THE EMPEROR WALTZ: Blu-ray (Paramount, 1948) Kino Lorber
The near-perfect intersection of three careers, two on
the rise, one already well-established, went into the creation of Paramount’s
lavishly appointed musical, The Emperor Waltz (begun in 1946, but not to
be completed until 1948), to star one of the 20th century’s
irrefutable heavy-hitting titans of both the music/film industry: Bing Crosby.
The other ‘two’ zeitgeists on tap were seemingly invisible, collaborative
screenwriters, Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder, who also directed the
picture. In hindsight, The Emperor Waltz is just one of those big and
splashy movie spectacles one sincerely wishes had been a little bit better than
it actually is. Do not misunderstand. There are some very good things in it. And
yet, somehow, the picture never entirely clicks as it should, becoming instead,
an impressively tricked out programmer with its A-listers doing everything in
their power to make us forget it. The plot, alas, can be summarized in a
nutshell: brash American gramophone salesman, Virgil Smith (Crosby) pitches his
wares to Emperor Franz Josef (Richard Haydn) of Austria. The idea, is actually
grounded in truth. Yet, while the picture sports some gorgeous scenery
reporting to be of the Alps, Paramount went no further than Canada’s Jasper
National Park to shoot the exteriors. Wilder, however, was displeased, and had
pines imported from California at a then staggering cost of $20,000. He also
insisted on the planting of 4000 daisies, hand-tinted blue, to photograph
better in Technicolor. Virtually everything else was shot inside the studio’s
soundstages, including some very impressive palace recreations.
Immediately following the Oscar-winning success of
1945’s The Lost Weekend, Wilder and Brackett endeavored to work on a
project, squarely to address the strife and struggle of U.S. military personnel
in Europe. Alas, Wilder’s trip abroad so disturbed him, he returned to
Hollywood, determined to commit his talents to a light and frothy musical
instead. This was not the first time Wilder and Crosby’s paths had crossed.
Brackett and Wilder had worked on Crosby’s well-received Rhythm on the River
(1940). Now, Wilder drew upon a little known ‘incident’ at the 1900 World’s Fair
in Paris to involve Danish inventor, Valdemar Poulsen, who had demonstrated his
magnetic recording device to Austria’s Emperor in the hopes he would finance
its further research and proliferation. But alas, joy galore was not to be the
order of the day. Crosby’s aloof attitude towards co-star, Joan Fontaine – on loan
from RKO – created an undercurrent of animosity. “I was a star at that time,”
Fontaine later reasoned, “…but he treated me like he’d never heard of
me.” As for Wilder, Crosby confided in Fontaine his inability to understand
his direction, because of Wilder’s accent. Finally, Crosby chose, often, to adlib
or change his lines to suit his own impressions of the character he was
playing. Reflecting on the experience decades later, Wilder reasoned, “Bing
Crosby operated for himself - not for the group or the film. He was a big star,
the biggest, and he thought he knew what was good for him.”
Important, I think, to pause a moment here on the
meteoric and enduring legacy of Harry Lillis ‘Bing’ Crosby, the Tacoma-born
crooner extraordinaire, whose only genuine rival in the early days of sound
recording was that ‘other’ skinny little fellow from Hoboken whom Crosby
amusedly once referred to as a ‘brash, young newcomer who had a lot to offer.’
Of course, it was Sinatra. But by 1948, Bing Crosby was already an American
institution. Precisely how he earned the nickname ‘Bing’ remains open for
discussion. The established tale is that a neighbor lent him the moniker ‘Bingo
from Bingville’ that Crosby later foreshortened to ‘Bing’. We’ll stick with
that one, as the always musical Crosby, involved in several vocal trios in his
youth, was eventually spotted by noted band leader, Paul Whiteman. Crosby then
ventured on his own, as part of another act, The Rhythm Boys. But by
1932, he had outgrown them too, and next ventured on a solo debut that would,
as they used to say, became the stuff from which dreams are made. By 1936,
Crosby had eclipsed even Whiteman’s popularity, taking over as the radio host of
NBC’s Kraft Music Hall. He also signed his first studio contract with Paramount
Pictures. With very few exceptions, Crosby would remain exclusively their
property for the next 30-years, occasionally venturing to neighboring studios to
make a picture or two. In June 1945, Life Magazine hailed Crosby as
‘America’s #1 star’ having accrued an enviable fan base and even more
staggeringly impressive personal wealth from his recording (he cut more than
60,000,000 discs) and film careers (he was already the star of 49 movies, with
another 37 yet to make!). To date, his
greatest success remained ‘White Christmas’ – the song, first
immortalized in 1942’s Holiday Inn, and later, to be re-launched as its
own movie, Paramount’s first, in their patented VistaVision motion picture high
fidelity widescreen process. The song White
Christmas has endured as the biggest-selling single of all time, currently
with well over 50 million copies sold around the globe. But I digress.
The Emperor Waltz is set at the
turn of the twentieth century. We meet traveling salesman, Virgil Smith on his
latest sojourn through Austria hoping to pitch his gramophone to Emperor Franz
Josef, whose purchase of this latest and greatest American invention would
likely create a fervor among the Austrian people to own one too. At the same
time, Countess Johanna Augusta Franziska von Stoltzenberg and her father, Baron
Holenia (Roland Culver) are celebrating their black poodle, Scheherazade,
selected to mate with the emperor's prized pooch. As Augusta and the Baron exit
the palace, they encounter Virgil and his charming white fox terrier, Buttons. The
dogs’ natural antagonism ultimately leads to an unflattering, yet comical discussion
about class distinction. According to veterinarian, Dr. Zwieback (Sig Ruman), who
practices Freudian psychology, Scheherazade has suffered a nervous breakdown,
the only cure, for her to encounter Buttons again. Alas, when the dogs reunite,
an unanticipated romance blossoms – and not just between them – also, their owners.
Johanna and Virgil begin to spend a lot of time together, oblivious to the fact
their animals have already mated.
Having fallen haplessly in love, Virgil implores
Johanna to reconsider the power of true love, capable of overcoming their
social differences. Rather impetuously, Virgil asks the Emperor for the Countess’
hand in marriage. In what remains the movie’s most tender and reflective scene,
the fatherly leader of the nation is cordial but firm with Virgil. “We are
not better than you”, the Emperor explains, “I think perhaps you are
better than us. But we are like snails. If you take us out of our majestic
shells, we die.” Now, the Emperor attempts
to strike a bargain with Virgil, to endorse the gramophone, surely to invigorate
Virgil’s bank account, though only if he refuses Johanna. Virgil is highly
insulted he should surrender the woman he loves for the profit it might
otherwise derive. But the Emperor remains circumspect as he explains how
previous attempts for royalty to mate with commoners has resulted in some very
disastrous unions, concluding to Virgil, “Are you sure you will be enough for
her?” Rather than wreck Johanna’s happiness Virgil agrees to walk out of
her life for good. Accepting sole responsibility here, Virgil lies to Johanna
that his love has cooled, hoping she will learn to hate him and move on with
her life.
Several bitter months of regret pass. However, when Scheherezade
gives birth to a litter of white puppies with black patches, undeniably sired
by Buttons, the kingdom is agog. Fearing reprisals, Baron Holenia lies that the
puppies were stillborn and secretly orders them drowned. Mercifully, having
already snuck back into the palace, in order to clarify the reasons for his hasty
departure, Virgil now rescues the puppies and confronts the emperor, whom he
believes is responsible for the order to have them killed. The emperor demands
an explanation from Holenia but asks Virgil to bequeath him the puppies. Still
disgusted, Virgil admonishes the emperor for his class snobbery and, unaware Johanna
is in their midst, admits he should have never agreed to surrender his love to
spare her from a commoner's life. The
choice ought to have been hers to make. Realizing the depth of his love, Johanna
makes her presence known, reasoning it is better to take a one-in-a-million
chance for true happiness than no chance at all with someone from her station
in life whom she will never truly love. Forced to reconsider his position on
the marriage, the emperor concurs. Virgil and Johanna are a match set and
allowed to marry.
The Emperor Waltz was an unusual
movie from the outset. Brackett and Wilder’s acerbic wit remains a strange bedfellow
for Victor Young’s melodic score. And given the picture is supposed to cater to
Crosby’s strengths as a crooner, it is decidedly light on its musical program.
The score is a patchwork quilt by some of the top tunesmiths of their
generation including Richard Heuberger, Jimmy Van Heusen and Johnny Burke. Yet,
there are only 5 songs in the picture, most – utterly forgettable, with the
most distinct, being, The Kiss in Your Eyes, affectingly warbled by Der
Bingle in his usual easy-going style. Given all the strife involved in bringing
The Emperor Waltz to fruition, Billy Wilder rarely spoke of the movie
thereafter, once telling an interviewer “I never want to see it again.” Critics of the day were quick to condemn
Wilder’s efforts as a wan ghost flower of the kind of fun and frothy spectacles
made by the late Ernst Lubitsch. Indeed, The Emperor Waltz marginally suffers
from these slightly embalmed phantoms of the past. Even so, Wilder never blamed Crosby for the picture’s
artistic failings, though co-writer, Charles Brackett held steadfast to the
opinion the show was an outright stiff and stultifying “stinker” further
bludgeoned by Hollywood’s prevailing censorship, which found the mating of
Virgil’s Buttons, and the Countess’ Scheherazade, a distasteful lampoon of
class distinction. Evidently, Wilder’s disdain for the outcome of the movie was
noted by producer, Samuel Goldwyn who, in typically fractured Goldwyn fashion,
encouraged Wilder to take his lumps and accept “…the bitter with the sour!”
Decades later, while accepting his own Lifetime Achievement Award from the AFI,
Wilder affectionately mused with a smile, “…I wish the old boy were still
around today!”
The Emperor Waltz was a terrific critical
and financial flop for Paramount abroad, though, ironically, it did well in
America. In the end, however, it remained more of an ordeal than a labor of
love for all concerned. Wilder’s initial aim, to transform the picture into an
homage to the Austria of his youth, dotted in rose-colored memories of its
former pre-war gemutlich charm, failing to gel as it should. On occasion, the
backstage strain between Crosby and the rest of the cast seeps into the
performances on the screen. Fontaine’s Countess Johanna Augusta Franziska is
frequently stilted and seemingly uncomfortable in her costar’s presence,
exuding a glacial beauty, though precious little else to recommend her
participation here. The film is undeniably a vehicle for Crosby and he
dominates it with a certain galvanized verve. Yet, this borders on shameless scene-stealing
at the expense of finding the soft-core center of the story. Crosby had
fleeting success with the picture’s love ballad – popular on the hit parade. Ultimately,
his legacy would emerge unscathed by the experience of making The Emperor Waltz.
Indeed, he still had some of his biggest movies to make, including White
Christmas (1954), as well as two more memorable outings in his lucrative ‘road’
series with Bob Hope and Dorothy Lamour: 1947’s Road to Rio and 1952’s Road
to Bali. Crosby would also anchor
Disney’s latest animated anthology in an ongoing narration for 1949’s The
Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad. But perhaps his most outstanding
performance was as the sad alcoholic in 1954’s The Country Girl – an anathema
to all his other usual bright and breezy characters.
The Emperor Waltz’s Virgil Smith
never strains Crosby’s dynamic range, either as a performer or singer. Indeed,
he only sings 3 of the 5 songs featured herein. But it should be noted, that
from nowhere, we get a fabulously staged ‘specialty number’ showcasing
the formidable balletic skills of Bert Pival (cast as the characterless chauffeur)
and Roberta Jonay (as an even more nondescript servant girl). It’s an exuberant
moment in this sumptuously mounted movie. If only there were more like it. There
are some very fine supporting players here, to include Roland Culver as the
Countess’ father, Harold Vermilyea as the Emperor’s Chamberlain and the always
dependable, if owl-like sage, Lucille Watson as gossipy Princess Bitotska. We lean
to these wonderfully cast characters for dramatic sustenance. Bedecked in ravishing
costumes by Edith Head, and shot with mesmeric Technicolor brilliance by
cinematographer, George Barnes, Franz Bachelin and Hans Dreier’s production
design truly calls out the fastidious flair and finesse of a bygone Hapsberg
court. Regrettably, the end result is only just lovely to look at, but somehow
more of a snore than a success.
Kino Lorber’s new-to-Blu of The Emperor Waltz features
a competently rendered 1080p image, floated by its fabulous Technicolor cinematography.
The picture favors reds – deep, rich and velvety in everything from the emperor’s
guard’s uniforms to the peasant class’ costumes and the countess’ blood-red lip
balm. Emerald green is the other color to be showcased dramatically herein. On
occasion, we get some ever-so-slight mis-registration of the 3-strip negative,
to create a softer image with some minor halos. But overall, The Emperor Waltz
fares better than most of Paramount’s vintage catalog now under the lack-luster
custodianship of Universal Pictures. Contrast is solid. Age-related artifacts
are present, but not to egregious levels. The 2.0 DTS audio is nicely turned
out, with crisp dialog and some engaging fidelity in the songs. Film historian,
Joseph McBride weighs in with an engaging audio commentary. Aside: McBride’s
commentary is extremely refreshing and, in a class far above the commentators
Kino usually gets to schmooze about the movies they barely understand and
generally try to force into some critical discussion based either on current
impressions culled from feminist or race-related perspectives. McBride’s background as Billy Wilder’s
biographer affords us none of that, but rather a thoroughly comprehensive
backstory on the director that covers a lot more ground than anticipated. We
also get a whopping 10 trailers Kino is using to market other fare to the
consumer. Bottom line: The Emperor Waltz is not a great movie. There are
great things in it, but they never come together as they should. So, who’s to
blame? Not sure. For Crosby completionists only.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the
best)
3
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
1
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