Everyone’s
fond of quoting Jerome Kern’s assessment of fellow composer, Irving Berlin. When
asked what Berlin’s place in American music was, Kern lovingly replied, “Irving Berlin has no place in American
music. He is American music!” In
hindsight, this snap assessment rings more true. In fact many of Berlin’s songs
have endured the passage of time and managed to overcome changing musical tastes;
with Berlin’s contributions to holiday and patriotic ballads, including White Christmas, Happy Holidays, God Bless
America, and, Easter Parade,
perennially revived and covered by artists as diverse as Bing Crosby to Michael
Buble. Berlin, who never went beyond the most remedial training as a composer,
and whose entire repertoire of composition was confined to the standard
thirty-two bar structure that most – if not all – of his contemporaries
regarded as ‘formulaic’, nevertheless illustrates, and has since repeatedly
proven the old adage: “write what you know and do it well”. Arguably, no one did it better than Irving
Berlin.
But Berlin was
also something of a shameless self-promoter – his most prolific period between
1900 and 1920. As such, the tunes most closely associate with Berlin’s movie
career have been largely repurposed from this earlier and more innocent
time. With the advent of the movies
Berlin’s thematic Americana was much in demand. Berlin also wrote for the
movies. But he tended to reissue his oldies more – ensconced as part of the
American fabric. Two of Berlin’s most iconic songs remain White Christmas and Easter
Parade – so perhaps it isn’t surprising to find splashy Technicolor musicals
named after each. Easter Parade, the
song, was first published in 1933 for the Broadway revue ‘As Thousands Cheer’. The
song then found renewed popularity in 1942’s Holiday Inn, ironically the film that introduced White Christmas.
By 1948 Easter Parade was primed for its own
movie musical – a blush and bashful extravaganza set in 1912 to take advantage
of another bumper crop of classics from Berlin’s backlog. The year before, producer
Arthur Freed had engaged screenwriters Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett to
flesh out his initial concept for the plot, by Freed’s own admission – to be
kept simple and intimate. And Berlin came to Metro too, to work closely with
the writers. Like many of MGM’s most beloved movie musicals Easter Parade (1948) went through a
litany of major changes before it finally reached the screen.
MGM’s late VP
in Charge of Production, Irving Thalberg had always believed that movies were
not made – but remade; an edict retained at the studio long after his premature
death in 1936 and employed throughout Easter
Parade’s gestation period. The film’s original director, Vincent Minnelli
was replaced by Charles Walters who thought the Goodrich/Hackett screenplay
terribly ‘mean spirited’ and immediately ordered rewrites. Sidney Sheldon came on
board to take ‘the meanness’ out.
Berlin then
dove headstrong into crafting brand new songs for the story – nine in all,
seven of which would survive the final cut. Musical arranger Robert Alton was
brought in to stage the numbers and on Nov. 25, 1947 principal photography
began. Regrettably, the film’s original co-star, Gene Kelly was nowhere to be
found. During rehearsals he had broken his ankle in a game of touch football.
Berlin was frantic. But Freed remained circumspect, yet confident. Who wouldn’t
be with Fred Astaire waiting in the wings?
Astaire had
announced his retired from movies the year before – a self-imposed respite he
gladly forwent when Freed pitched the prospect of working with Judy Garland
instead. Undeniably MGM’s greatest musical star, Garland had built her
reputation on a string of effervescent musicals that continue to resonate with
audiences to this day. She and Kelly had been handsomely paired in Kelly’s
first musical at the studio: For Me And
My Gal (1942) – a resounding success for all concerned, and Garland – who could
occasionally be temperamental on the set – had looked forward to working with
Gene again. But Fred Astaire was not exactly chopped liver. So Garland, ever
the perfectionist, quickly warmed to her new costar; the two reaching a
symbiotic plasir du artistic amour by the time production wrapped. Viewing Easter Parade today the sheer joy in
bringing it to the screen is palpable – Astaire and Garland clearly feeding off
a mutually shared creative energy and respect for each other’s formidable
talents. Astaire, never one for
self-parody or lampoon, seems to truly be enjoying himself in their comedic pas
deux ‘A Couple of Swells’; the two
garbed as a pair of toothless hobos slumming it on Fifth Ave.
Easter Parade was marketed by MGM’s publicity department as ‘the happiest musical ever made’.
Certainly, this much is true of the backstage badinage as well as the creative
synergy evident on the screen. Garland would later lament the loss of her solo,
‘Mr. Monotony’ – a fascinating
rhythmic number in which she wore the top half of a tuxedo – decidedly risqué
for 1912. Although the song did not survive, due mainly to time constraints,
Garland’s costume did. She would wear it again for her iconic ‘Get Happy’ routine in her final MGM
movie musical, Summer Stock (1950).
Our story
begins with a most unwelcomed surprise. Having spent a mint on gifts for his
dancing partner, Vaudevillian Don Hewes (Fred Astaire) returns to Nadine Hale’s
(Ann Miller) apartment only to discover that she has decided to leave the act
after being offered a solo career. The wound cuts deeper than that. For Don had
sincerely hoped to become romantically involved with Nadine. But it’s no soap,
as Don quickly realizes, and he has little opportunity to succeed on the stage
without a female partner.
Nadine has set
her cap for Jonathan Harrow III (Peter Lawford); a wealthy playboy who doesn’t
particularly share her romantic interests. In the meantime, Don skulks off to a
ratskeller café to drown his sorrows. Fortune smiles on him when he hears
Hannah Brown (Judy Garland) sing ‘Michigan’
as part of the café’s nightly entertainment. She’s good. Fabulous, even. But
can she dance? Realizing who Don is, Hannah resigns herself to try. She reports
to the theater the next afternoon for rehearsals but quickly reveals just how
inexperienced a dancer she is. In fact, Hannah doesn’t even know her left foot
from her right!
Hannah’s lack
of confidence is equally hampered by Don’s disregard for either her feelings or
personal tastes, and by his overall insistence to remake her into a statuesque
glamor queen a la Nadine Hale. It is interesting to note that Garland suffered
a similar fate after signing her first MGM contract – frequently referred to by
L.B. Mayer as his “little monkey” and placed on a debilitating and stringent
diet; given ‘pep’, ‘diet’ and ‘sleeping’ pills to keep her weight, energy and
productivity in line; a lethal cocktail that would ultimately wreck both
Garland’s health and her career.
Changing
Hannah’s name to Wanita, Don debuts their new act to tepid reviews. At the same
time Nadine opens in her review-styled show. Don sneaks into the New Amsterdam
Theater and observes how accomplished Nadine has become in his absence. She
whirls like a dervish, performing ‘Takin’
The Blues Away’ to a packed house. Don returns to Hannah anew, but with a
brand new perspective on their teaming. There is no Wanita – only Hannah Brown.
Delighted by Don’s conversion, Hannah excels in their act and the two steadily
rise among the ranks to become contenders for the Ziegfeld Follies.
But when Don
learns that the new follies is to be built around Nadine he decides that Hannah
and Hewes will land their own show; a fabulous review that threatens to eclipse
Nadine’s new stardom overnight. Meanwhile, Hannah begins to see Jonathan
socially. He presents himself to her whimsically as ‘The Fella With An Umbrella’ on a very rainy afternoon. Unfortunately,
Hannah is drawn to Don, who still harbors a romantic yen for Nadine. After
their triumphant debut, Don takes Hannah to the Ziegfeld rooftop review
starring Nadine. She performs ‘The Girl
on the Cover of a Magazine’ and then coaxes Don to accept a reprise of one
of their old dance routines.
The crowd
loves it, but Hannah has been emotionally wounded for the last time. She
confronts Don with the understanding that she will always be just little ol’
Hannah Brown to him – a partner in dance but never in life. In an impromptu
decision, Hannah quits their act and returns to the small café where her dreams
of stardom first began. She is attended by bartender, Mike (Clinton Sunberg)
who has always had strong feelings for her, and is later sought by Jonathan,
much to Nadine’s chagrin.
In the
meantime, Don has had a change of heart. He realizes that he truly loves Hannah
for herself – as a partner on the stage and in life. As the whole of New York
make ready for the annual Easter parade Don receives several knocks at the
door. A top hat, flowers and a live bunny arrive in rapid succession before
Hannah makes her entrance, much to Don’s delight.
Hannah has
made her choice. She would rather be miserable with Don than without him. The
two affectionately embrace and Don makes ready to escort her along the avenue.
Their final moments in the film are spent amongst the glamorous attendees of
the Easter parade, with Hannah momentarily forgetting herself in a grand
gesture reminiscent of something Nadine would do. The two share a good laugh
and the camera pans to reveal Fifth Avenue bedecked in a review of courtly men
and elegant women.
For this
penultimate fade to black, barely visible on the screen for just a minute or
two, Freed amassed 700 extras on MGM’s New York Street, the upper portions of
the buildings a seamless matte painting over which the titles ‘The End’ and ‘Made by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer in Hollywood California’ appear. The
latter statement – appearomg on virtually every MGM picture made between 1943
and ‘53 – had always been a source of contention for both city councils. You
see, MGM occupied a vast property outside Hollywood known as Culver City. It
never owned facilities in Hollywood proper – hence the wording should have read ‘Made by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer in Culver
City, CA.’
Apart from
this penultimate extravagance, Easter
Parade is a remarkably subdued, though never anything less than glossy
entertainment. Most of the musical numbers are intimately staged, just as
Arthur Freed had intended. Even Ann Miller’s electrifying solo, ‘Shakin’ the Blues Away’ is performed
without the benefit of a chorus, staged against a towering blue-gray drape
dramatically flowing about Miller’s whirling terpsichorean appendages.
Otherwise, most of the songs are set against a plain curtain or painted
backdrop, or performed as an audition on an empty stage.
There are two
notable exceptions. The first is Astaire’s solo ‘Steppin’ Out With My Baby’ – a gaudy ‘trick’ routine that separates
Astaire from a chorine of gaudily clad bar room dancers but interrupts his own
dancing with some intrusive slo-mo effects that, frankly, take away from
Astaire’s otherwise flawless skill. The other big budget routine is ‘The Girl On The Cover of A Magazine’; in
hindsight something of a dry run for Singin’
In The Rain’s ‘Beautiful Girl’
production number. ‘The Girl on the Cover
of A Magazine’ is a lovingly staged ‘vintage’ number featuring
mannequin-type models from the front covers of various popular magazines like Harper’s Bazaar and Modern Bride who come to life. These episodic vignettes give way to
a full blown dance featuring Ann Miller with a rather large feathery fan and
flanked by a chorus of tuxedo clad men. The number is stately without question,
yet somehow displaced by Easter Parade’s
myriad of treasures.
It goes
without saying, though it ought to be repeated, that Judy Garland was truly one
of the all-time great musical comedy stars; a diverse entertainer who could
just as easily make us laugh as she could break our hearts. The veneer between
Garland’s camera-self and the real person hiding behind that persona seems
thin; fragile even, with Garland yearning to be liked – even loved – for
herself. Garland’s fans have never forgotten her. But Easter Parade endures primarily because of her peerless performance
as that sad-eyed, occasionally frustrated, though always put-together chanteuse
who knows her way around a lyric, a nuance and a gesture.
Fred Astaire
is perfection itself – a dancer with no equal – even Gene Kelly. I have always
maintained that comparing Astaire to Kelly is a fool’s errand at best. The two
are dancers; master craftsmen – period. But that is where the similarity and
the comparisons should stop. Kelly is earthy elegance. But Astaire is eloquent
sophistication, and viewing Easter
Parade today it is difficult to imagine how Kelly would have assuaged into
Astaire’s Svengali-type role unless heavily rewritten to his strengths.
The marvel
that is Fred Astaire cannot be quantified with any degree of success except
when experiencing the man in flight and in perfect step on the screen. Ginger
Rogers was arguably Astaire’s greatest partner. But in Garland Astaire has a
cohort more enigmatic as a presence. When Garland and Astaire dance together,
curiously enough we look at her instead of him, perhaps consciously studying to
see if her footwork will match his, tap for tap. She does, and our admiration
for Garland as an all-around entertainer exponentially grows. The choreography
in Easter Parade isn’t particularly
overtaxing. In fact, Astaire seems to be taking it easy, performing soft shoe
shuffles and casual waltzes with effortless aplomb.
Ann Miller had
long dreamed of a dancing career opposite Astaire. Regrettably, Easter Parade doesn’t really allow for
too much of that. The leggy and statuesque Miller doesn’t quite fit Astaire
anyway. She’s too glossy somehow and in a mannequin sort of way, a flashy,
splashy dab of color that can quickly brighten the mood of a solo, but tends to
sour any pas deux in which she clearly is not the star. Indeed, a brief
retrospective of Miller’s career at MGM reveals that her best tap work was
never done with a partner, but alone in solos like Gotta Hear That Beat (from Small
Town Girl) that could electrify and ignite the Technicolor screen.
To this triage
of formidable musical talents, Easter
Parade rounds out its central cast with a decidedly minor contributor –
Peter Lawford. Undeniably good to look at, Peter Lawford spent much of his MGM
career playing rakishly handsome, though decidedly congenial and occasionally
antiseptic love interests. He’s better suited for a costar like Jane Powell
(whom he appeared opposite in Royal
Wedding) or June Allyson (Good News).
But both Garland and Miller dwarf his artistic prowess. Garland clearly plays
down to his limitations during ‘Fella
With An Umbrella’ choosing to ease his thin vocals with a cloying
smoothness in her own. It works, but remains rather obvious to behold.
Easter Parade was yet another colossal success for Arthur Freed and
MGM – a peerless example of how the studio’s homegrown and in-house craftsmen
could assemble, produce and slickly package their stars into a tune-filled
spectacle. But viewed today Easter
Parade seems pretty much par for the course of what MGM used to offer its
audiences in general; lavish escapism of the highest order. Perhaps the bar had
been set just a tad too high.
Easter Parade is an undeniable feel good. The entire cast delivers
superb performances. Yet, as the years roll on, Easter Parade increasingly resembles second tier MGM as opposed to
its top tier classics like Singin’ In
the Rain, The Band Wagon and Gigi – to name but three. However, it
is important to note that second tier MGM in its prime was still better than
virtually first tier anybody else. But especially from today’s vantage, Easter Parade remains an iconic,
glossy, musically effervescent relic from an era now just as bygone as the
vintage the movie is emulating.
Warner Home
Video’s Blu-ray is cause for celebration. The old 2 disc DVD looked very fine
indeed, but the Blu-ray now reveals an overall sharpness to that magical
Technicolor image that the DVD decidedly lacked. Colors look remarkably
similar. There are exceptions to this rule. I was, for example, startled by how
much more refined Nadine’s lurid orange frock appears on the Blu-ray. On DVD it
looked uniformly bright and…well…orange. On the Blu-ray however, it gains a
subtle nuance of texture and shading, as do the rest of the costumes,
particularly Astaire’s tweeds and Garland’s blue and yellow checkered audition
ensemble.
Details in
hair and makeup reveal themselves too. I’d like to say I was blown away, but
really, the similarities between the DVD and Blu-ray were more the norm for my
viewing experience than the exception. Let’s just say I was impressed. The DTS
audio kicks things up another notch with good solid clarity and nice separations.
Like its standard format predecessor, Easter
Parade on Blu-ray retains the 5.1 upgrade to its original mono mix and I’m
happy to report that it sounds better than ever.
Please note:
Warner Home Video has made an ultra-goof on this disc; advertising the American
Masters documentary on Judy Garland: ‘By Myself’ as a supplement on the back jacket. Due to a
mastering error this disc DOES NOT contain this documentary. It is uncertain
whether or not WB will be instituting a disc replacement program for this
catalogue title. One would hope so. However, be forewarned that if you buy this
disc you are not getting all of the extra features as advertised. U.K. and
Canadian discs will not contain this documentary, since PBS has always denied
the rights for distribution outside of the United States. Dumb! Really
dumb! But currently, the U.S. edition is
missing this nearly 2 hr. documentary too! All of the international releases,
plus the U.S. release get ‘On The Avenue’
The making of Easter Parade, plus an audio commentary with Astaire’s
daughter and Garland biographer John Fricke, some vintage junkets and a
trailer.
FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
5
EXTRAS
3.5
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