GIGI: Blu-ray (MGM, 1958) Warner Home Video
BEST PICTURE -
1958
When we see a
movie like Vincente Minnelli’s Gigi (1958),
representing the pinnacle of what Hollywood was all about in the old days; a
film that stands head and shoulders above and apart in terms of quality, and,
from a studio – MGM – virtually synonymous with the last word in refinement, as
a testament – to its creative ensemble and that era in film-making ostensibly
departed forever, we cannot help but to be simultaneously gladdened and
saddened by the experience; warmed through to the heart by its subtleties and
spellbinding artistry on virtually every level, yet, undeniably, brought to the
dewy-eyed realization just how much has been lost in the transition since and
arguably, what movies have become today; in short, quite incapable of holding
the proverbial candle to these traditions, seemingly so effortlessly put forth.
Gigi remains a seminal masterwork
from the Arthur Freed Unit at Metro; a runaway smash and recipient of an
unprecedented 9 Academy Awards. It must have been bittersweet for Freed then,
to acknowledge the era he had, for all intent and purposes, ushered into being
back in the mid-thirties, and, had helped nurture through three enduring
decades of peerless contributions to the musical genre had somehow, quite
suddenly, come to its glittering end. For MGM and the rest of Hollywood there
would be tough times ahead. And Freed, afterward, was quite unable to make a go
of it outside the protection of those fabled studio walls and backlot. But if
the end had to come, then at least with Gigi,
it left on a high note and in high-fashion, a sparkling vintage of a very rare
champagne cocktail, fairly dripping with MGM’s in-house style and Gallic suave
sophistication.
These
trademarks, inherent in virtually all – or at least, a good many – of Metro’s
memorable musicals, in retrospect and proportionately proved the film musical’s
epitaph. Freed, who had cultivated and mined the musical genre for all its
worth, was concurrently gearing up and winding down with Gigi; incontrovertibly, his last great hurrah. Electing to premiere
the picture with an exclusive ‘black tie’ engagement at the Shubert on Broadway
– a marketing ploy to effectively legitimize its’ pedigree – reserved
engagements for Gigi sold out for
months in advance; a minor coup to rival the popularity of New York’s
celebrated stage version of My Fair Lady
(also co-written by Frederic Loewe and Alan Jay Lerner). Still, pulling off a
project as big and lavish as this was hardly a ‘joy galore’ for Vincente Minnelli.
Maurice Chevalier, who on-screen epitomized the sprightly bon vivant, behind
the scenes was deadly serious and slightly morose; his costar, Louis Jourdan,
more finicky than pleasant, leaving the coquettish Leslie Caron to scratch her
head. Caron was slightly incensed to discover her thin vocals would be dubbed
by studio contract singer, Betty Wand without her consent. Confronting Arthur
Freed on this matter, Caron was left to stew for a good ten minutes before,
overcome with impatience, she was politely informed by Freed’s secretary,
Margie, that the old master had quietly gone home for the day.
Freed’s driving
ambition to make Gigi had a lot to
do with the overwhelming success of the stage version of My Fair Lady. Having lost the bidding war to produce that show as a
movie musical, Freed did the next best thing; hiring the ‘fair lady’s’ team of Lerner and Loewe to write a new score for his
picture. While Lerner was immediately drawn to the project, Loewe (who could be
counted upon to always prefer play to work) reluctantly signed on only after it
was plainly understood he was getting a free trip to Paris out of the deal.
Time has generally been unkind to Lerner and Loewe’s critical reputations. In
the wake of Rodgers and Hammerstein, they simply have been allowed to fade into
minor obscurity. But lest we forget, here is the team responsible for such
stage smash hits as Brigadoon, Paint Your Wagon and Camelot. My Fair Lady’s Broadway run dwarfed all previous records for ticket
sales set by R&H’s Oklahoma!, South Pacific and The King & I. For Gigi, the team turned their
song-writing prowess inside out, composing a roster of breezy pop tunes with
chart-topping brilliance. There is not a sour note or forgettable lyric among
them; Gigi’s soundtrack becoming a
rare best-selling album. The narrative parallels in Gigi’s Pygmalion-inspired transformation are an obvious riff on My
Fair Lady, hardly opaque and causing noted film critic, Bosley Crowther to
comment “There won't be much point in
anybody trying to produce a film of My
Fair Lady, because Arthur Freed has virtually done it with Gigi.” Glowing praise, indeed, for
a project once unceremoniously dubbed, ‘Eliza
Goes to Paris.’ The day after Gigi’s triumphant premiere, MGM’s
switchboard operators were instructed to answer their telephones ‘Good morning,
“M-Gigi-M.”
In retrospect, Gigi marks the apex in Arthur Freed’s
ability to pull off such seamless musical entertainments. Freed’s great gift to
the movie musical had always been his ability to assemble exactly the right
people for each and every project he undertook. In his prime, Freed’s authority
was law around the backlot. But by 1958, even he could see those halcyon days
were fast coming to an end. Gigi therefore
put a period to the era for Freed, simultaneously representing both his very
best and last truly great effort. Vincente Minnelli’s tireless direction and
perfectionism worked overtime to create an irrefutable work of art, mostly
beyond reproach. The film is, undeniably blessed to have Maurice Chevalier as
its éminence grise. In the rarely seen 1951 French film, the role of Honoré
Lachaille had been little more than a wily middle-age philanderer, goading his
grandson, Gaston to partake of the pleasures of Paris. Chevalier’s Honoré is a
far more enriching presence; a gateway into these 18th century mores and
mannerisms, book-ending and anchoring the story in its timeless regality.
Chevalier was, alas, persona non grata in Hollywood, having entertained the
Vichy government during the war and therefore regarded as something of a
traitor. Minnelli, however, was a great admirer as was Freed, who went to bat
to secure Chevalier’s participation.
More problematic
for Freed on every level was Hollywood’s governing board of censorship. Gigi
is, after all, the story of two retired courtesans, sufficiently aged and past
their prime, undertaking to train an awkward niece in the stratagems of
prostitution. French author, Colette never considered Gigi one of her major works. The novel had, in fact, been written
under great duress at the height of the German occupation while Colette’s own
husband, of Jewish extraction was in hiding. Throughout most of the 1950’s,
Freed had repeatedly tried to convince the censors there was more merit to the
story than perhaps first met the ‘naked’ eye. Worn down by Freed’s constant
prodding, and his sincere promise to adapt the novel tastefully, with more than
a modicum of morality attached, the project was ultimately green lit. Although MGM and Freed would continue to
produce musicals after Gigi, none
ranked of its caliber. In hindsight, it remains a small wonder the picture was
made at all, much less on such an opulent scale. By 1958, Metro was in a state
of imploding chaos; its grand domain of sound stages and sprawling backlot
under siege by skyrocketing costs and dwindling profits – thanks to the
intrusion of television and the Government Consent Decrees, forcing a
divestiture of the Loewe’s Incorporated theater chain and its venerable star
system. Despite this brewing storm, MGM broke a time-honored precedence for Gigi, allowing Freed and Minnelli to
shoot the picture in mid-August on location in Paris. Minnelli had, in fact,
always regretted An American in Paris (1951)
had not been afforded this luxury. But now, he would rectify the oversight with
a resplendent TripTik through the city’s streets and byways; lapping up the
local color and scenery as only an American tourist could in expansive
Cinemascope and MetroColor. The results
would prove as intoxicating as a whirl around the dance floor at Maxim’s. But
capturing the spirit of Colette’s novel was, regrettably, more a work-a-day
chore than a pleasure for Minnelli.
Descending on
Paris during its citywide August shut down was a minor blessing for Minnelli,
as it easily gained the stock company the necessary permits to take over and
populate the Bois-de-Boulogne with 18th century courtiers and carriages in
place of the usual foot traffic and automobiles. A personal connection to
Arthur Freed, managed to secure the Palais de Glace and Maxim’s, the latter a
once-in-a-lifetime enduring piece of Parisian iconography, having long
transcended its status as mere restaurant to become an orangery for the
internationally rich and powerful. The name alone is synonymous with uniquely
aristocratic glamour, although Minnelli was to quickly discover a minor
shortcoming; its mirrored walls and ceiling limiting his movement, lest his own
reflection and that of his omnipotent camera be projected back into his lens.
To offset this challenge, Minnelli gained permission from the owners to stencil
and artificially marble a few of its mirrors, Minnelli horrified when his boom
accidentally shattered one of the ceiling mirrors. But Minnelli was comforted
when a waiter casually explained that exploding champagne corks were apt to
pose a similar problem almost nightly when the club was in operation.
Shooting in
Paris ought to have brought Minnelli his greatest satisfaction as a film maker,
except the summer of 1958 proved to be the hottest on record. With his artificial
foliage wilting, extras fainting – and smelling – the ice at the Palais de
Glace melting, and Metro’s patience back at Culver City dwindling, Minnelli
labored at a feverish pace to ensure Gigi
had at least the look – if not the reality – of a cool elegance. Even so,
the production fell disastrously behind schedule; MGM cancelling the shoot
before Minnelli had the opportunity to complete certain key sequences in the
film. These would have to be shot on sound stages back at Culver City instead;
populated by a veritable art auction house of props and scenery pilfered from
Irving Thalberg’s 1938 magnum opus, Marie
Antoinette. Even Antoinette’s throne room set,
featured in countless MGM films from Du
Barry Was A Lady (1943) to High
Society (1956) makes yet another brief appearance during Gigi’s masked ball. Depending on one’s
point of view, the one unforgivable flub remains the exquisite testimonial to
old love, ‘I Remember It Well’ –
staged with costars, Hermione Gingold and Maurice Chevalier reminiscing against
an obviously painted skyline, yet, with an artificially induced ‘sunset’
achieved via dimming yellow/orange lights; the effect, uncanny, though in no
conceivable way capably mimicking the glistening shoreline at Trouville.
You can get away
with a lot in a Hollywood musical, and Gigi’s
artifice did not seem to bother the critics or audiences for that matter,
although today it remains quite easy to spot the Parisian footage from those
scenes recreated back at MGM. After a
main title sequence featuring caricatures based on the artwork of famed French
artist, Sem (a.k.a. Georges Goursat 1863–1934), Minnelli settles into a
delicious moving tableau of courtiers and carriages traversing up and down the
Bois-de-Boulogne; well-mannered mannequins preening and parading with stilted
chic. At present, we are introduced to Honoré Lachaille; an epicurean man about
town, unapologetic in his admiring youth from afar. “Each time I see a little girl of five, or six or seven…” Lachaille
reminisces, “I can’t resist the joyous
urge to smile and say thank heaven…” In more recent times, this innocent
ode to precocious young girls who will one day send men ‘crashing through the
ceiling’ with their flashing eyes, has taken on pedophiliac undertones. Yet,
herein, it is important to recall two social climates; the one in which such
indigestible frothy lyrics were written – the 1950’s – but also, the tone and
mood set for the period being evoked within the context of the story itself –
the late 1800’s.
Honoré offers us
a glimpse of Gigi, playing tag ball in her little Scotch dress with a gaggle of
school girlfriends, utterly oblivious to his polite observations as she nearly
trips over him on her way home, momentarily dashing her school books to pieces
on the dusty ground before scurrying to the upstairs’ apartment she shares with
her grandmother, Madame Alvarez (Hermione Gingold) and her own mother (whom we
never see, but chronically hear rehearsing fractured scales in an adjoining
atelier; too self-absorbed in her own career to take an active interest in
Gigi’s upbringing). It’s Tuesday, and
Gigi must submit to lessons of a very different kind inside her Aunt Alicia’s
(Isobel Jeans) fashionable apartment. In her day, Alicia was a much sought-after
courtesan; the Duke of Milan and the Maharaja among her many weathly suitors.
Alicia is determined to educate Gigi in the social etiquettes of a great lady.
Not that she has even the slightest notion on how to behave as one just yet. As
example, when told by Alicia she must learn how to choose a cigar, Gigi’s first
reaction is “Oh, but Aunt, I don’t smoke
cigars.” Asked what makes a great
lover, Gigi bewilderingly replies, “cigars
and jewelry?”
Alicia’s butler,
Charles (Edwin Jerome) is sympathetic to the young girl’s plight. She has,
after all, not yet figured out what all these lessons are leading up to. Nor
does Gigi seem particularly invested in this mis-education of her spare time,
opening declaring “I don’t understand the
Parisians!” In the meantime, Gaston Lachaille has narrowly averted another
paralyzing embassy tea, leaving Honoré to make his apologies while he skulks
off to Alvarez’s apartment for an afternoon cup of chamomile and diverting game
of cards with Gigi, whom he readily regards as an infantile brat who cheats.
Still, it is Gigi’s unmitigated spunk that excites Gaston. She is a fresh face
with wild ideas, uninhibited by the guile exploited by others of her sex inside
the cultured salons across the city for Gaston’s benefit. These feminine wiles
Gaston readily finds ‘a bore’. Even so, his latest fling is Liane d'Exelmans
(Eva Gabor), a superficial fashion plate who has fashioned another grand amour
right under Gaston’s nose with Sandomir (Jacques Bergerac), her skating
instructor. Tailing Liane to a cozy
little inn at Honfleur, Gaston and Honoré discover her involved in some heavy
petting with Sandomir. “She never kissed
me like that,” Gaston admits. “How is
she kissing him?” Honoré inquires. “Wholeheartedly!”
Gaston confides. “Of course,” Honoré concludes, “What did you expect? You’re legitimate. He’s forbidden fruit!”
Exposing the
affair and paying off Sandomir, Liane attempts suicide with an insufficient
amount of poison. The scandal leaves Gaston unsettled. But Honoré concludes
there is only one thing to do; be gay, debonair and charming; also, to be seen
going out with an uninterrupted cortege of eligible maidens. To satisfy his
uncle’s declaration, Gaston commits himself to a series of fruitless trysts he
finds as dull as paint. Gigi follows his exploits in the local tabloids.
Eventually, the great man makes his way back to Alvarez’s apartment for another
game of cards, admitting to the old matron and her granddaughter of his weekend
plans, including a trip to Trouville. Gigi strikes a bargain; if she wins
Gaston will take them all to Trouville – a wager he willingly accepts and is
doomed to lose since Gigi is an expert con and easily defeats him.
At Trouville,
Alvarez takes notice of her old flame. Honoré pursues the invitations of a
young courtesan. Unable to consummate this affair under Alvarez’s watchful eye,
he instead reunites with Alvarez on the balcony of a hotel overlooking the
seashore. She explains the purpose of her weekend respite to him and he
confesses an old wound to her; that he cheated on her many years before with a
soprano because he was actually, desperately in love with her, but not quite
certain what to do about it. “Thank you,
Honoré,” Alvarez admits, “That is the
most endearing excuse for infidelity I have ever heard.” The two reminisce
about their once vibrant passion for one another. The song, ‘I Remember It Well’ is one of Gigi’s most illuminating bright spots,
a poignant ode to fate’s misaligned chances for happiness,
half-spoken/half-sung. The number was shot right in the middle of Chevalier’s
71st birthday, Minnelli and company pausing to mark the occasion with a cake
and warm-hearted felicitations. Hence, when Chevalier’s line in Lerner and
Loewe’s song read, “Am I getting old?”
to which Hermione Gingold, placing a hand gingerly upon Chevalier’s own,
declared, “Oh no…not you” the moment
took on an unanticipated resonance that had everyone, including Chevalier,
tearing up.
Returning from
Trouville, Alicia plants the idea in her sister’s head Gaston has suddenly
become infatuated with Gigi; quite possibly, as his next conquest. Setting
aside Gigi’s obvious, if as yet, innocent attraction to Gaston, Alicia and
Alvarez aggressively endeavor to remake the waif into exactly the sort of
cultured and well-bred young lady Gaston finds deadly dull. Their tutelage
yields predictable results. But these create an unexpected friction in Gaston’s
weekly visits to Alvarez’s apartment. At some point, Alvarez explains she will
only entrust Gigi’s ‘good name’ to the man who will take charge and answer for
her future. Shocked by the insinuation the reputation preceding him can only
taint Gigi’s honor, Gaston storms off in a huff, returning a few hours later
with a proposal – not of marriage – but of monetary gain for all concerned; to
look after Gigi and to spoil her “as no
woman has ever been spoiled before”. “It’s alright,” Alicia concurs, “But it’s a little vague.” The sisters are further enlightened to
Gaston’s prospects; a suitable house on the Avenue Dubois, servants and a car,
plus an expense account to satisfy everyone – everyone, except Gigi.
Here, indeed, is
a young girl of quality – and so very frightened to throw caution to the wind
to satisfy anyone else’s desires except her own. She puts her cards on the
table where Gaston is concerned, explaining when he moves on, as inevitably he
will, she has nowhere to go but into another gentleman’s bed. Her frankness is
upsetting to him – frustrating too, as he storms off for a second time to
confront Honoré with his difficulties in wooing this girl of his heart. Honoré speculates
“youth can really do a fellow in” and
extols the virtues of being sufficiently aged, grateful to have passed this
awkward time when such trivialities seem so paramount and rife for concern.
Summoning Gaston to her apartment a second time, Gigi poignantly declares, “Oh Gaston, I’d rather be miserable with you
than without you.” However, a planned rendezvous at Maxim’s goes hopeless
awry when Gigi plies the tools of her trade in public. She is every bit the
enterprising courtesan Alvarez and Alicia have trained her to be and she
disgusts Gaston with her proficiency as a paid escort. Returning her in tears
to Alvarez’s salon, Gaston marches off in the direction of…well…he isn’t quite
certain, and, after the briefest of contemplations, suddenly realizes their
relationship cannot endure the same as before. Returning to the apartment,
Gaston declares, “Madam, give me the
infinite joy of bestowing on me Gigi’s hand in marriage.” All struggles
abated, the couple is fated to be mated. We return to the Bois-de-Boulogne,
Gigi, superbly turned out as a married of stature and quality with Gaston on
her arm; the pair, stepping into a horse-drawn carriage as Honoré bids the
couple a fond goodbye with a reprise of ‘Thank
Heaven for Little Girls’.
In hindsight, Gigi is every bit about the growth of
its male protagonist as it proves a walking illustration of a young lady’s
debut into culture and its inevitable rumors and vices. Gaston’s life has been
exemplary thus far – sort of – yet left unsatisfied by female diversions. He is
unable to bring himself to marriage, not entirely because no eligible prospects
exist, but moreover, as none satisfy his need for fresh new adventures along
the road of life. When he meets Gigi, he has no worldly intentions to make her
his lover. Nor is he particularly appreciative of the Pygmalion-esque
transformation achieved by Gigi’s grandmother and Aunt. Ultimately, Gaston
comes to the realization Gigi is the only girl for him, not because she has
achieved a level of sophistication to rival his own, but rather, as she remains
unapologetically clear-eyed and pure of heart. At one point she pleads with
Gaston for their ‘happy little’ lives
to remain intact; he, periodically coming to the house with chocolates, the two
engaging in card games and playful banter unencumbered by the prospects of a
sexual liaison or marriage. “Wouldn’t
that be a lovely little life?” she asks. And, of course, from a child’s
perspective, it would, except that Gaston now confesses his affections for the
girl have ripened beyond mere friendship; an unexpected turn of events for this
bored playboy. Interestingly, Louis Jourdan was uncomfortable with the idea of
doing a musical until Lerner assured him the score would neither tax nor
embarrass his shortcomings; encouraging Jourdan to speak/sing the lyrics on
pitch the way Rex Harrison had done for Prof. Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady. Listening to Jourdan’s
vocals today, one sincerely wonders what all the fuss was about. While it is
true enough, he could never rival a great baritone or operatic superstar,
Jourdan is more than capable of warbling the title tune with infinite amounts
of Gallic charm. There is an unexpected robustness to his intonations, knowing
exactly when to carry and hold a few notes at a time, and when to break off
into a sort of lyrical contemplation of practically spoken cues.
At the end of
their grand sojourn in Paris, Vincente Minnelli and Arthur Freed could breathe
a great and rewarding sigh of relief. Although an early preview had revealed
certain shortcomings in Margaret Booth’s heavy-handed editing of the picture,
Minnelli’s insistence on a second edit done by Adrienne Fazan, also Freed’s
urging for certain scenes be entirely re-shot by George Sidney after Minnelli
had already departed on another project, revealed the inherent perfectionism
wrought under this communal labor of love. Viewed today, Gigi continues to emanate a warm afterglow and for good reason. The
stars are all at the top of their game, exuding a magical chemistry, almost as
un-quantifiable as that ‘elusive flicker of blue’ Aunt Alicia tells Gigi only
the rarest emerald gemstones possess. Seemingly, Minnelli had spent a lifetime
achieving this sumptuous and flavorful palette, typified in Joseph Ruttenberg’s
positively gorgeous cinematography. And Lerner and Loewe’s score is instantly
recognizable: the celebratory ‘The Night
They Invented Champagne’, comedic ‘It’s
a Bore’, melodic ‘Say a Prayer for Me
Tonight’ and three grand odes of fresh insight into affairs of the heart; ‘I’m Glad I’m Not Young Anymore’, ‘I
Remember It Well’ and ‘Thank Heaven
for Little Girls’ capping off this bubbly elixir of jollity. The proof is
in the years since the movie’s debut. We continue to say ‘Thank heaven’ - and
MGM - for Gigi!
Warner Home
Video’s Blu-Ray is a few years old. Despite some eye-popping colors, it is
probably in need of another hi-def scan. Gigi
was photographed in Metrocolor, its prints by Technicolor. We get vibrancy
herein that, at times, looks almost too rich to the point of appearing slightly
garish. Flesh tones, in particular, are either a strange pumpkin orange or wan
pink hue. No one can fault Warner’s mastering efforts as such; but the color is
queerly overpowering at times, while exhibiting slight sporadic fading.
Overall, these shortcomings will likely go unnoticed by the casual viewer. But
they are present and accounted for nonetheless. Film grain is naturally
reproduced and contrast looks fairly consistent and solid. The image is
startlingly razor-sharp, an impressive amount of fine detail in skin, hair,
fabrics and background information – everything we’ve come to expect from
1080p. Warner’s ultra-hi-res restoration has yielded magnificent results; more
so in the way Gigi sounds, with
Lerner and Loewe’s score filling the natural timber of one’s 5.1 surround
channels with the glorious orchestrations of André Previn and Conrad Salinger.
We’re a little light on extras; all of them ported over from Warner’s 2-disc
DVD. We get the 1951 French film of Gigi,
plus an exclusive ‘making of’ documentary;
a compendium of more recent interviews interspersed with archival footage and
other testimonials. Otherwise, there are a couple of unrelated short subjects
and the film’s theatrical trailer, plus a fantastic audio commentary from
historian, Jeanine Basinger and Leslie Caron.
The ‘French’ Gigi, shot in 1.33:1 and B&W,
exhibits abysmal picture quality, well below par and plagued by white subtitles
that completely disappear into the background of this overly contrasted print,
making the film virtually un-watchable; a disappointment to be sure. I suppose
it is MGM’s award-winning musical version we have all come to see anyway, but
it would have been prudent of Warner to spend just a little extra time and
money cleaning up this ‘origin’ master for comparison and appreciation.
Otherwise, Warner’s Blu-Ray comes highly recommended. Gigi is a rare gem and an obvious ‘must have’!
FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
4
EXTRAS
3
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