WITH A SONG IN MY HEART (2oth Century-Fox, 1952) Fox Home Video

In honor of the Walt Disney Corporation’s most recent public announcement that, after decades of sitting on their own goldmine of Uncle Walt’s live-action film legacy, as well as to have since annexed the asset management catalog of the now-defunct 2oth Century-Fox (inexplicably rechristened 2oth Century Studios by Disney Inc.), Walt’s successors have reached a distribution deal with Grover Crisp and Sony Home Entertainment (whose home video model is decidedly more progressive and aggressive), we at Nix Pix have decided to revisit several Fox catalog releases, decidedly, requiring some immediate love and attention.

In the pantheon of truly outstanding musicals made at 2oth Century-Fox, Walter Lang’s With a Song in My Heart: The Jane Froman Story (1952) remains an unabashedly bright spot; a semi-biographical, sentimental tearjerker that continues to affect the soul as it quite deliberately plucks at the strings of our hearts. Few, are the musicals that can so obviously manipulate without devolving into maudlin treacle. But in star, Susan Hayward, too infrequently revived these days to be revered for the truly outstanding performer that she was, With A Song in My Heart exudes a sort of womanly grace and quiet rectitude, wholly in keeping with the lady on whom this escapist entertainment is based. Lip-syncing to Froman’s tracks, Hayward does more than merely mouth the words. This isn’t a clever pantomime. Rather, Hayward creates an alternate reality that really sells Froman, not only as a compelling ‘human interest’ story gussied up in the trappings of an elegant song-and-dance extravaganza, but as convincingly pitched into the stratosphere as high art. It behooves us to pause to pay homage to the woman who inspired this fictionalized account. The real Jane Froman was a much-beloved torch singer, nightclub performer, major radio celebrity and minor movie star. Her crippling paralysis after a fiery plane crash, triggered a lifelong battle against excruciating physical and mental anguish, extraordinarily challenged, and ultimately defeated by Froman’s formidable stamina, her immovable resolve, her never-waning devotion to God, and, ultimately, her testament to that ‘never surrender’ attitude, parlayed into personal triumph.

The world of entertainment no longer breeds such unicorns among us, either Froman, or Hayward, who take Froman’s saga to her bosom and makes it her own. Jane Froman was a hell of a gal. Not only for her indomitable spirit or fervent desire to entertain us. Even today, listening to those rich recordings of yore, Froman’s voice reaches from beyond the grave, her classically trained, operatic mezzo soprano given over to the likes of the Gershwins, Cole Porter and Irving Berlin. This truly was a songstress out to conquer all forms of popular entertainment. Like Judy Garland, Froman was the little dynamo that could, seemingly with no limitations. This tenacity would be cruelly tested after the USO Boeing Yankee Clipper she was flying home on crashed into the Tagus River near Lisbon, Portugal on February 22, 1943, derailing Froman’s success at the height of her career. For anyone else, surviving would have been enough. Of the fateful thirty-eight on board, only fifteen were pulled from this fiery wreckage alive.

And Froman’s injuries were considerable. A gash above the left knee had all but severed her leg. There were multiple fractures to her right arm, and, a compound fracture threatening amputation of her right leg. In the moments preceding the crash, Froman had exchanged her seat with another passenger, Tamara Drasin who did not survive. This whim of fate plagued Froman’s conscience for the rest of her life. To many, it must have seemed as though Froman’s career – if not her life – had been cut short. Yet, if nothing else, Froman had had a formidable run, begun on the radio, appearing opposite such luminaries as Bing Crosby and Jack Benny, joining the 1933 installment of the Ziegfeld Follies, garnering top honors as the most popular radio singer of 1934, and appearing in three big-budget musical extravaganzas from 1933 to 1938. Froman was already a headliner when catastrophe struck. Then as now, the press reports of Froman’s threadbare survival were immediately repurposed in their own blitzkrieg of hype and hyperbole.

Yet, those who speculated the best was now behind her, really did not know Jane Froman at all. For Froman had set herself upon a vision quest. Not only would she recover from her injuries – if never entirely (forever to wear an archaic back brace to conceal her ongoing malady behind cleverly placed props and costuming) – then enough to exude the illusion as the spokesmodel of unbridled defiance against seemingly insurmountable odds. Perhaps the fortitude, co-pilot, John Curtis Burn (to become Jane’s second husband) had shown – fashioning a makeshift raft from floating debris with a broken back no less, on which he and Froman clung until help arrived – provided the motivation for Jane’s steadfast recovery. Undergoing thirty-nine excruciating surgeries, Froman wore a leg brace for the remainder of her life, but staunchly refused to let it slow her down. In fact, a scant two years after the crash, she was touring Europe, entertaining the troops in a daunting slate of 95 shows. To cope with chronic, agonizing pain, Froman turned to alcohol and pills, becoming addicted to both. Yet, she fought and won her battle against these considerable demons, eventually to regain her health, sanity and sobriety. From 1952 (the year Fox set to work immortalizing her life’s story for the big screen) until 1955, Froman hosted her own TV program on CBS.  A year later, she divorced Burn.

With a Song in My Heart does not delve too deeply into any of the aforementioned backstory, either out of respect for Froman, or perhaps, merely to satisfy the requirements of a frothy and escapist musical. Froman not only contributed heavily to story ideas, eventually fleshed out in Lamar Trotti’s screenplay, but also agreed to supply the soundtrack, convincingly lip-synced by Susan Hayward.  The re-recorded album version of that soundtrack was an immediate best-seller; the movie, a runaway smash. Although exaggerated somewhat, With a Song in My Heart adheres to the basics in Froman’s life story… to a point. We chart Froman’s meteoric rise to fame via blind optimism and driving ambition. The film concentrates on Froman’s altruism and respect afforded by first husband, Don Ross (David Wayne), and, the supportive nurturing gleaned from her second, John Burn (Rory Calhoun). It says something of Froman she chose, with Trotti’s efforts, neither to deify nor condemn either man in the movie. There is no 'bad marriage' here, and certainly, no 'bad men' to justify the change-over from husband's one to two. Merely, the passage of time, the inevitable drifting apart of people to remain loyal, good friends even after the love between them had gone. 

Perhaps out of a sense of modesty, the extent of Froman’s life-threatening injuries is glossed over in montage with an as fictional narration given by private nurse, Clancy (the enduring and irrepressible, Thelma Ritter in a role expressly created from creative license). We don’t really get to see the full extent of Froman’s depression, nor the tribulations of her abuse of alcohol and pills.  Her crippled hand, addiction to painkillers, mounting personal insecurities, and debt, and her second divorce from Burn are never even mentioned herein, as the modus operandi of movies like With A Song in My Heart is never to dwell on the ugly imperfectness of life; only, one’s triumphant re-emergence into the light. It helps to know such hopeful promise was as much a part of the real Jane Froman’s efforts to conquer those hardships merely glossed over in the movie. So, it wasn’t all just fantastic, light and airy fun.

To fill in the narrative gaps, Trotti’s screenplay zeroes in on Froman’s commitments during the war, fabricating a reoccurring friendship between Froman and a nondescript GI Paratrooper, superbly played by a very dashing Robert Wagner. Hayward and Wagner appear together in only two brief scenes, but they narrowly steal the show. In the first, Wagner’s cocky flyer flirts with Froman after making a request she sing him a ballad during her Manhattan nightclub act. It is an engaging, if ephemeral moment, mostly focused on Hayward’s devil-may-care outlook, and, only completely understood in the movie when Wagner’s GI resurfaces much later, only this time as a shell-shocked veteran, barely conscious, teary-eyed and unable to speak. Few moments in any musical attain this level of bittersweet acknowledgement, as Froman, suddenly to recall this shell of a man from his better days, indulges him now with a painfully brave rendition of, ‘I’ll Walk Alone’; Wagner’s catatonic, stirred, tears, reciprocated in Hayward’s eyes.

The other great moment in the picture concludes our story with the unabashedly patriot, The American Medley; a rousing compendium of time-honored songs addressing many states in the union, and bookended by Froman’s heart-stirring rendition of America, The Beautiful. Here, Hayward, as Froman, tossing her crutches to Clancy in the wings, effortlessly elevates the stature and importance of the USO, flanked on a choral of men and women in uniform and singing her heart out to a collective of the wounded, though hardly forlorn.  The genuine tragedy today is that some will view this sort of flag-waving celebratory call to national pride as hokey at best or utterly passé at its worst. To such naysayers, my condolences. I have never been able to get through this emotional H-bomb without shedding a few well-regarded tears for all that was, all that has been lost, and all that might someday be honorable, fine and respectable yet again. It’s just that good. From this towering moment we regress, rather antithetically to the ballroom from which this movie’s titanic regression into Froman’s past first began. Hayward concludes with a reprise of the title track as the camera pulls back and the screen fades to black.

What distinguishes With A Song in My Heart from just another Fox musical is Susan Hayward’s heart-wrenching performance. A distinguished and versatile actress, today sadly relegated to all but forgotten B-grade status, Hayward’s raw and uninhibited turn as Froman is a tour de force. Although her vocals are dubbed by Froman, Hayward gives us genuine empathy during the dramatic scenes and, when ordered to lip-sync to Froman’s tracks, assimilates that inimitable voice into her own earthy blend of pathos, joy and exuberance. As a child, I knew nothing of Froman, nor of the art of dubbing, and thoroughly believed Hayward was singing for herself. Even knowing the truth now does not negatively impact my appreciation for Hayward’s conveyance of Froman’s art. The women, at least in my mind, have melded into a singular ‘third’ entity that is the Jane Froman we see on the screen. Atypically mounted with all the studio gloss Fox could lavish in those days, With A Song in My Heart endures chiefly as a great ‘human’ story about the value of perseverance through adversity.

Our story begins on the star-studded eve of the annual New York newspapermen’s ball. Froman receives an honorary distinction as ‘the most courageous entertainer of the year’. As she takes to the stage and begins to sing the title song, Leon Shamroy’s camera effortlessly glides about the room, settling on an adoring John Burns, his thoughts momentarily elsewhere. We regress to the mid-1930’s, Jane – the ingénue, determined to make good, but arriving too late for a coveted audition on a syndicated Cincinnati radio program. Mistaking Vaudevillian, Don Ross for the station manager, Jane belts out ‘It’s a Good Day’, her infectious verve and style impressing Ross who, upon confiding to Froman he is not the manager, fetches the real McCoy to hear her sing again. Of course, this inauspicious beginning launches Froman’s career as the station’s resident ‘staff singer’. Personal appearances follow and Ross, who is unable to attain any lasting success on his own, eventually undertakes to manage Jane’s career.

Believing Froman’s talents are not being utilized to their utmost, Ross orchestrates a lucrative series of nightclub gigs in New York. Soon, Jane is the toast of the town and Ross is enamored with his protégée. Alas, the feeling is hardly mutual. Although Jane is grateful to Ross for being her friend and mentor, she doesn’t really love him. It doesn’t matter. Ross bides his time and eventually wears Jane down. They are wed, though not entirely destined for the proverbial ‘happily ever after’. Ross increasingly dissatisfied with being the man behind the legend, picks quarrels with his wife, leading to frustrations on both sides. Jane goes to Hollywood and makes a movie – then another. She’s hotter than ever. Yet, at the zenith of her popularity, Jane makes a momentous decision to throw it all away and devote herself to her marriage. Altruistically, Ross loosens the yoke of his conceit, realizing that while he may not have had Jane’s best interests at heart for quite some time, she has decidedly proven she has always had his in the pocket closest to her own heart.

Jane enlists in the USO as an entertainer. Ross concurs that the separation may be just what they need to recharge their batteries and begin anew.  Regrettably, during the ill-fated flight from London, via Bermuda and Lisbon, Jane briefly befriends co-pilot, John Burns and fellow entertainer, Jennifer March (Helen Westcott) who asks Jane to switch seats with her. The plane experiences mechanical failings shortly after takeoff, losing altitude and crashing into the Tagus River.  In the fiery aftermath and amidst the chaos of screams for help, John manages to rescue Jane from drowning, holding her broken body afloat against a piece of wreckage until they are saved.  At hospital, Jane is attended by sharp-shooting nurse, Clancy (Thelma Ritter) who will become her closest confidant. Jane also learns Jennifer has died in the crash. Mercifully, John has survived. In the arduous months of recovery yet to follow, Jane and John grow close. Jane struggles to maintain her cheery disposition.  John confides he is in love with her. But Jane resists. Sent home to America shortly thereafter, Jane takes Clancy on as her private nurse. In New York, Ross stands beside his wife as she endures even more hideous operations to save her leg from the threat of amputation. But when John arrives in town to vie for Jane’s heart, Jane confides in Clancy she now loves him too. Ever the pragmatist, Clancy advises Jane to forsake the romance and concentrate on her recovery. Meanwhile, Ross has been busily concocting a new show for Jane to appear; essential to help pay for her mounting medical expenses.

Although she must be carried to and from the stage, Jane’s Broadway debut is a critical and financial success. Alas, the run is cut short when Jane becomes depressed at the thought of losing her leg. Motivated by her stubborn devotion, Clancy admonishes Jane for her self-pity. In private, however, she weeps sincere tears. Another nightclub engagement follows, Jane charming a brash young paratrooper with a song. Afterward, John tells Jane she must choose her future. Instead, Jane encourages Clancy to go with her overseas on a grueling USO tour. In Europe, Jane sings to the wounded men. In some ways, she derives great strength from this series of concerts, realizing how many of the wounded are facing similar adversities. It’s a revelation, made all the more humbling when Jane is reunited with a paratrooper she once sung to in New York, now among the severely wounded and stricken by depression. Jane’s solo stirs the flyer into a half smile. She gingerly takes him in her embrace at song’s end and he begins to speak softly for the first time since his injuries. As their thirty-thousand-mile tour draws to a close, Jane leads the soldier corps in a rousing tribute to America as Clancy looks on. Receiving a drunken phone call from Ross, informing him he will not be waiting at the docks for Jane’s return, John rushes to meet the ship instead. The flashback concludes with a return to the newspaperman’s ball. Jane concludes the night’s festivities with a song in her heart and John takes great pride in the small part he has played in this great lady’s life. 

With a Song in My Heart is one of the last Fox musicals to be photographed in vintage 3-strip Technicolor. Within the year, Darryl F. Zanuck would announce his sweeping reform for all Fox output, to be photographed in the expansive new widescreen process of Cinemascope. Viewed today, the movie’s sentiment is hardly strained. Fox’s lurid use of Technicolor throughout the 1940’s and early 50’s was the envy of every other studio, as well as the centerpiece of its’ colorful candy-box of musical stars, to include Betty Grable, June Haver, Carmen Miranda and Alice Faye. Susan Hayward lacked the singing pipes to immediately mark her to appear in a big and splashy musical entertainment. But what she lacks for in vocal skill, she more than makes up for as a great dramatic star. And since drama is at the crux of With A Song in My Heart, Hayward is, undeniably, the perfect star from the Fox stables to transform Froman’s fame and frothiness into a sentimental journey of the highest order.

Unfortunately, Fox Home Video’s DVD leaves a great deal to be desired. Visually, this is a real mixed bag. Image quality ranges from relatively sharp and nicely contrasted, to downright grainy, with severely mis-registered Technicolor creating disturbing halos to distract and disappoint. When the image is properly aligned, we get a faded facsimile of what Fox’s pronounced use of vintage Technicolor must have looked like in its heyday. As Fox ditched all of its separation masters in the late 1970’s whatever can become of With A Song in My Heart these days is but an approximation of what it once was when shown theatrically. Even so, the ugly blue/green halos to distort image quality considerably throughout this transfer ought to have been corrected before porting this out to disc. Color balancing also could have been improved. Flesh tones rail between piggy pink and ruddy orange. There is a muddy tonality to all beiges, blacks, browns and army greens. The image is also grainier than anticipated. Remember, Technicolor was a grain concealing process. So, this should have adopted a more velvet sheen with a slight patina of film grain looking indigenous to its source. Instead, this one looks very rough in spots. The 2.0 mono is adequate, though just. Extras include three insightful documentaries on the real Jane Froman; one, a glowing personal account (audio only, but supplemented by still images) from Froman’s second husband, Robert Burns. There is also an interactive press kit, restoration comparison, and, the film’s original theatrical trailer. Bottom line: while highly recommended for content, Fox’s efforts here remain highly suspect and do not represent the movie in a quality befitting today’s hi-def mastering standards.

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

4.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

2

EXTRAS

3