A painfully
puerile attempt to celebrate the Danish author of so many beloved children’s
fables, Charles Vidor’s Hans Christian
Andersen (1952) is an absurdly lavish though woefully undernourished claptrap,
loosely stringing together several of Andersen’s more celebrated fairytales
into an incomprehensible ‘biography’ that even the film’s prologue laughingly
refuses to acknowledge and I quote, “Once
upon a time there lived in Denmark a great storyteller named Hans Christian
Andersen. This is not the story of his life, but a fairy tale about the great
spinner of fairy tales.”
Well put, but
erroneously executed with the usually charming Danny Kaye herein recast as an
elfin clod, seemingly unable to slip into his clogs and fly a kite at the same
time. Kaye, who made a name for himself largely associated with The Goldwyn
Company throughout the 1940s and in a series of classy smash hits as the
leering comic of formidable panache and timing is very un-Kaye-like herein and
it does not serve either the star or his Danish alter ego. Kaye is in exceptional
voice, as he proves throughout the Frank Loesser score. He is particularly
affecting in “Anywhere I Wander” – a
melodic love ballad – and “The Ugly
Duckling” – sung to brighten the spirits of a forlorn child who is
obviously suffering from some great illness.
For the rest,
however, Loesser’s songs are moppet-happy treacle of the most absurd order; as
in the jovially feather-weight “I’m Hans
Christian Andersen” – interpolated throughout the film whenever Kaye’s
misguided wanderer feels he needs to reassert his own legacy upon his
ever-loyal travelling companion, Peter (Joey Walsh) or the unsuspecting
inhabitants of “Wonderful Copenhagen”,
and even more repetitively idiotic warbling “Inchworm”
or “The King’s New Clothes” – all bounce
and modest fizzle.
It’s rather
baffling for me to assess Samuel Goldwyn’s overzealousness in producing this
clunker with all the trappings money can buy that, for better or worse, I ought
to point out was a smashing success upon its release. Clearly the innocence of
the piece appealed to many a mid-western mom dragging little Tommy Fluffball
and Suzy Cream Cheese off to the Bijou for the Saturday matinee. Don’t get me
wrong. I love sugary sweetness and family entertainment. But it must be trans-generationally
in its appeal in order for it to become timeless.
Even as pure
cinematic storytelling, Hans Christian
Andersen is problematic at best; Zizi
Jeanmaire and Farley Granger herein cast as temperamental ballet dancer, Dora whom
Hans falls haplessly in love with, and ballet master/hubby Niels, who isn’t
above giving his prima donna the back of his hand when she fails to whirl like
a dervish on stage. Clearly neither Niels, nor screenwriter Moss Hart had come
to appreciate the ramifications of spousal abuse on the kiddy mindset. But in transforming
Hans Christian Andersen into a
socially stunted adult, both the man and the artist are ill-served in this
Hollywood glam-bam; the scholarly storyteller of history who became a national
treasure for the Danes, unceremoniously reconstituted as a somewhat effete
middle-aged shoemaker who knows absolutely nothing about life or women.
Hans lives with
his apprentice, and Jiminy Cricket-styled social conscience, Peter inside a not
terribly prepossessing concern on the outskirts of their modest town. The
children adore Hans’ stories. But the adults – particularly the schoolmaster
(John Brown) – see Hans as a threat to their inevitable evolution as productive
members of society. It’s a fair concern, for Hans does indeed exist within a
social vacuum of his own design, his out of the way sequestering of the prepubescent
population – lured over the bridge and away from their parents and studies by a
sailing kite – by deliberate design undermining the onslaught of adulthood with
a curiously faint whiff of pedophilia to boot. Seriously, if ol’ Hans is lonely
he ought to get himself some adult friends and leave the toddler set alone.
Town council
eventually elects to remove Hans from their midst and Peter, having overheard
their plans, makes haste to Hans’ home beforehand to encourage him to take a much
needed vacation, thus sparing him the embarrassment of being evicted. After
some reluctance, Hans agrees to go to Copenhagen with Peter – the two embarking
on what is hoped will be a great new adventure for them both. But their introduction to the paper mache
recreation of ‘Wonderful Copenhagen’ is hardly warm-hearted. In fact, Hans is
promptly arrested for advertising his profession before the King’s statue.
Once again,
Peter comes to Hans’ aid and soon Hans finds work with Copenhagen’s ballet
company. He is asked by its prima ballerina, Dora to create a new set of toe
shoes that will allow her to stand for longer periods. Prior to this request,
Hans has observed the brutality in Dora’s relationship with husband, Niels; the
company’s director. The two deliberately taunt one another with insults and
barbs – she accusing him of boorish demands and him suggesting that she has
been deliberately unprincipled and undisciplined in her practice. The two then physically assault one another
with Hans, at a distance, utterly horrified that any man should treat a woman
in such a way – particularly one he professes to love.
Hans develops
and incurable loyal streak toward Dora, toiling all night to fashion a pair of
dancing slippers that will treasure her feet.
In the morning Hans presents these to Dora for her approval. She is immensely
touched by his diligence, quaint modestly and tenderly affectionate stance
toward her. But how could Dora conceive Hans’ emotions to be anything more than
abject human kindness when he seems completely to lack that spark of male
animal magnetism; thoroughly incapable of attracting any woman as a potential
mate.
Peter begins
to sense that Hans’ attachment toward Dora is becoming mildly obsessive after
Hans writes ‘The Little Mermaid’ as an homage about her. Misunderstanding Hans’
true intensions, Peter inadvertently gives the story to Dora who becomes
enchanted by its whimsical simplicity and Niels, believing that Hans has
written it for the company rather than his wife, elects to turn it into an
opera. Hans, however, is quickly whittled out of the creative process by Niels,
who increasingly finds him a minor nuisance.
The next day
Hans notices a bald child, Lars (Peter J. Votrian) being ignored by the local
children as he tells his stories in the public square, and thus concocts the
tale of ‘The Ugly Duckling’ expressly for Lars’ entertainment. In gratitude for this simple kindness, Lars’
father (Miles Mander), who also happens to be a publisher, elects to print Hans’
stories for the whole world to read. However, just when it looks as though Hans’
future is looking bright, Peter intrudes with the suggestion that Hans will
never be anything more to Dora than a friend. This scene, particularly Hans’
admonishment of Peter, whom he rather callously orders to return to their home
town without him as part of his dissolving their lifelong friendship, tingles
with a rather obvious homoeroticism.
Bitter, though
obliging, Peter leaves Hans who pursues Dora at the opera on the eve of the premiere
of The Little Mermaid. At Niel’s command, the stage doorman (Robert Malcolm)
quietly bars Hans – who has designed a brand new pair of shoes for the occasion
- from seeing Dora, and Niels compounds this insult by locking Hans inside one
of the rehearsal halls where he remains, thus missing out on his own triumphant
debut. The next day Niels – who is about as superficial and heartless as any
male suitor I can recall – suddenly remembers that Hans is still locked in the
rehearsal hall at the theater. Infuriated with her husband, but only
superficially so, Dora orders Hans brought to their bedchamber where Hans at
last witnesses for himself that she is very much in love with her husband.
Realizing that
Peter was right all along, Hans packs his things and hurries down the open road
to catch up to him and apologize. The two companions reconcile and reprise
several bars of the film’s title song before returning to their village. As
Hans’ published tales have preceded his return, he is now regarded as a
national treasure and welcomed back with open arms by the populous – child and
adult alike.
Hans Christian Andersen is so utterly
dishonest in its premise, so manipulative in its plaintive plucking at our heart
strings that it instantly fails to win in any lasting or sincere manner. For
all of the aforementioned reasons, this glossy – undeniably expensive – and even
more incredulously obvious studio bound super production utterly bombs. The
ballet sequences, choreographed and occasionally danced by Roland Petit are a
hodgepodge, lushly photographed in Technicolor by Harry Stradling, thought
heavy-handedly edited by Daniel Mandell. Had the spectacle of it all been
handled with a tad more esthetic agility the movie might have escaped my
thorough tongue-lashing of its incredibly misguided and idiotically hokey
narrative.
But the gloss
is superficial at best and wears thin only a few moments into the story: Danny
Kaye’s central performance instantly grating on the eyes, if marginally
soothing to the ears. In the final analysis, Hans Christian Andersen limps into its own as a big budgeted booby-trap
of artistic misfires, more glaringly obvious with the passage of time. Quite
simply, the film doesn’t hold up. Frankly, it’s a wonder to me that it ever
did!
Warner Home
Video’s Blu-ray is at least welcome for those who do not share my view of the
movie. Grain is a tad thicker on this presentation than I expected. It’s
important to recall that three stripe Technicolor was a grain concealing
process. Still, colors remain remarkably vibrant – a tribute to those metal
based dyes yielding mostly impressive results. Occasionally, differential
shrinkage of the elements results in modest halos cropping up here and there.
None will terribly distract, but they are nevertheless quite obvious when they
occur.
For the rest,
we get a bright and breezy transfer with solid contrast and an excellent
display of fine details. Age related artifacts are present but kept to the bare
minimum. Truly, the visual presentation will delight. The audio is DTS mono,
but exhibiting a startling amount of clarity and power – particularly in music
and effects. Despite Warner’s digibook packaging, what we get is very
threadbare indeed, amounting to a bunch of photos and poster art thrown
together, but a very scant amount of info on the making of the film. Other than a theatrical trailer, there are NO
extras.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
1.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
4
EXTRAS
0
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