SHOW BOAT: Blu-ray (MGM, 1951) Warner Archive

By Spring of 1950, MGM producer, Arthur Freed was sitting pretty at the most profitable movie studio in the world. Freed, arguably the greatest proponent the movie musical has ever known, had established his preeminence at the ultimate dream factory and – almost single-handed – defined, then reshaped the genre’s precepts and production values we regard today as synonymous with those gala glamour days. Throughout the 1930's and 40's, other studios tried to compete with Freed’s confections - other producers on Metro’s back lot too. But for this brief wrinkle in time, MGM musicals in general, and Freed’s in particular, were the envy of the industry - lavishly appointed, untouchable money makers, much sought after by movie lovers and readily to receive advanced A-list bookings at premiere movie palaces like New York’s Radio City’s Music Hall. That Freed and the musical were to suddenly – almost inexplicably – fall out of favor by the mid to late 50's was as yet unknown and perhaps even more unanticipated. But in 1950, the year Freed undertook to remake Jerome Kern/Oscar Hammerstein’s immortal stage classic, Show Boat (released in 1951) he was undeniably at the top of his game, and quite unaware that his Oscar-winning coup - An American in Paris (1952) – the first musical to take home the Best Picture statuette since 1936’s The Great Ziegfeld, was already on the horizon. As a matter of record, Freed would top out the decade with an even greater victory, Gigi (1958) – winning a ‘then’ record 9 Academy Awards, including a special honorary Oscar for Maurice Chevalier.

Show Boat is one of those immortal Broadway shows that was an immediate cultural touchstone in the American theater, and, long before its silent movie debut in 1929, or its even more iconic 1936 movie made over at Universal, costarring Allan Jones and Irene Dunne. It perhaps always irked Freed that Universal, not readily known for its then musicals, had beat him for the bragging rights to what eventually became one of their most popular and a much-beloved screen adaptations. The ’36 version made beautiful music at the box office, as well as aboard the Cotton Blossom. Freed in fact, attempted to rectify this oversight with a considerable prologue dedicated to Kern/Hammerstein’s masterpiece, in the opening of Till the Clouds Roll By (1946), his self-indulgent and wholly fictionalized bio pic, reporting to be on the life of Jerome Kern. This prologue featured Metro’s rising soprano, Kathryn Grayson and pop fav, Tony Martin as Magnolia Hawks and Gaylord Ravenal respectively, and, with the studio’s resident black chanteuse, Lena Horne positively glowing in the role of the ill-fated mulatto, Julie Laverne. Alas, casting Horne in an actual remake of Show Boat was a problem - virtually the same one to have precluded Horne from appearing in anything except cameo performances in other MGM musicals with the exception of Vincente Minnelli’s superb, all-black Cabin in the Sky (1940). Freed’s resistance to Horne owed its racial prejudice to the appeasement of the very much prevalent anti-black sentiment in the South. Also, by 1950, Tony Martin was no longer the crooning headliner he had briefly been in the late 40's. Curiously, Martin would reemerge in popularity, costarring as leading man material opposite Esther Williams in Easy to Love (1953). But opposite Grayson, who had already been decided upon by Freed to reprise the role of Magnolia, Freed decided he needed a richer baritone. So, the part ultimately went to rising talent, Howard Keel instead.

There are those today who hold dear to the opinion MGM’s remake of Show Boat is a wan ghost flower when set against Universal’s outing. At least in retrospect, the 1951 re-envisioning does seem to ‘lack’ just a little something by way of that very distinct sparkle that permeated virtually every frame of director, James Whale’s 1936 classic. The personality of the piece is, if not wholly absent, then seemingly to have been replaced with superior and undeniably more opulent production values. Indeed, Freed’s Show Boat is a veritable feast for the eyes, sumptuously photographed by Charles Rosher in 3-strip Technicolor. MGM’s resident arbitrator of good taste, Cedric Gibbons oversees Jack Martin Smith’s spectacular production design, while Walter Plunkett’s stunning costumes create a magnificent – and at times, appropriately gaudy - screen spectacle in shimmering silks and satin.  The studio edict under L.B. Mayer had been two-fold: first – to make it big, do it well and give it class, and, second: a standing order, that all men must be handsome/all women, beautiful. Perhaps this is where the remake falters, in its basic lack of understanding Show Boat is a story about common river folk trolling the Mississippi to put on their lowbrow melodramatic skits and spirited buck n’ wings for the uncultured masses. The MGM movie is therefore just a tad too glossy for its own good, its cast – especially Grayson and Keel, but also Marge and Gower Champion - so seasoned and pitch perfect, one begins to wonder why none have yet left the river for the bright lights of Broadway and/or Europe. And Grayson, by 1951 was a woman (only 31 years-young, perhaps) but ravishingly handsome and far too mature to be convincing as the coquettish ingénue as written by Kern and Hammerstein, who throws her heart after Keel’s no-account gambler, Gaylord Ravenal.

Given the ousting of Mayer in 1950, and his replacement, Dore Schary’s natural distaste for such ostentatious musicals, Show Boat’s big screen remake, tricked out in all the finery Metro could muster at its zenith, made it to the screen relatively intact. To be sure, the remake makes revisions to the Kern/Hammerstein narrative, and, in fact, the tinkering does improve the overall structure and timeline of the piece. In the original stage play as well as the 1936 movie, Julie Laverne – passing for white – is exiled from the show boat after it is discovered her mother was black. She is never seen in the production again. Also, on stage, Magnolia and Gaylord become estranged for a period of some twenty years, the show concluding with their chance meeting, united in their love for an adult daughter, Kim. To rethink the story, Freed brought in writer, John Lee Mahin, ironic, as Lee’s forte was not musicals. However, Mahin is an exceptional constructionist who manages the coup of tightening these narrative threads while retaining the play’s basic structure, also condensing its sprawling timeline into a more manageable ‘movie’ length. Mahin also ensured Julie Laverne remains a presence, perhaps even the catalyst for Gaylord and Magnolia’s reunion.  The one unforgivable, but necessary change to this version of Show Boat occurs at the outset of the story. The opening number in the Kern/Hammerstein show – a product of its time and social climate, further to harking back to another vintage entirely – included the lyrics, ‘niggers all work on the Mississippi, niggers all work while the white folks play…’ For the 1936 adaptation, Whale changed ‘nigger’ to ‘darkie’, an only slightly less offensive reference, and Freed had the lyric altered even further for the prologue to Till The Clouds Roll By, to “…here we all work on the Mississippi, here we all work while the white folks play…” By 1951, Freed could have run with this more racially tolerant alteration, but instead elected to dump the lyrics entirely, the opener now an orchestral arrangement by Conrad Salinger - a rather boisterous introduction to the Cotton Blossom as it lazily sails through MGM’s moss-draped lagoon before pulling into its own fictionalized version of Natchez. 

Just as production on Show Boat was getting underway, MGM’s corporate boardroom was rocked with an upset that, ostensibly, no one saw coming. In 1932, Loew’s Incorporated President Nicholas Schenk, successor to Marcus Loew, plotted to sell off Metro to rival studio mogul, William Fox. Loew, a theater magnate, had placed his trust and Mayer and Irving G. Thalberg to provide his ever-expanding chain of movie palaces with an endless succession of product. This proved a symbiotic union until Loew’s untimely passing in 1927. But Mayer’s successful thwarting of Schenk’s deal left a bitter acrimony behind, one that Schenk never forgot and used to his advantage when, after Thalberg’s death in 1936, Schenk pressured Mayer to reconsider hiring a replacement. Mayer ignored this suggestion until late 1947, the year MGM reported a fiscal loss on its ledgers for the first time. Schary, alas, was not beholding to Mayer. Nor did he share in Mayer’s conservative view of popular entertainment.  With Schary as his new V.P., the working relationship between these two quickly soured. Schary’s forte – the ‘message pictures’ clashed with Mayer’s enduring vision of MGM as the purveyors of old time/big time, grand and glamorous entertainments.  Schary also had no particular interest in musicals even if, in 1950, they were still very much an integral part of the studio’s bread and butter. When, after a particularly nasty stalemate, Mayer confidently picked up his direct line to Loew’s New York office and presented Schenk with his ultimatum, “me or Schary”, believing he would be backed, Schenk instead seized the opportunity to unseat Mayer from his throne. Henceforth, Schary would assume absolute control of MGM – a gross miscalculation, with Schary’s tenure, tenuously balanced at best, and barely, to last 7 years, until 1957’s horrendously costly debacle - Raintree County.

For a time, Schary’s installation as ‘boss’ at MGM did little to impact the studio’s product, although infrequently he stuck his fingers into pies, he had no business disturbing. In Show Boat’s case, Schary promised close friend, Dinah Shore the part of Julie Laverne. When Freed heard this, he promptly telephoned the star, explaining, “I’d love to do something with you but you’re not a whore and that’s what the part is!”  In the meantime, Freed turned his attentions to casting William Warfield, whose rich baritone had made a sensation in a classical recital in New York.  Director, George Sidney showed some concern over Warfield’s lack of movie experience. But Warfield came to Show Boat after a series of stage successes in Call Me Mister, Regina and Set My People Free. And in retrospect, the part of Joe was hardly taxing from a dramatic standpoint. What had been an integral role on the stage was now distilled in the movie to a mere cameo, whose singular highlight undeniably remains ‘Ol’ Man River’ – the iconic dirge, startling in its address of Black suffrage during this particular period in American life. Freed’s initial plan was to shoot at least some of the movie’s exteriors in Natchez and Vicksburg, finding a real show boat as stand-in for the Cotton Blossom. But on the eve of Freed’s departure to the South to scout locations, production designer, Jack Martin Smith had a brainstorm and began to sketch out its details. Ultimately, and except for a handful of establishing shots, Show Boat would be photographed on the MGM back lot, with Tarzan Lake, redressed in false fronts and a newly constructed dock. In hindsight, this was a stroke of genius that saved the production millions.

Meanwhile, Sidney set off for the Deep South where he became enamored with the idea of shooting ‘The Sprague’ – a genuine riverboat from the 1800's. The Sprague had not seen active service in more than forty-years. It had no engine to power it and needed to be dragged into the middle of the Mississippi by a pair of tugs tactfully kept out of sight, with pots lit aboard its decks to simulate acrid black smoke spewing from its towering stacks. Unfortunately, the churning waters of the Mississippi caused the tugs to slip and lose their tow lines, The Sprague caught in a drift and rolling unexpectedly, its pots, tipping and catching fire. Back in Hollywood, Smith arrived at a more credible and in fact, incredible solution to counteract the dilemma of The Sprague. The MGM Cotton Blossom, 171 ft. long and towering 57 ft. in the air, with three-tiers of deck and a 19 ½ ft. paddle wheel, was by far one of the most impressive props the studio had ever invested to build for a movie. As Tarzan Lake was only flooded to a depth of roughly ten ft. the massive paddle-wheeler was arranged on a series of retarding cables and touring winches, operated by 37 men, constantly in contact by radio to successfully maneuver her into position. Inside, the ship was a veritable marvel of studio craftsmanship, thoroughly unusable to shoot interiors, but containing two oil burning asbestos boilers to pump smoke from its stacks. There was also a working steam whistle, a calliope and a steam piston engine built in to turn the paddle wheel.

With the backlot forest sufficiently trimmed in moss and redressed with facades to suggest the South, the banks of Tarzan Lake laced in a man-made humidity for added effect, the first sight of the Cotton Blossom emerging slowly from around the bend was not only uncanny but drew immediate applause from both cast and crew. Meanwhile, George Sidney and musical arranger, Roger Edens were met with a force of nature of a different kind. Co-star, Ava Gardner had agreed to play the part of Julie Laverne, but only if she could sing her own songs. Both men reluctantly agreed before consulting with Arthur Freed. Regrettably, it became almost immediately apparent the score was beyond Gardner’s capabilities. Edens worked tirelessly to coax a performance from Gardner while Sidney quietly went about casting a singer to dub in her vocals – eventually hiring contract player, Annette Warren, as her octaves were closest to Gardner’s speaking voice. Decades later Gardner’s original recordings of ‘Bill’ resurfaced. In realigning them to picture, while it remains quite obvious Gardner’s voice is ‘untrained,’ her intonation of the lyrics rather excellently captured the forlorn dramatic intensity of Julie Laverne with a husky, whisky-drenched whisper, perfectly in keeping with the fictional character’s spiraling alcoholism and dejected romantic sadness.

Show Boat opens with the arrival of Captain Andy Hawk’s (Joe E. Brown) menagerie in a small Mississippi backwater. The Captain’s wife, Parthy (Agnes Moorehead) is a stern manager, overseeing the troop while keeping a watchful eye on her husband who has a penchant for drink and flirtations with girls. The show boat’s arrival is greeted with excitement by the locals who race down to the docks to catch a glimpse of the spectacle unfolding along the water’s edge. However, when a fistfight between handsome leading man, Steven Baker (Robert Sterling) and the boat’s engineer, Pete (Leif Erickson) breaks out during Frank Schultz (Gower Champion) and Ellie Chipley’s (Marge Champion) buck n’ wing, Capt. Andy dismisses Pete without question, putting into play a series of events to destroy two lives. For Steve is very much in love with Julie Laverne (Ava Gardner), the sultry dramatic star who, it is later discovered, is from mixed parentage - miscegenation (a mixing of the races) illegal in the state. Forced to choose, Steve takes Julie away, the pair, skulking off in the middle of the night, leaving Capt. Andy’s show without a viable couple to perform the pivotal dramatic skit in his travelling show.

Enter the utterly charming, Gaylord Ravenal (Howard Keel) who offers up his services while flirting with the captain’s juvenile daughter, Magnolia (Kathryn Grayson). Parthy is dead set against employing Gaylord or allowing Magnolia to assume Julie’s dramatic role as it includes the sensation of an on-stage kiss between its two principles. Capt. Andy quells Parthy’s concerns by altering the scene so the kiss will be administered cordially on the hand rather than on the lips. However, as the show boat steams on through its series of engagements, the sketch featuring Gaylord and Magnolia becomes its centerpiece, Gaylord frequently inserts chaste kisses on the cheek, before securing a delay in Parthy’s arrival to the theater one night, and thus using the opportunity to ravage Magnolia rather intensely on the lips. The crowd loves it, and indeed, so does Magnolia who begins a romance with Gaylord under Capt. Andy’s watchful eye. When Parthy discovers the lover’s embraced on the Cotton Blossom’s moonlit deck after hours, she orders Gaylord off for good. In reply, Gaylord proposes to Magnolia who accepts him and the couple leaves the show boat together.

Gaylord’s past profession is as a gambler. Now, he reverts to his old ways, winning enough to spend quite lavishly and furnish his new bride with a very good time. This tide of luck, however, is extremely fickle and not to last. The streak seemingly broken for good, the couple pares down their lifestyle. Magnolia, encourages Gaylord to remain true to himself. She stands beside him, even as he falters and lands them both into extreme debt. Ashamed of the financial ruin brought upon them both, Gaylord elects to abandon Magnolia in Chicago. There, a tearful Magnolia is discovered by Ellie and Frank who are in town to entertain at the Trocadero. Recognizing how badly Magnolia needs a job, Frank and Ellie take her with them to the open auditions. The Trocadero’s stage manager (Chick Chandler) is having a rough time keeping his star attraction, Julie Laverne sober. Indeed, Julie’s bittersweet rendition of ‘Bill’ brings down the house. But when she spies Magnolia from the wings, Julie nobly withdraws, allowing Magnolia to replace her. On New Year’s Eve, Magnolia suffers an acute attack of stage fright. The inebriated crowds are unkind. But Magnolia’s confidence is bolstered by the sight of her tipsy father who has come to the Trocadero with a gaggle of friends to ring in the New Year, quite unaware his daughter is part of their floor show. Afterward, Magnolia confides in her father, she is with child – her secret never revealed to Gaylord for fear it would have upset him.

Returning to the Cotton Blossom, Magnolia gives birth to Kim (Sheila Clark). From here, director George Sidney’s narrative devolves into a montage spanning five-years in a matter of moments. Kim, now a little girl, and Gaylord, slowly to reclaim his fortunes as a gambler, aboard various floating river palaces. A chance meeting with Julie – who has hit the skids and is being abused by her latest lover – alerts Gaylord to the fact he has a daughter. The news is humbling and Gaylord makes his journey back to the Cotton Blossom where he discovers young Kim playing with her dolls on the docks. Moved to engage the child in polite conversation without divulging his paternity to her, Gaylord learns Kim has been named ‘geographically’ – for being born somewhere in the middle of Kentucky, Illinois and Missouri. From the Cotton Blossom’s balcony, Magnolia spies ‘father and daughter’ together and makes her presence known to Gaylord. Given the circumstances of their separation, she harbors no ill will, and, in fact, reveals how much she still is in love with him. On board the Cotton Blossom, Capt. Andy looks on approvingly, miraculously, Parthy too – who playfully chides her husband for his predilection for strong drink before encouraging him to cast off for their next port. As Gaylord and Magnolia embrace on the decks of the Cotton Blossom – presumably to resume their relationship – a darkened figure emerges from the shadows on the docks; Julie – aged well beyond her years, with tears of satisfaction majestically caught in the glint of evening sunset as the Cotton Blossom pulls away from port, tragically, with no happy ending in store for her.

Show Boat is precisely the sort of musical extravaganza MGM could mass market to the public as the epitome of chic good taste during its heyday. It teems with pageantry, spectacle and that ultra-sheen of spellbinding perfectionism for which Mayer’s fantastic empire remains justly famous. Such lavish flamboyance does not really suit the grittier aspects of Show Boat’s sordid tale. Indeed, and visually, the movie tends to look just a tad over-inflated at times. Marge and Gower Champion are much too sophisticated for the riverboat circuit, their dancing - peerless, their dramatic performances, echoing more social affluence than anything else.  William Warfield’s rendition of Ol’ Man River rattles the timber. And yet, in retrospect, it remains a recital by a professional singer rather than the epitome of a spontaneous outburst of sweat-born frustration with one’s lot in life. Even so, Warfield’s Ol’ Man River remains the centerpiece of this Show Boat’s musical repertoire and deserving of high praise. Ditto for Ava Gardner’s ‘Bill’ – her ‘acting’ of the song, beautifully wed to Annette Warren’s vocals, creating a tragic tome to positively tear the heart out. What remains rather off-putting is the coupling of Kathryn Grayson and Howard Keel – each, in very fine voice, but rendering their highlighted duet, ‘Make Believe’ a stilted, theatrical waxworks. The Champions are in very fine form, singing and dancing ‘I Might Fall Back on You’ with an exuberance that really transforms this moment into nothing less than a show-stopper.

There is nothing to touch Jack Martin Smith’s impeccable production design, always gorgeous and occasionally even in keeping with the true intent of the material. Mid-way through production, George Sidney became ill, necessitating Roger Edens taking over the directorial duties. Edens, who had never directed before, seems to instinctively know where the camera belongs, retaining Sidney’s visual continuity. It is virtually impossible to deduce which sequences in the film were not directed by Sidney – or rather, directed by Edens and/or vice versa. Without a doubt, Show Boat is an MGM musical in the very best tradition of that distinct – now defunct – classical strain of studio-bound style. The sets, while obvious in their ‘set-like’ quality, are nevertheless authentic and stunningly handsome in glorious Technicolor. Ditto for Walter Plunkett’s costumes, a veritable potpourri of fabrics, colors and patterns cleverly integrated to give the illusion of authenticity.  In January 1951, principal photography on Show Boat wrapped. However, Arthur Freed was less than enthusiastic with the results, believing its 3rd act dragged. Roger Edens came to a decision – Magnolia and Gaylord’s troubled romance took too much time to evolve. Hence, in the editing process, these scenes were intensely recut with Edens aggressively hacking out whole portions of dialogue, distilling everything down to dramatic action only and, in some cases, montage to give the story a new momentum.

Ava Gardner’s original vocals were allowed to stay in for the first studio preview at the Bay Theater. But by the time Show Boat had its national release, Annette Warren’s vocals had been laid over Gardner’s, much to the actress’ dismay. When Show Boat debuted, it was an immediate sensation with audiences who almost universally filled out their prevue cards with glowing/gushing praise. The movie went on to gross $8,650,000.00 on its $2,295,429.00 budget -- a qualified hit by any measurement. However, when it was decided to release a soundtrack album, only Gardner’s tracks – not Warren’s – were included.  In the infancy of cast recordings virtually none of the plushily padded underscore – not even the bombastic main title – made it. Viewed today, Show Boat is an exceptionally well-orchestrated entertainment, its sophistication and vivacity beyond reproach. Yet, oddly enough the movie does not retain its status as one of MGM’s finest musical offerings.  When lists are compiled of Metro’s truest classics, the A-list titles are always the same, beginning with The Wizard of Oz (1939) and Meet Me In St. Louis (1944) and ending with An American in Paris (1950), Singin’ In the Rain (1952), The Band Wagon (1953), and, Gigi (1958). With so much entrancing entertainment on tap, it is perhaps forgivable Show Boat somehow never makes this cut. To be sure, and furthermore to be clear, MGM’s list of exceptional accomplishments in the musical genre hardly ends with these noted few examples. And certainly, no claim is made to the contrary. But at least in retrospect, Show Boat settles into that very solid, and much broader second-tier of sterling silver-age product, arguably, as beloved, if decidedly never to be mentioned in hushed reverence as in the same league with the aforementioned.

The Warner Archive (WAC) has been overdue with this Blu-ray release of Show Boat. Almost a decade ago, then VP in Charge of the studio’s formidable asset management, George Feltenstein, hinted that a deluxe version of Show Boat, vaguely reminiscent of the box set released to LaserDisc back in 1989, would soon hit shelves, containing all 3 versions of the celebrated musical. Regrettably, and rather inexplicably, this was never to occur. Hence, when Criterion released the 36’ James Whale version as a solo offering, via their distribution agreement with Warner Bros. at the outset of 2020, the concern from fans was that the 51’ remake would not be coming down the pike any time soon. Mercifully, this too proved to have its misdirection. After enduring 2 decades worth of endlessly reissues of the brutally tired old DVD whose master, WAC’s new-to-Blu and ground-up restoration of Show Boat can safely be declared a genuine cause to stand up and cheer. WAC has again illustrated its proficiency for restoring and remastering some of MGM’s greatest 3-strip Technicolor musicals in hi-def. I suspect the clean-up on Show Boat was not only extensive, but expensive, as, not only have virtually all age-related blemishes been eradicated, but the studio has spent wisely to realign the original negatives to ensure an optimal presentation.

Prepare to be dazzled, as this Technicolor production sparkles with some of the most stunningly handsome 3-strip Technicolor photography known to man. The image is crisp throughout, revealing a startling amount of richly saturated clarity, exquisite contrast, and, light smattering of film grain looking extremely indigenous to its source. On television monitors, the image is gorgeous. In projection, it gives the uncanny illusion of viewing a 35mm original negative, immaculately curated for our viewing pleasure. So, kudos are in order here. Thank you, WAC. A million times and again – thank you!!! WAC has done away with the fraudulent 5.1 Dolby Digital that accompanied the old DVD release. This basically re-channeled the mono audio, creating some truly weird echoes and reverb. Instead, we get a restored and remastered 2.0 DTS, indicative of the original presentation which, after all, was presented in theaters in 1950 in mono. Ported over from the old MGM/UA LaserDisc box set, but absent from the DVD release, is director, George Sidney’s audio commentary. Encouragingly, this disc also includes the Show Boat prologue from Till The Clouds Roll By (one can only hope this to be a foreshadowing that the complete movie is already in the queue for its own Blu release sometime soon), plus, Ava Garner’s outtakes for ‘Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man’ and ‘Bill’. We also get the 1952 Lux Radio adaptation and original theatrical trailer, in HD.  Bottom line: Freed’s Show Boat is a masterpiece. While it remains debatable which of the two sound versions best captures the essence of the Kern/Hammerstein stagecraft, what is irrefutable herein is that the utmost care has been taken by WAC to ensure both editions are available to the public in optimal quality to judge the results for themselves. Show Boat’s a’comin’! You better believe it.

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

4

VIDEO/AUDIO

5+

EXTRAS

3.5