An American in Paris

George Gershwin's estate should get some serious royalties. Since the genius composer's untimely death in 1937, his songs have popped up in countless "new" Gershwin musicals, on screen, and most recently, on Broadway, in "Crazy For You" which played about ten years ago. Such Gershwin standards like "I Got Rythym", "Nice Work If You Can Get It", "Embraceable You", and "S'Wonderful" were simply too great to be stored away in some studio vault, and thus appeared and re-appeared in countless studio films throughout the golden days of Hollywood. Arguably their greatest reincarnation is Vicente Minnelli's 1951 Best Picture winning "An American in Paris". Viewed in retrospect as an "unworthy" winner, besting more dramatic fare such as "A Streetcar Named Desire" and "A Place in the Sun", a distinction made even more unfortunate by the fact that Gene Kelly's superior musical "Singin' in the Rain" would be released only the following year and not win Best Picture. While it may be a frothy choice for Best Picture, there is no denying the film's entertainment value, as well as the superb MGM production values. Despite initially being slated to film on location in Paris, the film was ultimately shot in Hollywood, but I feel that this only adds to its kitsch appeal. The magic of the movies in those days meant transforming a soundstage in southern California into anywhere in the world. Thus the extravagent sets presented in "An American in Paris", which stands as one of Arthur Freed's finest products from his assembly line at MGM.

After making it through pre-production, during which time MGM nearly balked at pouring in so much money on a "dancing picture" (umm, what? MGM's bread and butter were musicals), its leading lady, Cyd Charisse, had to be replaced because she became pregnant (I swear, she and Judy Garland just shuttled back and forth between every MGM musical from the mid 1940's to mid 1950's) the film was completed with relatively little incident, until the signature 20 minute American in Paris ballet number was nearly cut (saved by Louis B. Mayer, in a rare instance of a mogul thinking artistically and not financially). What lies in between, from when the cameras rolled to when it first screened in the fall of 1951, is where the magic happens. Gene Kelly is Jerry Mulligan, a happy-go-lucky ("fill in the blank here" occupation) ex-G.I. come painter, living in the City of Light after World War II. Jerry lives the idyllic bohemian life, selling his paintings on a quiet little street, with inspiration around every corner. He is not successful, but his life seems happy enough, spent painting and squabbling with his concert pianist friend Adam. Jerry's life changes when he meets two women, virtually on the same day. Older woman Milo Roberts (recipient of the film's best line; when she initially attempts speaking French to Jerry, he tells her "can it sister. I'm from Perth Amboy, New Jersey.") who takes a liking to Jerry's paintings and a little too great an interest in his life, and Lise Bouvier, a beautiful young girl who happens to be involved with Henri Baurel, a song and dance man, and friend of Jerry's, all unbeknownst to him of course.

Jerry's flirtation with Lise is first met with scorn, but gradually she warms to him, only to be faced with the dilemma of how to tell Jerry she is leaving for America with her fiancee so soon after they share a romantic evening along the Siene. Jerry is devastated, and his last chance to see Lise, at a black and white costume party, segues into an extended dream sequence featuring Gershwin's bombastic "American in Paris" suite, which Vicente Minnelli brilliantly fills with dazzling colors, lights, mist, costumes and dancing. The ballet, which is equal parts metaphor and plot filler essentially is the third act of the movie, because when the audience emerges from the dream haze Lise has decided to leave Henri and stay in Paris with Jerry, whom she realizes she truly loves. Henri, in true "only in the movies" magnanimity, wishes the new couple the best and then promptly heads to America, sans Lise. While all of this might not seem like fodder for Best Picture, especially in a year featuring some dramatic heavyweights, that does not make "An American in Paris" any less enjoyable, which is what a musical should be most concerned with, especially one from the Freed Unit at MGM. And enjoy and entertain it does, just as much today as it did 50 years ago when it shocked the Academy.

Gunga Din

I hate beginning a post with a plug for someone else, but Leonard Maltin really does say it best: "Gunga Din" is THE action adventure spectacle of Old Hollywood. There had been films of its kind before, most notably "Lives of a Bengal Lancer" from 1935, but none combined the comedy with the requisite action and adventure like George Stevens' "Gunga Din". I attribute this to the presence of stars Cary Grant and Victor McLaglen, who consistently keep the film's tone light and the mood rollicking. Joining them is Douglas Fairbanks Jr., whose father virtually invented the action/adventure genre, although unfortunately here, his role is reduced to that of the straight man. As Sgt. Ballantine, Fairbanks gets to woo the lady, the beautiful Joan Fontaine, but also has to play the 'stick-in-the-mud', having the gall to leave his friends, Grant's Sgt. Cutter and McLaglen's Sgt. MacChesney, while on tour in the wilds of India. Of course Cutter and Mac scheme to keep Ballantine in Her Majesty's army, in the process looking for lost treasure and fighting a vicious Thuggee cult. That is what makes this movie, and others like it, so great. They portray fighting bloodthirsty "savages" as fun, something handsome young men did in the old days, and believe it or not, this jovial spirit works throughout the film, thanks to Stevens' excellent direction.

As the film begins we learn that the Thuggee have been terrorizing the British imperial colony of India. Raiding towns and killing locals and soldiers, the army decides to send its crack core of men, the regiment featuring our lead trio, after them. The film masterfully introduces its three leads characters, giving them each an opportunity to shine while engaging in an elaborate fight. Cutter has arguably the best intro, dropping the man he is brawling with from an open window after being told "let go of that man!". After narrowly escaping capture by a Thuggee war party, leaping to safety by diving into a large chasm, a sequence that still thrills today, and receiving their orders each man has his own ideas: Ballantine knows that his discharge is going to happen before setting off after the Thuggee, MacChesney longs to be reunited with his beloved elephant Annie, and Cutter and his waterboy friend, the titular Gunga Din, revel in the prospect of finding lost treasure the Thugee temples allegedly possess. Ballantine's leaving takes immediate precedence however, and the troublemaking Cutter and Mac try a number of different ruses to keep Ballantine with the regiment, many of them quite humorous. My favorite is the poison they end up giving to the man to be Ballantine's replacement. While the effects of the poison are not entirely known, a potted plant that is inadvertently put into the punch bowl spiked with the poison immediately wilts, prompting hilarious facial reactions from Cutter and Mac, and a severely upset stomach from poor Ballantine's replacement.

With Ballantine's replacement indisposed, Ballantine is forced to fall back in with the regiment for one more tour. Cutter and Mac know that the longer they keep him, the harder it will be to leave, and despite his intentions to marry Emmy Stebbins, his real love is for his friends, rabble rousing around India. After Cutter and Gunga Din stumble upon the main Thuggee temple, and of course are captured, it is up to Mac and Ballantine to come looking for them. Little do they, and the rest of the regiment, know, but the entire Thuggee army is converging to massacre the British forces. Captured in the tower of the temple, the three sergeants and Gunga Din can only watch as the Thuggee keep them pined down with gunfire, powerless to stop the impending Thuggee attack on the oblivious advancing British troops. That is until Gunga Din, in a celebrated act of bravery, leaps to the pedestal of the tower and blows the bugle call for alarm. The British troops now warned, they fan out and easily defeat the Thuggee, who were relying solely on their strategic advantage. Cutter, Mac and Ballantine join in the fight as well, each displaying courage, but none so great as Gunga Din. A somber memorial service concludes the film, as Rudyard Kipling, the writer whose poem "inspired" (an innovation not unique to 21st century Hollywood) the film, is on hand to dictate the now famous lines "you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din". One of the last things to note about this film is that much was made about it being filmed "on location". In today's Hollywood that would mean actually shooting in the deserts and steppes of India. In 1939, that meant shooting in Lone Pine, California, a whole couple hours north of Los Angeles. While the methods of filming exotic films has changed, the standard that "Gunga Din" established has not, and is one that still stands today.

Spartacus

Arguably the most literate and thoughtful Hollywood epic ever. Playing more like a meditation on slavery, warfare, and humanity than the typical spectacles of the times, which were seemingly more concerned with keeping the prop and costume departments very busy, "Spartacus" owes a major debt of gratitude to cinematic auteur Stanley Kubrick. One of the oddest directorial choices ever, Kubrick, who would go on to direct some of the most claustrophobic, cerebral films ever, here cut his teeth in the studio system by "directing traffic" as directors of epics inHollywood frequently refer to the task. Despite being possibly the last person one would expect to helm a period gladiator epic, Kubrick infused the film with plenty of his subsequent trademarks: a conflicted central character fighting against an overarching evil, a distinct lack of morality and a stark depiction of the many shades of gray that humanity can take. At the center of his tale is Kirk Douglas, playing the rebel leader and titular character Spartacus. After clashing with the original director, (the more conventional choice, Anthony Mann), Douglas portrays arguably his most well rounded character, carrying the film and serving as its moral compass amidst the immoral and indifferent Romans. Despite all this talk of the film being "smart" and "cerebral" it still manages to be extremely entertaining, dragging very little considering its 198 minute running time, and for this reason, the film deserves to be celebrated.

As the film begins, Spartacus is a slave working in salt mines which might as well be Hell. The Roman Empire rules the known world and bringing them to their knees, as he eventually will, is the farthest thing from his mind. After attacking one of the guards, Spartacus should have been killed on the spot, but instead he is sold to a shameless Roman named Lentulus Batiatus, who scours the ends of the earth looking for new pupils for his gladiator training school. Batiatus is an interesting character, one who knows his place in Roman aristocracy and is actually closer to the men whose will he breaks rather than the senators and plutocrats that he sycophantically appeases. Instead of a pitiful character Batiatus is instead a breath of fresh air in the otherwise somber proceedings, thanks to a delicious performance byPeter Ustinov. While he does have a sadistic streak (making sport of what would have been Spartacus’ first time with a woman) he is also a shrewd businessman, and one who recognizes the value of his trade, thus keeping the gladiators reasonably well fed, cared for, and, despite watching from hidden doors and windows, provides them with some type of human interaction. Since the men know one day they may have to kill each other in the arena, there is an unwritten rule to not talk to one another, for fear of developing a relationship, making the inevitable that much more painful. Thus it is through Varinia that Spartacus begins to open up. He instantly falls in love with the beautiful slave girl at Batiatus’ school and is heart broken when she is sold to the cold and powerful senator Crassus, played with the perfect combination of intimidation and seduction by Laurence Olivier. Crassus indirectly puts the film’s main conflict in motion, when he kills Draba, a gladiator who refused to kill Spartacus when he had bested him in combat, instead trying in vain to kill his spectators. Compelled by Draba’s dramatic death, Spartacus rallies the other gladiators and they overtake the school, then begin terrorizing the countryside, liberating other slaves as they go, expanding their numbers.

After defeating a Roman garrison, one which sorely underestimated the power of the rebel gladiators and slaves, the army (as it soon becomes) begins to make its way to the sea, hoping to buy passage across the Adriatic via pirate ships. Fighting their way through Italy the legend of Spartacus begins to grow, and Rome grows increasingly more annoyed with this rebel and his mob. Crassus sees this uprising as his opportunity, and uses the civil unrest to assume control of the Senate. Amassing a large army designed to wipe out the slave revolt, but also to keep control of Rome once the rebellion is squashed, Crassus and Spartacus’ armies meet for a final confrontation. In a brilliant, rousing, bloody battle, (one which deserves special mention for having some extremely violent moments, especially considering this was released in 1960) Crassus’ troops are initially defeated, but eventually his numbers overwhelm Spartacus and his men. Forced to engage in a battle he hoped to avoid (the pirates, true to their nature, fell through on their half of the bargain, leaving Spartacus and his followers pinned against the coast without money or escape) Spartacus is shocked when his men, in an amazingly cinematic show of loyalty, refuse to single out their leader to Crassus, each yelling out “I’m Spartacus!”. Crassus avoids the bureaucratic Roman red tape and instead crucifies every surviving member of the rebellion, lining them up along the Appian Way as a demonstration of Roman might, and cruelty.

Much has been made of the film’s perceived homosexual undertones (and overtones in the case of Crassus seducing Tony Curtis’ slave Antoninus in a bath house) but the real “subversive” elements of this film are the statement it makes on Communism. Written by blacklisted screenwriter Dalton Trumbo, the now famous “I’m Spartacus!” scene is actually a plea to keep the solidarity in Hollywood, and not “name names”. Despite its being disowned by Stanley Kubrick later in career due to his dislike of the Hollywood studio system it came from, it is impossible to ignore his imprint on this film, and the fine, and smart, piece of entertainment he created.

Scaramouche

One of the lesser known action-adventure films of the golden age of Hollywood, but definitely one worth celebrating. Filled with lush scenery, vivid Technicolor, wonderful performances from Stewart Granger, Eleanor Parker and Mel Ferrer, and some of the best on-screen swordfighting you will ever see, "Scaramouche" is I feel unjustly ignored. Packed with action, comedy and romance the film suffers from not having an iconic film star at its center like Errol Flynn, but really this is a disservice. While it is true, Stewart Granger is no Errol Flynn, he plays the role of the charming scoundrel Andre Moreau with plenty of Flynn's trademark charisma and bravado. This is really the only guess I can hazard as to why this film is not recognized as one of the great action-adventure spectacles of Old Hollywood, on an equal plane with such classics as "The Adventures of Robin Hood" and "The Mark of Zorro". MGM clearly spared no expense in the making of this film, featuring elaborate sets in addition to the several extended location shots peppered throughout the film. The large theater set in particular, centerpiece to the film's incredible duel climax, is an amazing feat of the studio's famed art direction department. Thus it should come as no surprise that legendary art director Cedric Gibbons worked on this film, further establishing it as a film MGM had full faith in, and making its mostly forgotten status today even more puzzling.

Following the superhero archetype, the film begins with Andre Moreau as a scheming, ne'er do well. He is a playboy and a fop, who lives only for women and fine clothes, and cares not for politics and justice. However, when he gets a lesson firsthand in how France is being oppressed by the aristocracy, he vows to change his ways and fight. What happens specifically is the murder of his young friend, Phillippe de Valmorin, a young idealist who had been publishing anti-aristocracy tracts under the pseudonym Marcus Brutus. When his identity is exposed by the cruel Marquis de Maynes, the Queen's cousin and chief henchman, he kills the woefully overmatched Valmorin in a duel with Andre looking on. Andre foolishly attempts to avenge his friend's death then and there, and the Marquis would have killed him, but Andre is able to escape. Andre knows that he cannot hope to defeat the Marquis without any sword fighting instruction, and in a stroke of "movies" good fortune it so happens that the Marquis' instructor, Doutreval of Dijon, is sympathetic to the rebel cause and agrees to give Andre lessons in secret. While making progress, Andre also keeps tabs on two beautiful women in his life, Lenore, his on-again-off-again girlfriend and Aline de Gavrillac, a young woman Andre believes to be his sister. Despite constantly appealing to Lenore whenever he needs a favor (in the film's inspired comedic subplot, Andre hides himself from the Marquis by assuming the masked role of the ugly clown Scaramouche in the theater troupe Lenore is a part of. Featuring several extended sequences with Stewart Granger performing as Scaramouche, the film offers an effective respite to the more significant revenge plot, and Granger displays remarkable comedic touch), Andre finds himself strangely drawn to his "sister" and sneaks away to see her as often as is safe, and sometimes when it is not.

Nearly confident in his dueling abilities, the Marquis discovers that Doutreval has been teaching his mortal enemy and while Andre puts up more of a fight in their second duel, the Marquis still overwhelms him, in a furious succession of moves in which he leaves Andre vulnerable and embaressed. Again, Andre is able to escape, this time thanks to Aline's distraction, and he seeks out Doutreval's tutor, Perigore of Paris. Fleeing to Paris with the help of Lenore, who convinces the entire troupe to relocate, enabling Andre to keep his cover, Andre finishes his instruction and begins killing off the Marquis' men in a series of duels. Finally revealing himself to the Marquis the two square off in an amazing extended sequence in which they fight throughout an elaborate theater, from the boxes overhanging the orchestra, to behind the scenes, to the main stairwell in the theater's glorious lobby. The swordplay is exceptional, Granger and Ferrer must have trained for months, and the conclusion is riveting as Andre finally bests his enemy. Overcome with a strange sensation of compassion, Andre cannot bring himself to kill the Marquis, and when he learns the truth, realizes why. It turns out that Andre, who did not know his true origin, having believed he was orphaned and adopted by a wealthy family as a child, was really brother to the Marquis, and that the woman he thought was his sister, Aline, was blood relation to his adopted father. Having spared the Marquis, who is incarcerated for his role in the tyrannical government regime, Andre is also free to marry Aline, the woman he felt oddly compelled to, and as the film ends they receive a bouquet from Lenore, who has set her sights on another member of the government, a rising young general in the army: Napoleon. The surreal ending aside (it plays hilariously though), the film is a wonderful MGM technicolor adventure and deserves a better legacy than the one it presently has.

Around the World in 80 Days

If "The Ten Commandments" is the biggest story ever told, "Around the World in 80 Days" is a close second. This project (I do not think it is does this film justice to call it a film, project is really more apt) is equally breathtaking and mindboggling in its scope and size. Released at the height of the epic craze that swept Hollywood (the Best Picture nominees from this year alone included this, "Giant", "The Ten Commandments" and "The King and I", some of the most ambitious films Hollywood ever tackled), this is still impressive for the size of its cast, the number of exotic locations (distinguishing it even further from other Hollywood spectacles, this film did a ton of actual location shooting, refraining from considering 10 miles outside of Los Angeles as a suitable stand in), the amazing use of the new Todd AO widescreen technology, and the popularization (not the innovation Mike Todd assumed credit for) of the cameo role, boasting many familiar Hollywood faces, adding even more star power and event appeal to this already epic production. Based on Jules Verne's classic novel of a wealthy, bored English gentleman who accepts a bet that the globe cannot be circumnavigated in under 80 days, the project is aided infinitely by the presence of David Niven as Phileas Fogg, who grounds the at times overwhelming film experience with his British sophistication and cool, as well as giving the film a consistent air of legitimacy. As his intrepid valet, Passepartout, the Mexican actor/acrobat/stunt man/bullfighter Cantinflas provides some comic relief not in the form of cameo roles, and is a worthy foil to David Niven's dominating on-screen persona. The only other major role is the beautiful Shirley MacLaine as Princess Aouda, whom the globe trotting duo rescue in India, and who completes the jaunt with them. Sprawled across five continents and three hours of film, "Around the World in 80 Days" definitely achieves producer Mike Todd's desired effect: big!

Beginning in London, we find that Mr. Phileas Fogg is a very difficult, but highly respected man. He runs his life like a general in the army, and does absolutely not tolerate any deviations from his schedule, as he informs Passepartout, his latest in a long line of valets. At the same time as the film is introducing us to Phileas Fogg, we find that the Bank of England has been robbed of an extraordinary sum. Thus, when Fogg accepts the highly publicized wager of 25,000 pounds that he can span the entire globe in under 80 days, everyone assumes that it was Fogg, a man of incredible wealth but indeterminate means, who robbed the bank. Fogg claims he can do it because he has the entire trip mapped out, fitting with his obsessively punctual lifestyle, down to the very minute. He has also calculated for unseen hazards and obstacles, which come into play almost immediately when they miss a train and are forced to scale the Alps via hot air balloon. Hot on their trail is Mr. Fix of Scotland Yard, the befuddled detective who chases the duo across the globe, convinced Fogg is his man, but always a step behind. The first leg of the trip takes the duo through Spain, where Passepartout displays his bullfighting prowess in exchange for use of a wealthy nobleman's yacht, and then into the jungles of India, where they find Princess Aouda, rescuing her as she is about to be sacrificed to some vengeful god. Again Passepartout displays his skills as acrobat, shimmying onto the pagan temple's altar unnoticed, and providing enough of a distraction for Fogg to save the Princess.

The traveling duo now a trio, the rest of the movie virtually flies by. Wild encounters in exotic Southeast Asia, (Passepartout exposes a snake charmer, only to be chased through an elaborate market place), Japan, (thinking he's been left behind by Fogg, Passepartout reluctantly joins an acrobatic circus troupe), and the American wild west (braving a saloon in San Francisco's Barbary Coast, and surviving an Indian attack on their train bound for the East Coast) bring the duo back to England with what they think is a few hours to spare. Only immediately after setting foot on British soil, Fix arrests Fogg for robbing the Bank of England. Fogg is heartbroken, not so much for being arrested and having his name tarnished, but because he has lost his bet, which is really the reason he accepted in the first place. Fogg could care less about the money he stands to win, or the money he stands to lose for that matter; his only motivation, seemingly the only thing he can "get up for" is the thrill of winning a bet of such monumental proportions. As fate would have it, the true criminal is exposed and Fogg is released, distraught at having lost the bet, but forgetting one key fact: having crossed the International Date Line, the trio gained a day. Passepartout can hardly contain himself as he tells Fogg the news, and the sight of Fogg calmly walking into the Gentlemen's Club (during the final chime of the clock, naturally) where the bet was forged 80 days prior is absolutely priceless. His bet won, Fogg realizes, in a Henry Higgins-esque revelation, that winning the bet is not the only thing he has won: the love of the Princess, but more importantly, feeling the emotion of love. With Passepartout as the oddest third wheel ever, the trio is now happily together, and the movie ends with a wonderfully unique way of categorizing the dozens of cameos the film is peppered with throughout: an approximately six minute sequence that follows minimally animated icons representing the main characters (Fogg is a pocket watch, Passepartout a unicycle, and the Princess is a veil with eyes) as they pass through each of the film's major locales. Pausing at each one, the credits then appear, reminding you, "Oh yeah, that was Frank Sinatra as the piano player in San Francisco!". After this sublime sequence, in true epic fashion, the Exit Music plays, and "Around the World in 80 Days" comes to an end.