FINIAN'S RAINBOW: Blu-ray (Warner Bros., 1967) Warner Archive

It really is a slog to wrap one’s head around the praise director, Francis Ford Coppola received upon the release of Finian's Rainbow (1968); Warner Bros. tightly-budgeted movie musical, based on the lithe and lyrical stagecraft created by E.Y. Harburg and Fred Saidy in 1947. The premise for the story is wafer thin at best, but serviceable to a point; following the exploits of a perennial daydreamer, Finian McLonergan (played with a bit of the blarney stone charm by the ageless Fred Astaire who, alas, on this occasion, was beginning to show his age) and his more level-headed teenage daughter, Sharon (brought supremely to life by the lovely and formidably talented Petula Clark). Aside: what Clark’s career in movie musicals might have been had she the good fortune to have arrived on the scene a decade earlier. I adore Petula Clark. And, in hindsight, she remains a bright spot in this otherwise heavy-handed affair; the other, sheer delight on tap, Tommy Steele’s Og – the leprechaun. The chief problem with Finian’s Rainbow – the musical – is that by the time Hollywood came around to financing its big screen adaptation, the times had decidedly moved on; the play’s racially-charged overtones seeming not only quaint, but decidedly very out of touch with the trajectory of the nation’s Civil Rights Movement. Nevertheless, the picture has the blessing of the stage show’s glorious songs, including the melodic, yet strangely bittersweet, ‘Look to the Rainbow’, the luminous ballad, ‘How Are Things in Glocca Morra?’, and, sublime pas deux, ‘Old Devil Moon.’ Yet, in hindsight, Finian’s Rainbow was a product too much of its own time to make the successful transition into another.

As early as 1948, MGM had expressed an interest in the property – which would have made sense; the studio, then at its musical-making zenith, and with one of their most versatile stars, Mickey Rooney already committed to the project as Og. Alas, Harburg’s asking price of a million, plus his demand to maintain creative control all but killed the deal outright. A sizable hit on Broadway, the reputation of Finian’s Rainbow stretched well beyond America’s shores. Indeed, a German film company petitioned for the rights, as did Distributors Corp. of America – the latter, hoping to translate it into a feature-length animated cartoon in 1954. During this interim, the cast album was endlessly revived, as were several songs from the show, re-purposed by various pop artists, to attain chart-topping success. So, in 1958, Harburg and Saidy once again tried to launch Finian’s Rainbow as a movie project, to be produced independently by them. It was not to be. In 1960, the rights to the play reverted to Marvin Rothenberg, the show’s producer, who planned to have director, Michael Gordon and Debbie Reynolds star in a $2 million extravaganza made at United Artists. Again, nothing. By now, the prospect of ever seeing Finian’s Rainbow on the big screen seemed illusive to downright impossible, thanks to Hollywood’s sudden aversion to ‘fantasy musicals’ and the prevailing winds of McCarthyism to have considered the property ‘subversive’ propaganda.

In 1965, a new player stepped up to the plate: producer, Harold Hecht, whose fledgling indie production house, Hecht-Hill-Lancaster had had several promising pictures made throughout the mid-fifties until the dissolution of his company in 1962. Nevertheless, Hecht remained optimistic about Finian’s future, with Harburg enthusiastically in support of finally getting the movie made. A year later, Hecht was out, selling off his interests to Warner Bros. who hired Joseph Landon to produce, with a cast to be headlined by Fred Astaire. Landon also sought out Tommy Steele – a pop artist whose reputation in his native Britain was on par with America’s biggest recording artists of the day including Sinatra, and Elvis Presley. Ballooning the budget to $4 million, the studio hired Francis Ford Coppola to direct. Although Coppola could hardly be considered a novice – he had contributed screenplays and directed four features prior to this, Finian’s Rainbow would be his first stab at a musical – a genre for which the most delicate expertise was required.  In tandem, the studio secured the services of Petula Clark – another Brit-based recording artist whose fame and success had already crossed the Atlantic.  The stinger for Jack L. Warner, still in command of his beloved studio, and, long after virtually all of the other reigning moguls of his generation had either died out or been unceremoniously deposed from their saintly perches – was that his other ‘personally supervised’ musical - Camelot (1967) was proving an extremely costly venture. As delays on director, Joshua Logan’s set continued to push Camelot’s budget into the red, Warner developed cold feet regarding Finian’s Rainbow. The studio needed to make some money, not add more to their red ink.

The fate of Finian’s Rainbow continued to hang in the balance, but was sealed after Warner heard Petula Clark perform at the famed Coconut Grove inside the Ambassador Hotel. Despite his monumental misgivings about Coppola – the ‘hippie’ in the director’s seat, Warner green-lit Finian’s Rainbow, relying on Clark’s stage presence to carry the load. Indeed, Clark had already marked her movie debut in Britain in the late 1940’s, and thereafter appeared in several movies until her career as a recording artist took off. So, Finian’s Rainbow would mark Clark’s return to picture-making, but also her debut in an American-produced movie. Initially, Warner toyed with the idea of casting Dick Van Dyke as his Finian. Indeed, the actor had made an indelible impression on audiences in the stage and movie versions of Bye-Bye Birdie (1963) and was a beloved main staple on his own TV show. This ran from 1961 to 1966. Alas, chronic delays in Finian’s production schedule convinced Van Dyke to step down from the running, leaving Fred Astaire as the only viable replacement for the plum part. The problem was Astaire had effectively retired from movie musicals eleven years earlier, after his exuberant swan song in Rouben Mamoulian’s Silk Stockings (1957). At age 69, Astaire had begun to show real signs that his best work was indeed behind him now. Nevertheless, Astaire’s cache offset the relatively minimal importance of the part, now given top-billing, and, fleshed out to merit the actor’s participation.

While production designer, Hilyard M. Brown set about transforming 9-acres of Warner back lot into the fictional Rainbow Valley, complete with narrow-gauge railway, and a village to include a schoolhouse, general store, post office, houses, and barns, Coppola sent a second unit across country to capture various wide shots depicting Finian and Sharon’s trek from Ireland to America with stand-ins for Astaire and Petula Clark, photographed in long shot, and, set to Clark’s whimsical interpretation of ‘Look to the Rainbow’. Meanwhile, Coppola got underway, rehearsing his cast. Astaire, was rather horrified to learn he was expected to dance in a real field, complete with cow dung and rabbit holes, as virtually all of his musicals had been photographed on a sound stage. Nevertheless, Coppola had his way here, shooting Astaire’s nimble gavotte in an outdoor setting near Napa Valley. Equally as nervous was Petula Clark, who worried she would not be able to keep up with Astaire’s consummate professionalism. The ice-breaker came early – Astaire, confessing to Clark he was humbled by the crystal clarity and power in her voice.  Unsettling too for Astaire was the fact that his long-time collaborator, Hermes Pan was given the ole heave-ho by Coppola after only roughly half of Astaire’s dances had been choreographed – leaving the master to improvise and go it alone. But most troubling for Coppola was Warner’s expectation that much of Finian’s Rainbow would, in fact, be shot indoors where lighting conditions could be controlled, but adding to a jarring disconnect between the footage already shot outside, and, the artificial turf and backdrops, reassembled on the sound stages.

Finian’s Rainbow begins thus, with the arrival of Finian McLonergan and his daughter, Sharon from Ireland. It seems Finian has fled his native land with a pot of gold stowed in his carpetbag. His destination: Rainbow Valley, a pastoral enclave situated in the fictional state of Missitucky. There, Finian plans to bury his ill-gotten gains under the mistaken belief that, owing to its close proximity to Fort Knox, it will multiply. Too bad, father and daughter have not made their trek to America alone. Indeed, they are being pursued by Og, the leprechaun, who is desperate to recover his stolen crock before he turns human. Complicating matters is Woody Mahoney (Doc Francks), a ne'er-do-well and dreamer, not unlike Finian, who has won Sharon’s heart. Woody’s sister, Susan (Barbara Hancock) is a mute who expresses herself through interpretive dance. We are also introduced to Woody's pal and business partner, Howard (Al Freeman Jr.), a botanist, endeavoring to grow mentholated tobacco. Finally, we meet the pretentious Senator Billboard Rawkins (Keenan Wynn), whose outright bigotry is celebrated. Believing Finian’s claim of a secret stash hidden somewhere in Rainbow Valley, Rawkins plots to seize the land and evict the people.  Disgusted by his racial prejudices, Sharon furiously wishes Rawkins would turn black.  Because she is near the pot of gold, magically endowed to grant three wishes, Rawkins is made into a black man overnight. Rawkins’ dog, trained by him to attack black people, now chases Rawkins into the woods. Owing to his transformation, the Sheriff (Dolph Sweet) and District Attorney (Wright King) threatens to imprison Sharon on charges of witchcraft unless Rawkins is restored to his former self.

Rawkins is met by Og in the woods. But Og, seeing the transformation has done nothing to resolve his bigoted thoughts, instead casts yet another spell on this wayward plantation owner, to render him more tolerant. Meanwhile, the romance between Sharon and Woody has progressed. Given Finian’s blessing to wed, the whole of Rainbow Valley turns out to witness Sharon and Woody’s marriage.  Tragically, the Sheriff returns, along with his deputies and the District Attorney. Sharon is arrested for witchcraft and, along with Woody, temporarily imprisoned in the barn. Finian intervenes, promising Sharon will change Rawkins back to white overnight. To spare his daughter, Finian attempts to recover his pot of gold. Only Susan has already relocated it to another hidden spot under the bridge. Suspecting the girl of something, Og grants Susan the power of speech. Now, she reveals the true hiding place of the gold.  Meanwhile, the District Attorney sets the barn afire with Sharon and Woody still locked inside. Og considers using the pot's final wish to regain his leprechaun status and return to the fairy world. But after Susan’s passionate kiss, he elects to remain human with her and wishes for Rawkins to be white again. Sharon and Woody escape the burning barn unscathed and are wed. Howard's mentholated tobacco experiments are successful, ensuring renewable prosperity for the residents of Rainbow Valley. Optimistically in search of another pot of gold, Finian bids his daughter and her new husband farewell, departing Rainbow Valley in search of his own rainbow.

Finian's Rainbow effectively put a period to Astaire’s dancing in the movies. Although he would reluctantly deign to a brief – if energetic – display of his talents during 1970’s annual broadcast of the Academy Awards, performed an all-too-brief soft shoe shuffle with Jennifer Jones in The Towering Inferno (1974), and, marked his final return in a fleeting cameo opposite Gene Kelly for That's Entertainment, Part 2 (1976), Finian’s Rainbow was the end of an era – the not-so-grand finale to Astaire’s career as Hollywood’s purveyor of screen-dancing excellence. Even in 1967, Finian’s Rainbow was an odd duck. Viewed today, one can clearly see how Coppola’s desire to make the picture more earthy is decidedly at odds with the lithe construction of its fairy tale design. Worse, the delicacy of the musical mélange is lost on Coppola, who inundates the story with some truly heavy-handed set pieces. The result is a mixed-up potpourri of missed opportunities, further hamstrung by Coppola’s slavish adherence to the stagecraft’s original narrative. Decidedly, this predates the Civil Rights Movement. But it also must have reeked with the smack of racial bias in 1967. Certainly, today, it lumbers along as a goofy and gargantuan guffaw, especially Keenan Wynn’s departure into ‘black/brown face’. Given Jack Warner’s affinity for road shows, Finian’s Rainbow became a 3-hour extravaganza with intermission. Still, the picture’s length necessitated the excision of one musical number, ‘Necessity’.

Whatever its virtues, Finian’s Rainbow was summarily dismissed by the critics, many finding Astaire shockingly frail and Tommy Steele grating on the nerves; New York Times’ Renata Adler effectively labeling it a ‘cheesy, joyless thing’, adding “There is something awfully depressing here.... It is not just that the musical is dated... it is that it has been done listlessly and even tastelessly.” Viewing the picture today, it is rather difficult to argue with that snap – and occasionally cruel – assessment. While Petula Clark invigorates the proceedings with her immeasurable charm and character, and sings the hell out of the score, it is the appearance of Astaire, looking weathered and gaunt, well beyond his years, that puts this musical off its mettle; Astaire, not having the luxury to age like the rest of us, but expected – unrealistically, I might add - to remain forever limber in our mind’s eye affections for the legend beyond the inevitable age-related status of the man. The critics were not unanimous in their condemnation of the picture; the late Roger Ebert, among others, thinking Finian’s Rainbow the best movie musical since The Sound of Music (1965); an assessment, sincerely difficult to digest, even in more minute intervals. Realistically, Finian’s Rainbow was a product of its time, and, quite simply, the unwitting victim to emerge fully formed in another, hoping to mine its rose-colored stagecraft for an even bigger breakthrough on the big screen.  Regrettably, by the time it reached theaters, the stage show’s premise belonged to another vintage entirely; one, already bygone by 1967.

Had the picture been made in 1948 by MGM, it likely would have been afforded that Metro gloss indicative in all their studio-bound product circa the period, and, with reflection, would have been forgiven its trespasses in racial biases as a time capsule made at an epoch when such prejudices were – if not acceptable – then, most definitely tolerated. But to see these trundled out in the expanses of Panavision and Technicolor in an era otherwise devoted to more ‘progressively-minded’ attitudes toward race in general, just seems horribly misguided at the least – and woefully condescending at its worst. Yes, the score still charms us. How could it not with Petula Clark warbling in her uniquely stylized sense of longing? She is sublimely talented. But the movie is a misfire – plain and simple; even grotesquely so and certainly, not without its garish disappointments.  Finian’s Rainbow earned $5.1 domestically, hardly a blockbuster, and offset by Camelot’s implosion at the box office. 1967 was decidedly not the year of the Hollywood musical. By the end of the year, Jack Warner would sincere concur with that assessment. It had cost him his studio. And although Warner would make one last ditch effort to resurrect his reputation in the industry with 1776 (1972, though produced independently for Columbia Pictures), the last of the ole-time moguls had had his day. The curtain came down on Warner’s time, never to rise again.

I remain, as ever, flabbergasted to explain why the Warner Archive (WAC), with all its girth of as-yet unreleased to hi-def Astaire masterpieces still awaiting such consideration, would choose to promote Finian’s Rainbow first for a Blu-ray release. That stated, this Blu-ray is admirably authored, its Panavision image exhibiting some gorgeous textures in 1080p and colors that pop as they should. Fine detail is superbly rendered, and contrast is bang on. A light smattering of film grain looks very indigenous to its source. Overall, there is absolutely nothing to complain about here – nothing, except content. By whatever barometer one chooses to ascribe it, Finian’s Rainbow is not a great musical.  It features some good stuff, just not enough to ever be considered even second-tier Astaire at a glance. Will WAC ever give us Astaire in Royal Wedding, The Belle of New York, Yolanda and the Thief, or any of the many RKO classics under their umbrella co-starring Ginger Rogers? We shall see. The 5.1 DTS audio here sports good solid clarity across all channels and represents the picture’s vintage stereo with adequate aplomb. The only extra is a dated ‘making of’ featurette, produced at the time of the picture’s release, and also, a commentary track recorded for 2007’s DVD release, featuring Francis Ford Coppola, who continues to sound rather apologetic for having this one in his own back catalog. Bottom line: for Astaire and Coppola completionists only. It’s basically a snore with A-list talents attached to it.

FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)

2.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

4

EXTRAS

1