THAT MIDNIGHT KISS/THE TOAST OF NEW ORLEANS (MGM, 1949-50) Warner Home Video

Few earthly superlatives suffice in summarizing the exceptional force of nature that was Mario Lanza’s singing voice. That vocal strength belied his diminutive 5 ft. 7-inch frame. When he sang, whether operatic arias or pop tunes expressly written for the movies, his fans did more than swoon; they remained spellbound in awe and admiration. Much has been written about Lanza – the man, and, the entertainer – born Alfred ‘Freddie’ Arnold Cocozza; his infrequent womanizing, quite incongruous when discussed alongside his obvious devotion to his family; his bouts of paralytic depression and self-loathing that manifested through chronic binge-eating and drinking; his occasionally angry determination to triumph – perhaps misconstrued as vanity - that often infuriated costars and directors alike. Yet, like all truly unique and divinely inspired talents, Mario Lanza’s gift to the world was born of a desperate need to be loved, and, of a fervent desire to succeed in spite of himself; his own happiness, tapped by crippling anxieties that he was never as good as he hoped to become. Muscular and devilishly attractive, Lanza is often referred to as an opera star – a curiosity, since he never actually sang an opera in its entirety either on the stage or in films. His idol, the late Enrico Caruso was then widely regarded as the definitive voice of twentieth century opera. And while Lanza dreamed of a career as illustrious as Caruso’s, he arguably achieved a more enduring immortality by succumbing to the allure of the movies. Indeed, more than any other film star – then or now - Mario Lanza popularized grand opera for the masses. In his day, the more highbrow critics infrequently scoffed at his efforts as a bastardization of their art. But Lanza effectively made the long-haired trendy and chic, the trickle-down effect emanating from juke boxes all across America throughout the 1950's.

It helped that Lanza was a very handsome man. Opera stars – particularly the men – were usually heavy-set, gray-haired and jowly sages like Lauritz Melchior, or stiff platonic creatures that only came to life when they sang (Nelson Eddy comes to mind). But Lanza burst forth onto the screen as a natural, very enigmatic - even when he spoke. Apart from his obvious strengths as a singer, he could be self-deprecating, handle comedy and oozed charm from every pour…at least, on the screen. Some of Lanza’s female costars would likely disagree with this assessment. Moreover, Lanza embodied a vital Mediterranean swarthiness that made him an overnight pinup with the bobbysoxer set. Always on the lookout for the next great talent, L.B. Mayer immediately signed Lanza to a contract after hearing him sing; a seemingly obvious decision in retrospect, but one fraught with the possibilities of great failure at the time as opera on film had never been a winner, despite some formidable talents having tried to resurrect it throughout the 1940's. Also, by 1949 – the year of Lanza’s movie debut – the overall popularity of the Hollywood musical had already begun to cool. Though movie musicals would remain a staple of the industry throughout the 1950's and early 60's – particularly at MGM - they were hardly the guaranteed cash cows they had once been.

More than anything else, L.B. Mayer relished his abilities as a star maker. Thus, Mario Lanza would become a star if it killed him. The die was cast, and Lanza left Freddie Cocozza behind once and for all. In the years following Lanza’s untimely death at the age of 38, from a pulmonary embolism, rumors abounded that the studio’s intense demands on him to maintain a healthy weight were to blame. While it is nevertheless true MGM enforced a crash diet on their superstar to bring his hefty girth in line with his costumes, it is also factual that Lanza suffered from chronic and gluttonous binge-eating and an unhealthy consumption of alcohol. The star abused his body between movies, the toll of which began to show on him almost from the moment he passed through MGM’s hallowed front gates. Today, so many years after his passing, Mario Lanza remains one of the most easily identifiable and readily revered operatic talents. The endurance in that legacy could hardly have been sustained without his movie appearances. Many who came to appreciate opera for the first time were introduced to it by Lanza’s unusually rich vocalizations in these MGM movies.  And many more were swayed to give the classics a try by his infrequent appearances on television variety programs. Yet, to discover Lanza as a refined romantic/comedy actor is something of a revelation. For he came to the movies almost by accident and without the benefit of a lengthy gestation to hone his acting craft. Still, under MGM’s crash course and expert tutelage, Mario Lanza emerged as one of the studio’s last truly memorable studio creations: a cocky, fresh upstart with a twinkling eye and charismatic screen presence.

Two of the movies that illustrate Lanza at his best have long-since been available as a double feature from Warner Home Video: That Midnight Kiss (1949) and its immediate follow-up, The Toast of New Orleans (1950). Neither particularly strains Lanza’s abilities as an actor. Both put him through the paces of some thoroughly gorgeous arias and pop tunes to warble in tandem with Metro’s tempestuous soprano, Kathryn Grayson. In the annals of MGM’s great movie musicals, Norman Taurog’s That Midnight Kiss is pretty par for the course of what then passed for home-grown studio product; a delicious and blissfully obtuse pastiche from Hungarian zeitgeist/producer, Joseph Pasternak, whose amiable blending of classical music and contemporary pop tunes rarely missed its mark. Lanza is cast as Johnny Donnetti, a breezy truck driver who tunes pianos. This carefree existence clashes with the more ambitious pursuits of Prudence Budell (Kathryn Grayson). After tuning Prudence’s piano, Johnny begins a rocky courtship with the young Philadelphia opera star, only to discover her wealthy dowager Aunt Abigail (Ethel Barrymore) might not approve – that is, until she also hears Johnny sing.

Pasternak, who embellished many a threadbare narrative with an armada of songs, herein cleverly diverts his audience’s attention away from the fact that the Bruce Manning/Tamara Hovey screenplay is a pedestrian effort at best. Instead, we are treated to Pasternak’s good luck charm, Jose Itrubi, conducting grand arias with the MGM orchestra and a subplot involving Marjorie Reynolds and Keenan Wynn as the most unlikely of love interests somehow brought together by fateful circumstance.  Pasternak’s mix of light opera favorites in That Midnight Kiss includes ‘Un Furtiva Lacrima’ and ‘Mama Mia Che Vo Sape’ (both featuring Lanza in fine voice). Predictably, the target audience of the day was more likely heard humming Lanza’s rendition of the time-honored love ballad, ‘They Didn’t Believe Me’ or the film’s finale, ‘Love Is Music’; a gorgeous regurgitation of Tchaikovsky’s 5th Symphony.  Love is Music is perhaps the quintessential example of what people thought of as ‘classical music’ in the mid-1950’s; a sublime love ballad, borrowed from one of the masters, heavily rewritten with new lyrics in English, and, affording Lanza and Grayson a spectacular array of chords on which to exercise their pipes. The production values in this grand finale are sublime; a cast of courtiers in brightly colored gowns, parading up and down a series of staircases as Lanza – dressed in princely garb – and Grayson, shimmering in a majestic and sparkling white gown, coo sweet nothings to each other before belting out the finale with thunderous aplomb.  

This gave L.B. Mayer an idea. Why not write an original pop tune for Lanza to sing in his next picture? Thus, Taurog’s follow-up, The Toast of New Orleans (1950) contains the first certifiable chart topper in Lanza’s career – ‘Be My Love’; a romantic ballad sung as a competition number with co-star, Kathryn Grayson. Incidentally, Grayson and Lanza did not get on behind the scenes, either during the making of this movie or their previous endeavor. Grayson regarded Lanza as a boorish upstart and did not fancy herself as the ‘other half’ of another Nelson Eddy/Jeanette MacDonald screen teaming. For his part, Lanza made no apologies in expressing his view of Grayson as a ‘movie singer’ and not a real ‘opera’ singer.  In truth, Grayson could not hit a ‘high C’ to save her life.  In retrospect, The Toast of New Orleans (1950) is an even more beguiled concoction of musical clichés aptly stitched together in a convivial plot by Sy Gomberg and George Wells. Grayson is once again cast as the snooty opera star, Suzette Micheline – self-possessed, yet instantly lovable in all her misguided arrogance. Her ego is tested by the likes of burly bayou fisherman, Pepe Abellard Duvalle (Lanza) – a gregarious and playful sort who cannot help but deflate Suzette’s pretensions with his devilish good cheer. A tempestuous romance blossoms between the two – much to the chagrin of Suzette’s agent, Jacques Riboudeux (David Niven).

Once again, MGM throws all of its glamor and schmaltz into the brew, catching the sweet smell of success in box office returns. The Toast of New Orleans was even more popular with the jukebox crowd than That Midnight Kiss, cementing Lanza’s reputation as a musical film star of the first magnitude. Lanza and Grayson cooing ‘Be My Love’ became an instant best-selling record, the film’s other musical highlights including Verdi’s ‘Brindisi’, ‘I’ll Never Love You’ and Bizet’s ‘Je Suis Titania.’  As far as MGM was concerned, the pairing of Lanza and Grayson could have gone on indefinitely. In fact, there had been rumors circulated to the press that MGM was building an entire franchise in much the same way they had done for Nelson Eddy with Jeanette MacDonald more than a decade earlier. Regrettably, Lanza and Grayson would not appear together again. There are many rumors as to why. One suggests, Grayson had tired of Lanza’s ego, his mild condescension of her thin soprano and his arrogance about his own self-importance in the movies. Another rumor is that Lanza refused to work with Grayson because he thought her an inferior costar. This rumor, it should be noted, is even flimsier than the first. For Kathryn Grayson was an established musical star at MGM. Even if she often required a contract singer to dub in her high ‘C’s, Grayson’s screen presence extended well beyond her singing capabilities. Indeed, she was a clever actress who could hold her own in comedy as well as drama. And in retrospect, the other female costars to appear opposite Lanza in his later films; Anne Blyth in The Great Caruso and Joan Fontaine in Serenade generally lacked Grayson’s spark to match Lanza, even if some of them were, undeniably, better actresses. Together Grayson and Lanza had a rare chemistry, mutually antagonistic, but stirred by this backstage brimstone and fire that translated into smoldering sensuality on the screen. 

Whatever the truth, the pair only made these two films together and Lanza was to see his own prospects as a movie star incrementally dwindle as opera’s popularity once more began to cool at the box office. The Great Caruso (1951) notwithstanding, Mario Lanza’s later films, beginning with Because You’re Mine (1952), became shameless excuses to have the tenor warble songs and arias. As for Grayson; she peaked in 1951 with a Technicolor remake of Show Boat, followed by box office hits, Lovely To Look At (1952) and Kiss Me Kate (1953) – arguably the greatest musical of her entirely career. As for Mario Lanza, he had a scant seven years left to live and spent most of them bitterly discontented with the movies he was being asked to make. By the time MGM acquired Sigmund Romberg’s The Student Prince (1954), Lanza had accrued so much physical bloat that an executive decision was made to remove him from the project, even though he had already pre-recorded all of his songs for the picture. In Mayer’s time it is unlikely such a snub would have occurred. But in the wake of Mayer’s ousting from power, and Dore Schary’s virtual inability to manage the daily affairs of this vast empire as only Mayer could, cost-cutting measures were stringently applied to all facets of the film-making process. Not even a star of Judy Garland’s caliber – once considered the ‘bread and butter’ of Metro’s musical back catalog, was immune to outright dismissal. Star temperaments would no longer be tolerated. So, MGM recast The Student Prince with Edmund Purdon – a popular and handsome leading man – using Lanza’s vocals as lip sync issuing from Purdon’s slender frame. It was the beginning of the end for Lanza’s movie career. His last few efforts were puerile at best, singing cocktail hour pop tunes in The Seven Hills of Rome or mocking his own standards in the utterly forgettable, For The First Time – ironically, his last movie.

Viewing That Midnight Kiss and The Toast of New Orleans back to back, one can see both the veritable promise and utter waste of Lanza’s unique talents. MGM here has fashioned two very substandard narratives, plumped out in all of the lavish appointments that the studio was justly famous for throughout the 1930's and 40's. Each movie is undeniably good-looking, given completely over to that imperishable MGM gloss, and, brimming to the rafters in a magnificent mélange of music and mirth. Yet neither production is a masterpiece. Lanza and Grayson give it their all. And there is much to be said of their acting and singing - both first rate. Superficially, both movies are enjoyable as disposable pop art. It is, in fact, quite thrilling to watch the historic emergence of one of the twentieth century’s greatest vocal talents in That Midnight Kiss. Arguably, Mario Lanza never disappointed on that score. Still, in hindsight, MGM squandered the tenor on these run-of-the-mill projects. 

Warner Home Video has done an admirable job – mostly – on marking Mario Lanza’s debut in movies. The 3-strip Technicolor image appears slightly more vibrant on The Toast of New Orleans, though both films are relatively sharp and free of digital and age-related artifacts. A tad more grain is evident on That Midnight Kiss. Contrast levels on both are just a notch below where they should be. Flesh tones are more natural on That Midnight Kiss, just slightly more orange on The Toast of New Orleans. Alas, That Midnight Kiss suffers from infrequent Technicolor mis-registration that creates annoying halos and tends to blur the image – occasionally to distraction. The audio on both titles is mono. Though the results are quite adequate on That Midnight Kiss, The Toast of New Orleans appears to suffer from some rather obvious boost in the treble, with a rather grating sonic characteristic if played at higher decibels. Neither audio recording wins merits for stellar sound reproduction – a shame since Lanza in stereo would have been a decided treat. Perhaps the original audio stems no longer exist on these titles, although Rhino Handmade did release a compilation of Lanza recordings from his Hollywood years that did feature a stereophonic remix of Love is Music that sounded wonderful. Extras include a glowing tribute to Lanza – the artist - audio outtakes, surviving excised footage from That Midnight Kiss, vintage featurettes, cartoons and theatrical trailers for both films. Bottom line: I continue to implore the Warner Archive to get busy on restoring, remastering and re-releasing these movies on Blu-ray. Certainly, each is deserving of that honor and much more.  For there will never be another Mario Lanza. That much is for certain!

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

That Midnight Kiss 3

The Toast of New Orleans 3

VIDEO/AUDIO

That Midnight Kiss 3

The Toast of New Orleans 3.5

EXTRAS

3