. 

But this isn’t a perfect film.  Unfortunately, for how terrific Robert Walker is, for how interesting the Bruno character is, for all the peppering of oddball characters, Hitchcock also gives two of the most boring characters of all time in Farley Granger’s Guy Haines and his new girlfriend Anne Morton (Ruth Roman).  Heaven help you when the scene is just the two of them; I dare you not to fall asleep.  I’ve always thought that Farley Granger had all the acting range of a piece of linoleum, and he gets to express both of his facial expressions – mild concern and crooked smile – here in this film over and over again.  It’s comical, really, when he and Roman – who sees Granger’s two facial expressions and raises him a big fat zero – have a conversation.  It’s like watching robots trying to mimic humans.  Robots powering down…

This is his "mild concern" face that he wears for 80% of this film.  And every other film I've seen him in.

But never to fear, we are subjected to a minimum of watching these two saltines interact with one another.  Mostly they’re surrounded by others far more interesting, and Hitchcock throws in his classic suspense elements.  The fairground sequence in the first half hour is a great example of a slow build.  We know what Bruno is about to do, we keep on waiting for him to do it, but he waits.  The lauded tennis sequence is once again Hitchcock finding dramatic tension in an unexpected event, and the carousel finale is just spectacular. 

In terms of visuals, this is a Hitchcock on top of his game.  His black and white photography is top notch here.  We have deep focus shots (a nice one of Robert Walker close to camera with his bickering parents in a far distant struck me), play with shadows (watching Bruno’s shadow overtake Miriam’s shadow in the tunnel of love is fun), and plenty of canted angles.  High overhead shots are unexpected and feel fresh, and Hitchcock throws in some special effects (a lighter appearing in Barbara’s glasses) to keep us on our toes.  When Bruno starts stalking Guy, Hitchcock does “creepy guy is watching you” with some fantastically stark scenes; I don’t know if I can choose between Bruno staring amid the crowd of tennis fans, or Bruno as the sole person on the steps of a Washington DC memorial, watching from afar.  

Great shot.

While I don’t consider Strangers on a Train to be Hitchcock’s finest film, I will say that my opinion of it has improved dramatically since the first time I saw it.  I originally watched it as part of my initial blitzkrieg through the 1001 Movies list, and it made little impression – just a check, seen it, then I moved on.  A few years later, I saw it again, this time on a big screen with my sister, and wow, I liked it a great deal more than I remembered.  It was impressive.  And now, watching it a third time to write this review, I have to passionately admit that I don’t know what I was thinking, finding it mediocre in my first go-around.  Strangers on a Train is good stuff.  Still not Hitch’s best, but very good.

Arbitrary Rating: 8.5/10