AN AMERICAN IN PARIS: Blu-ray (MGM, 1951) Warner Home Video
BEST PICTURE -
1951
A movie musical
of rare quality, typifying the sort of mind-boggling craftsmanship, only a
perfectly realized stock company like MGM in its heyday could deliver, Vincente
Minnelli’s An American in Paris
(1951) should be required viewing today. The picture is a potpourri and picture
postcard of everything that was fine and dandy in a Metro musical. Minnelli’s tastes
were always geared toward achieving absolute high art on the screen, and in
producer, Arthur Freed’s lithe and lyrical masterpiece, teaming with the
brothers Gershwin’s immense back catalog of glorious hit tunes, complimented by
front-of-the-house stellar turns from Gene Kelly, Oscar Levant, and newcomers,
Georges Guetary and Leslie Caron, Minnelli’s creative aegis is given its full
and colorful blossom to explore all the possibilities. “In movie musicals the sky’s the limit,” Minnelli once mused, “…and for this reason, you have to be very
careful in what you do.” No one was more meticulous than Minnelli in
crafting such light – and seemingly effortless - confections, especially when
the material offered, engaged him in a sort of marvelous and frenzied search
for visual perfection. To say that An
American in Paris had the very best of all things at Minnelli’s disposal is
an understatement. MGM, coming off of the war years as the most profitable of all
the Hollywood studios, was in an enviable position. On the surface at least, the
studio exuded a close-knit atmosphere where any creative, worth his weight,
desperately yearned to be and arguably, did his/her very best work. But behind
the scenes, these walls had a somewhat different tale to tell.
In 1950, after a
struggle of wills, studio mogul, L.B. Mayer was deposed by Metro’s New York offices
President, Nicholas Schenck – a move that shook Culver City to its foundation,
not the least by having Dore Schary brought in three years earlier to take over
as VP in Charge of Production. This post had been vacated in 1938 after the
untimely death of Irving G. Thalberg, leaving Mayer to wear two hats at the
studio. A titanic responsibility, Mayer willingly took it on, and, in fact,
managed to make a great success of it throughout the war years – installing a
producer-heavy system (affectionately nicknamed as Mayer’s college of
cardinals), with men slavishly devoted to seeing his vision of the studio’s
product through. So long as profits remained at an all-time high, Mayer was
left to his own accord by the New York boys and allowed to manage things his
own way. Mayer loved this. But then, Mayer did the unthinkable. He thwarted a
takeover bid from 2oth Century-Fox to buy up his beloved thiefdom lock, stock
and camera – a deal Nicholas Schenck had practically guaranteed. Only Mayer
called in his markers first, and, from some very old friends in very high
places. Schenck never forgave Mayer for this, and, when Mayer finally had had
quite enough of Schary’s liberal politics by 1950, seizing upon the opportunity
to lay down his own ultimatum, Schenck simply told Mayer to pack up and get
out.
At first, this
epic change in management did not appear to impact MGM’s product one iota. Although
contemptuous of Metro’s star system and ‘glamour treatment’ above substance,
Schary did allow the studio to continue making precisely the sorts of pictures
Mayer would have preferred in the grand ole days of the Thalberg era; glossy, frothy
escapism with more than a touch of class. In tandem with this slate of projects
– most of them pre-approved before Mayer was ousted from power – Schary sought
to create a more personal imprint, green-lighting more modestly budgeted
pictures that were ‘message’ themed, rather than pure entertainment. So, to
find An American in Paris among the
treasure trove of golden opportunities for box office pay dirt in 1951 was in
keeping, if not with Schary’s plans for the future, then with Schary’s acquiescence
to, on occasion, simply step aside and allow the creatives their girth to
explore projects he otherwise would not have promoted himself. Indeed, after
being shown the elaborate plans for An
American in Paris’ monumental and daring ballet, with Minnelli, Freed and
Kelly bounding around the office, showing off Irene Shariff’s costume designs, making
their pitch for the necessary funds to complete it, Schary finally threw up his
hands in defeat, adding, “Fellas, I don’t
understand a word about it. But it looks good and I know you’ll give it class.
So, go ahead and do it.”
I think like so
many things that happen in life, as in art, we fail to see the greatness in
them until after the era to have given them life with such a mind-boggling
display of artistry is long retired and, regrettably, certain never again to reappear.
In Hollywood, this flourish of genius was to burn brightly, but cool even more
quickly after the 1950’s. The picture industry before 1950 was a heady
conglomeration of willful moguls, stubborn artists, hot-headed creatives, and ostentatious
daydreamers, all roiling together in a vast creative soup, from whose chaos there
frequently emerged as much finer art as proof, the movies had evolved into the
greatest art form of the 20th century. Since 1951, Hollywood itself has
been so irrevocably altered by the demise of this ancient flowering, it bears
no earthly resemblance to that starlit, and largely fictionalized mecca of
yore. So, perhaps, no other Best Picture Academy Award winner from the decade
exemplifies so completely that ‘other’ world and never-never-land that was
Hollywood itself, teetering on the brink of extinction, as An American in Paris. It is the spirit of the piece that is warmly
recalled most often today; the exuberance of watching Gene Kelly at the peak of
his powers, passing in and out of the penultimate ballet’s water-colored and oil-based
homages bathed in the lurid hues of vintage Technicolor – a celebration of all
the great impressionist painters, without whose iconography even the elegant
streets of Paris herself would not seem quite so romantic or lovely at a
glance. As nothing except the movie’s brief prologue was actually shot in
France, we implicitly accept MGM’s backlot reconstitution of Paris as fact – or
rather Paris imprimatur, as it ought to have been, and must be, if and when we
are ever fortunate enough to go and experience the city of light for ourselves.
Unlike some of
Gene Kelly’s later movies, catering almost exclusively to the star’s every whim
as a showcase for his talents above all else, An American in Paris remains a truly collaborative effort and an
ensemble piece; Kelly’s extraordinary verve for the dance, married to Minnelli’s
matchless style and Freed’s trusting faith to bestow upon the picture every
luxury and asset the studio could afford, but without micromanaging any of it
from the sidelines. Freed’s impeccable gift was, and will likely always remain,
his ability to cull together precisely the lithe and lyrical talents necessary
to put on a good show. Time and again, Freed excelled at maturing the Hollywood
musical, practically from the inception of sound, right on through to the
demise of its golden period. And Freed was not shy about offering praise for
the efforts being put forth. Having pre-screened the ballet in the darkened
comfort of an MGM projection room, Freed predicted the picture’s success,
immediately sending a telegram to Minnelli and Kelly, in part reading, “Powell and Pressburger can’t shine your
shoes…red, white or blue” (a nod to that British team responsible for The Red Shoes, 1948).
Cast opposite
Kelly, as the enigmatic Lise Bouvier, was a young Parisian girl making her
movie debut. Leslie Caron had caught Kelly’s eye as ‘the cat girl’ in Roland Petit’s Ballet des Champs Elysées. Caron,
a classically trained ballerina, was a last-minute replacement for Cyd Charisse,
who became pregnant shortly before production got underway. Interestingly, she
wanted nothing to do with the movies in general and this one in particular. It was Leslie’s mama – an avid filmgoer – who encouraged
her daughter to reconsider. And even if
the dream was not Caron’s – this dream, decidedly, would prove big enough for
two. Also, Caron suited Kelly’s desire to have – if not Paris – then certainly,
a faint whiff for its authenticity on the screen in the embodiment of one of
its more wistful shushu. Problem: Caron spoke not a word of English. Given a
crash course in dialogue, and, the full glamour treatment a la MGM and
Orry-Kelly’s gorgeous costumes, Caron emerged as a fresh new face. If it took a
lot to whip Caron into shape for the part – outside of the dances – the efforts
were worth it. Decades later, Caron would admit to knowing absolutely nothing
about the movie biz, hitting her marks, or even arriving to the set on time;
then, taking direction at face value, breezing through the dramatic/comedic
bits in Alan Jay Lerner’s screenplay practically on autopilot. And although
slightly embarrassed when she finally saw her performance up on the screen,
Caron’s joie de vivre for the work itself is infectious throughout An American in Paris. Certainly, no one
could fault Caron’s dancing – her limbs so pliable, her pas deux with a chair,
to Gershwin’s ‘Embraceable You’, was cause
enough for the Breen Office to find it ‘too suggestive’. “It was a chair, for God’s sake!” Caron later waxed with subtle joy,
“What can you do to a chair?!?”
Hired on to play
Adam Cook, the world’s oldest child protegee, concert pianist in training, and,
best friend to Kelly’s Jerry Mulligan was superb humorist, Oscar Levant. “What the world needs is more geniuses with
humility,” Levant used to say with a Cheshire grin, adding, “…there are so few of us left.” Oscar
Levant was a genius in his own right and a thoroughly superb raconteur. Alas,
he also suffered from absurd bouts of hypochondria that intermittently delayed
production. Nevertheless, throughout the late 1940’s and early 50’s, Levant
appeared in a slew of classic hit movies, both at MGM and Warner Bros., often
playing to his mental acuity for discovering new diseases he did not have. Levant’s
real wife, June, had long since become inured to his medical emergencies. Hence,
when he telephoned her to say he had checked himself into the hospital yet
again, she coolly replied, ‘Gesundheit!’
If, as Levant once quipped, that he only made jokes when he felt insecure, then
arguably, it was this crippling anxiety that contributed to his need to be chronically
validated. This proved exhausting to many. But Kelly and Minnelli weathered Levant’s
rough patches in stride, knowing that whenever they did occur, the delays were
worth it in the end. And indeed, one of Levant’s finest moments on film occurs
in An American in Paris, performing the
third movement from Concerto in ‘F’ for
Piano and Orchestra – appearing, through some masterful trickery and double
exposure, not only to be conducting the MGM studio orchestra, but also playing
all of its instruments, with an obvious showcase for his lightning-fingered
agility on the piano.
An American in Paris began life as Arthur Freed’s
homage to the immortal song catalog of George and Ira Gershwin. It would
culminate as an astonishing cornucopia to Freed’s producing prowess; backed by
a decade-long flourish of superb musicals, kick-started into hyper-gear in 1951
and capped off by another multi-Oscar-winning masterpiece at the end of the
fifties, also set in France (for real, this time) - Gigi (1958). Two decades earlier, Freed had come to MGM and quickly
established himself as Louis B. Mayer’s fair-haired impresario. A Tin Pan Alley
song writer, whose renown was forever insured with the penning of Singin’ in
the Rain (among many other hits with Nacio Herb Brown) for Hollywood
Revue (1929), Arthur Freed effortlessly segued into the producer’s chair,
bringing great personal integrity and chic good taste in all things to the big
screen. His uncanny ability to produce hit after musical hit made him a beloved
of Mayer’s. In retrospect, it is not overstating the fact that almost
single-handedly, Freed ushered in the Hollywood musical’s golden age. And while
Metro could boast the finest orchestrators, stars, song writers and the like –
virtually everything needed to make a big-budgeted frothy/glossy musical – by war’s
end, audience’s tastes had shifted – enough for Freed to be concerned his
particular brand of escapism was on the wane. But in 1951, Freed still had
nothing to fear. While Dore Schary did
not share in Mayer’s zeal for movie musicals, particularly as post-war production
costs were skyrocketing and musicals then – as now – are the costliest movies
to produce – Schary could nevertheless recognize MGM’s reputation had been largely
built on achieving a certain style in musicals, even if they were increasingly
a gamble at the box office.
Our story
concerns American painter, Jerry Mulligan. An ex-G.I., Jerry is a starving
artist, enjoying his relative enmity in Montmartre – the heart of the Bohemian world,
rife for artistic expression…that is, until wealthy playgirl, Milo Roberts (the
transcendent and talented Nina Foch) takes a serious interest in Jerry’s art. Or
is it just Jerry that Milo is after? Sticking
to his male initiative and pride, Jerry is not so easily fooled. He also does
not fancy himself a boy toy for this idle rich girl. Although Jerry is not a
fortune hunter, he is savvy enough to recognize what getting involved with Milo
could do for his career and social standing. Even so, Jerry becomes almost
instantly smitten with a young Parisian gamin, Lise Bouvier after a chance
meeting inside one of Paris’ smoky jazz/dance clubs. Meanwhile, Jerry’s best
friend, pianist, Adam Cook advises Jerry against romance. Art is important,
Adam reasons. Women are just a diversion. The wrinkle: Adam soon discovers Lise
is engaged to marry another of his good friends, Henri Burell (George Guetary)
– a great star at the Follies Bergeres. Although Lise desperately loves Jerry,
she feels a sense of duty toward Henri as he and his family raised her during
the war after her own parents were killed by the Nazis. So, how long can Lise
deny her heart?
At first,
resisting Jerry outright – indeed, finding him a genuine nuisance – Jerry’s
bright and cheery outlook gradually wears down Lise’s resolve. Worse for Lise,
she begins to harbor real affections for him. Yes – their love is here to stay.
For some time thereafter, Lise and Jerry manage to keep Henri in the dark about
their romance. When Lise informs Jerry, she will marry Henri and accompany him
on his grand American tour of the nightclub circuit, this romantic pas deux
reaches its heart-sore impasse. Jerry throws himself into his work, amassing a
catalog of minor masterpieces to present at an art exhibition Milo’s affluence
and personal connections have already arranged on his behalf. Becoming slightly
jaded in the process, Jerry endeavors to romance Milo. His change is, at first,
most welcomed as Milo has been after him from the start. To seal the deal, as
it were, Jerry hires costumes for he and Milo to attend an insanely hedonistic ‘artist’s
ball’ that Milo describes as Mardi Gras and New Year’s Eve all rolled into one.
The couple carouse and dance the night away. But somewhere in this sea of writhing
flesh are Adam, Lise and Henri. Adam casually pretends not to know Milo is Jerry’s
benefactress, berating the clingy dame who thinks she can land Jerry simply by
plying him with opportunities to showcase his art. When Milo coolly informs
Adam that she is Jerry’s benefactress, he glibly replies, “I know you are.”
Meanwhile, Jerry
bumps into Lise and Henri. Feigning happiness at the news of their engagement,
Jerry rushes off in search of Milo. But it’s no good. Having lost the only woman
he truly loves, Jerry confides in Milo he has brought her to the ball under a
false pretext. She recognizes Lise from the jazz club and elects to remove
herself from the equation by going home alone. As the revelers continue to
party, Jerry makes his way to a balcony overlooking Paris at night – catching a
brief glimpse of Lise and Henri leaving together in a taxi. In his mind, Jerry
fantasizes a Paris derived from the great impressionist painters he has always
admired, seeing himself at the center of each of their painterly vignettes. We
follow Jerry from his first ‘cute meet’ with Lise in the Bois de Boulogne.
Again, he spies her in the flower market, chasing after her through the Place
de Concorde’s smoky fountain, indulging in a Toulouse-Lautrec inspired homage
to Chocolat dansant, and, finding favor at the Paris Opera
House, only to ultimately lose her again in the glorious chaos of Paris itself.
Leaving behind a single red rose that Jerry takes close to his bosom, moments
before this dreamlike backdrop is drained of all its inspiration and color, the
sequence dissolves into a bittersweet retreat into reality. The sound of a car
horn in the distance alerts Jerry to Lise’s return. Apparently, Lise has told
Henri everything. As the taxi pulls away, Lise and Jerry are reunited on the
steps facing a magically twinkling faux recreation of Paris’ cityscape at night.
An American in Paris became the first movie musical to
take home the coveted Best Picture Oscar since MGM’s own The Great Ziegfeld (1936); and, in retrospect, the reasons are
self-evident to anyone with eyes. The picture is imbued with a spellbinding
myriad of classic performances and moments that instantly become ingrained in
our collective memory as a beloved part of our shared movie-going experience. Alan
Jay Lerner’s screenplay is brilliantly conceived – stylish, sure-footed and
dramatic with wonderful bits of glib humor blended into this lively souffle.
The Gershwin’s back catalog is among the finest re-purposed for any musical; indelible
hits as Embraceable You, S’wonderful, I Got
Rhythm, I’ll Build A Stairway to Paradise, and, of course, the immortal American in Paris Ballet. Reportedly,
when Dean of American music, Irving Berlin learned of Arthur Freed, Kelly and
Minnelli intention to end their story with a 20-minute ballet and no dialogue
afterward, he nervously commented, “Well…I
suppose you fellas know what you’re doing.” Indeed, they did. Viewing An American in Paris today, one remains
captivated by its flawless execution; its brilliant choreography, energetic
milieu of merriment and songs, and, last but certainly not least of all, its
intoxicating blend of personalities in synergistic compliment to one another. As
fresh and vital as the day it was made, few movie musicals before it – and far
too few since – have held up so spectacularly over the years. An American in Paris is timeless!
Warner Home
Video’s Blu-Ray features the same elements as their 2-disc Ultra Resolution DVD
release. Indeed, Warner’s debut of the
hi-def master came only months after the DVD and sports a refined image that
magnificently restores the rich hues of vintage Technicolor with sparkle and
crisp brilliance. Color fidelity is
utterly impressive. Reds are blood red. Whites are stark, though never
blooming. The meticulous re-alignment of 3-strip elements has produced an image
with so much fine detail and clarity, one marvels to recall that An American In Paris is nearly 70 years
old! If only this restoration process could somehow become more streamlined and
economical, enough to be employed on all of the other Technicolor back catalog
in the Warner archives in desperate need of such attention and repair. The DTS
audio has been restored and remastered in 5.1. Regrettably, nothing can mask
the somewhat strident nature of its vintage recording – thoroughly lacking in
bass tonality. Extras include a rather lackluster documentary (actually a
featurette) on the making of the film with interviews from Nina Foch and Leslie
Caron, as well as vintage stuff from Minnelli and other members from both the
cast and crew. Warner has also seen fit to re-release Gene Kelly: Anatomy of a Dancer – an altogether fitting tribute to
Kelly’s talents. Finally, this Blu-ray contains outtakes and one surviving clip
of George Guetary singing the poignant and melodic ‘Love Walked In’ – the number unceremoniously dropped from the
release print for time considerations. There is also some unrelated short
subjects and a theatrical trailer. Bottom line: An American in Paris on Blu-ray is ‘S’wonderful!’ and ‘S’marvelous!’
Bottom line: very highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
5
EXTRAS
4
Comments