PAL JOEY: Blu-ray re-issue (Columbia, 1957) Sony Home Entertainment

It's oft’ noted that 'something gets lost' (or perhaps more to the point, 'changed') in the translation of popular fiction into film art. There's no denying it. What is effective in literature rarely works just as well - or in some cases, even as good - if literally translated onto celluloid. The same holds true for Broadway to Hollywood hybrids. Alas, director, George Sidney's Pal Joey (1957) is a property twice removed from its original source material. Author John O'Hara, who penned a series of popular New Yorker short stories in the 1930s featuring the unrepentant reprobate, Joey Evans (later collected into a novel in 1940), willingly diluted his rather unsympathetic heel into a rakish hoofer for the 1940 Broadway incarnation of Pal Joey, starring Gene Kelly. But the stage show was immeasurably aided with impeccable songs supplied by pop-tunesmiths extraordinaire, Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart to evoke the tawdriness and moody disposition of its main character. The show was a smash. Regrettably, by the time Harry Cohn's Columbia Pictures got their hands on the property, Pal Joey was already something of a warhorse as well as a chestnut, chronically rejected for its risqué subject matter by Hollywood’s self-governing production code devoted to moral ethics. And thus, more changes would have to be made. As such, the movie version of Pal Joey is more than an ‘odd duck. It remains a reluctant compromise. As conceived for Frank Sinatra, Joey Evans is a little less the ambiguous cad and very much more the devil-may-care charmer. Such was Sinatra at this juncture in his career, well on his way to becoming ‘chairman of the board’.

In retrospect, this Joey is actually the Sinatra who wowed ‘em in Vegas as part of the Rat Pack, a brash, and rough-cut diamond of an entertainer. Sinatra’s throaty pipes had matured, along with his outlook on boozin’ and ballin’ with the best. So, this Joey, like his alter ego, sings his way into our hearts even as his own attitude toward the fictional ‘mice’ (code for women in this movie) often make us cringe at both men’s sexism. The women here, supplied by Columbia glamor gal, Rita Hayworth – as an aging, but still very much desirable ex-stripper, and, relative newcomer, Kim Novak – cast as the ‘oh so desperate to be loved’ nightclub chanteuse, are little more than sex objects to be toyed with at Sinatra’s dispassionate pleasure. Miraculously, this setup still works, primarily because Sinatra is such a legend. And legends, hermetically preserved on celluloid forever, never date even as their flesh-and-blood counterparts wither and eventually die. But Sinatra is an immortal, and proves it, given the lion’s share of the Rodgers and Hart score to croon with ever-so-slight and raspy sex appeal; cooing, ‘I Didn't Know What Time It Was’ (lifted from another R&H show, Too Many Girls), kicking it down the street with ‘Great Big Town’, restlessly selling ‘There’s a Small Hotel’ (lifted from On Your Toes) and positively oozing Sinatra-esque sex appeal with ‘The Lady Is a Tramp’ (originally introduced in Babes in Arms).

Pal Joey ought to have been a better movie, except that Columbia – not generally known for its musical offerings – is not entirely certain they have a winner on their hands. So, apart from padding out the score with other R&H hit tunes, in effect to create their own ‘funny valentine’ to the composers, the original premise of the Broadway show gets a revamp too, and one not necessarily to suit the material half as well. We first meet our pal, Joey (Sinatra) forcibly escorted onto a train by a detective (Tol Avery) and a policeman (Robert Anderson). Seems Joey's become a tad too fresh with the mayor’s underaged daughter. Despite his faux incredulity at being run out of town on a rail - literally - Joey does not remain without female companionship for very long. His heart is stirred - perhaps for the very first time - after a chance meeting with Linda English (Kim Novak), an aspiring, though hopelessly naive chorus girl. The relationship that blossoms between Joey and Linda is tenderly poignant. Joey is kind to her - a trait he is arguably never exercised, much less cultivated with any of the other 'mice' he has known in his alternate career as a self-professed womanizer.

But Joey is not about to abandon his old ways - not yet! Because at his core Joey is still Joey - scheming, enterprising and self-serving. True to these old habits, he makes a B-line for Vera Simpson (a.k.a. Vanessa the Undressa') a retired stripper who married well-to-do long ago and is now the grand widow of the cultured set. At a public auction held on the Simpson estate to raise money for a worthy charity, Joey croons 'There's a Small Hotel' to rekindle memories for Vera of her spurious past, before outing her to her friends, presumably to help raise the necessary dollars from the rich benefactors in attendance. Vera obliges with a classy rendition of 'Zip!' - her signature striptease. This brings down the house. But afterward, she quietly admonishes Joey for his presumptuousness. The next day, however, she is 'Bothered, Bewitched and Bemused' by the ballsy scamp who took liberties. She decides to seek Joey out - or that is - she and Joey find one another at precisely the moment both could 'use' someone new and exciting in their lives. Joey has plans - big plans. Tired of the one-night trade-ups, he wants to open his own nightclub 'Chez Joey'. Ah, but with whose money? Why, Vera's of course. In turn, Vera acknowledges Joey has ignited a fire within her - not romantic - but lustful and desperate for the earthly companionship of a man who is just as rough and ready for her.

Joey wows Vera with 'The Lady Is a Tramp'. Afterward she writes him a check for the expenses. It's all so perfect - except for Linda who is in love with Joey for real and for keeps. At first, Joey rebukes the notion that anyone could love him for himself. Certainly, he recognizes Vera is not in love with him. But Linda just might be and the more Joey thinks about it the more he comes to terms with the fact he has begun to fall hopeless in love with her. The problem now becomes how to cleverly disentangle himself from Vera.  At auditions for the club, Linda sings the sweetly sad 'My Funny Valentine'. Recognizing the emotional connection to Joey in her song, and perhaps somewhat fearful Linda's affections are being reciprocated behind her back, Vera orders Joey to fire Linda. When he refuses, Vera jealously pulls her backing from Chez Joey, effectively dismantling his best 'laid' plans. Joey's refusal is perhaps more a matter of manly pride. As he tells Vera, "Nobody owns Joey...but Joey!" Still, later on his decision gnaws at his conscience. Admitting only to herself that the sacrifice Joey has made is too great for her to accept, Linda sneaks off to the Simpson estate to confront Vera. She agrees to quit the club if Vera will reconsider financing the grand opening. The ladies shake on the deal. But Joey has had quite enough. He refuses Vera's money as well as her proposal of marriage. As the man she loves has had a genuine change of heart, Linda runs after Joey, declaring she will go with him anywhere he is headed. Unable to break himself of his feelings for her, Joey and Linda stroll off together for uncertain horizons.

Pal Joey is an elegant entertainment - perhaps a shade too elegant for the rather raw and abrasive characters who populate this tale. Dorothy Kingsley's screenplay is sandbagged by the production code, absolutely prohibiting her from delving into the more flashy - if mildly tasteless - aspects of Joey's lifestyle. As it stands, our heroic anti-hero (the film can never quite make up its mind if ‘this’ Joey is a disreputable scamp or a lovable heel) is described as a second-rate entertainer which, of course, is pure poppycock given it is Sinatra we are seeing (an A-list vocalist if ever there was one) and, in perfect form no less, at the height of his recording career and pinnacle of his acting powers. Furthermore, the edge in the original story, set in Chicago, has been irrevocable blunted by a change in venue to the lush and magically moon-lit playgrounds of San Francisco; also, by Harold Lipstein's superlative cinematography to make this city by the bay sparkle with a frothy allure. And then there is George Sidney's direction, smooth and stylish, though utterly void of the razor-edged 'grit' that would have immensely benefited this production. Sidney, who cut his creative teeth at MGM is well-schooled in the art of making great musicals. But his Metro glam-bam and champagne cocktail approach to this raucous bar room badinage totally conflicts with the hard-boiled elements of John O'Hara's original stories.

Rita Hayworth was Columbia's biggest star throughout the 1940s. However, by the late 50’s her status was on the wane and for good reason. She's older. While still looking every bit the lady, Hayworth is undeniably less of her former sexpot. Even so, her Vera is preferable in temperament and morality to our pal, Joey than Kim Novak's antiseptic leading lady. Novak's particular brand of cool innocence never quite comes off as anything but austere. She is too plain, too uninspiring and too placid for Joey - reformed or not. As such, Pal Joey remains the Sinatra show. So, it is saying much that the film clings together almost entirely on his performance. He alone resurrects at least some of the coarseness in O'Hara's tough brute as written. And the film recognizes Sinatra's immeasurable contributions even further by tailoring the Rodgers and Hart score to fit his musical styling. Nelson Riddle's orchestrations are perfectly matched to Sinatra's glib vocals.  The aforementioned holdovers from other Rodgers and Hart shows, Sinatra sells as nobody can and as though they were always a part of this show’s integrated score. But in the final analysis, Pal Joey straddles a particularly awkward vintage in the Hollywood musical; a time and a place when the old glamor guard was already beginning to doubt the longevity of its escapist product. The movie is not John O'Hara's Pal Joey or an MGM-styled, big and splashy musical. But it does achieve much in bridging the chasm between the old and burgeoning styles, to mutate and, arguably, mutilate the well-ensconced precepts in the picture-making biz then, evolving itself into a rather interesting, if not altogether successful hybrid, and yes - with a ‘charm’ all its own.

Sony has finally come around to releasing Pal Joey to Blu-ray under their own label. The movie has been MIA since then, by now, long defunct Twilight Time release from 2011, still fetching astronomical dollars for used copies on the internet. Aside: it was always a head-scratcher trying to figure out the executive logic behind Sony’s decision to farm out their classics to TT in the U.S. as exclusive limited editions while making virtually all of the same content available all over Europe in ‘region free’ offerings under their own label, easily be imported state’s side – and often, at a cheaper price. Comparing the TT to the newly minted Sony, it appears Sony has done virtually nothing in the interim to upgrade the 1080p transfer. Given Sony’s proactive stance in hi-def authoring, this is not such an egregious oversight, although I do suspect some of the anomalies evident back then – and a part of this release now – might easily have been rectified with a new 4K scan from whatever surviving protection elements exist on this deep catalog title. That said, much of what is here is in very solid shape. Certain shots reveal slight color fading and an unusual amplification of film grain. But otherwise, Sony has taken the utmost care to prep this for reissue. Colors are mostly accurate.  And why not? The picture was shot in Technicolor. Flesh tones, while natural, lean towards the pinker palette. The image, however, is fairly soft. It is unclear whether cinematographer, Harold Lipstein used a gauze filter here, but I don’t think so. Fine detail, while solid in close-ups, is wanting elsewhere. The 1.0 DTS mono is excellent while hardly pressing the limitations of Blu-ray. Were that this one could have been remastered in 5.1 DTS for the Sinatra songs alone.  Sony’s release jettisons the isolated score that once accompanied the TT release, but retains the featurette long ago prepped when this movie was being marketed via Sony as part of their Kim Novak DVD Collection. This is a scant and disposable junket at best.  No other extras, folks. But if you don’t already own the TT release of yore, you’ll want to snatch this one up from Sony instead, especially at the bargain basement price of barely $20 on Amazon.com.  Bottom line: recommended!

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

3.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

2