STORMY WEATHER: Blu-ray (2oth Century-Fox 1943) Twilight Time
Consummately all-star
and mind-boggling to consider so much A-list talent under one roof, much less
likely to discover it in a single picture, Andrew L. Stone’s Stormy Weather (1943) remains a
benchmark in the classic Hollywood musical, not the least for its all-black
cast; a scintillating ensemble, headlined by the peerless Lena Horne and Bill
‘Bojangles’ Robinson. Not so much an incredible leap of faith for 2oth
Century-Fox production chief, Darryl F. Zanuck, but a challenge; the gauntlet
thrown down at MGM this same year with the release of another all-black revue;
Vincente Minnelli’s Cabin in the Sky
(also starring Horne). The format had not been attempted in Hollywood since the
late silent era and early talkies, primarily due to limited booking possibilities
in the segregated south. Indeed, even in
1943, it was a tough sell. Consequently, opportunities for black performers,
outside the usual grotesque parodies as sidekicks or comic relief and
background filler (maids, chauffeurs and other ‘hired help’) were limited. Even
when a performer of Lena Horne’s caliber was integrated into the white landscape
of a Technicolor musical, her appearances were devised in such a way as to be
seamlessly excised without a disruption to the plot when these movies were
shown in the southern states.
Under such a
heavily biased cloud, Stormy Weather
is an even more remarkable venture.
Regrettably, at 78 minutes, it comes off as little more than a TripTik
through this cavalcade of African-American stars. The Frederick J. Jackson/Ted
Koehler screenplay, adapted from a story by H.S. Kraft, itself already once
removed from a treatment by Jerry Horwin and Seymour B. Robinson, is marred by
an episodic structure – serviceable, though just barely. Tolerance of a
different sort is required to quell the obviousness in such racial stereotypes
depicted in the Cake Walk, complete
with a tap chorine whose Black-eyed Susan bonnets sport leering blackfaces on
their backside, or ‘Diga-Diga Doo’ -
an infectious little ditty sung by Horne to a writhing flock of female dancers,
cavorting in zebra-striped costumes and tribal headdress; the jungle tone
further exaggerated as Bill Robinson, stripped from the waist up, chest painted
in tribesmen stripes and insignia, taps out an electric drum solo. This latter
endeavor actually broke a record: 1,984 taps in just under four minutes and
eight seconds! For the most part, however, Stormy
Weather treats its black troupe with the dignity they well deserve.
As Gabe
Tucker, Dooley Wilson is a superb comic foil to Bill Robinson’s thinly veiled
alter ego, Bill Williamson, an infinitely more level-headed romantic figure.
Lena Horne, as the delicious Selina Rogers, is an effervescent love interest,
while Emmett 'Babe' Wallace gives us a competently played jealous baddie in
Chick Bailey. The rest of the company appears
as themselves, nondescripts not even afforded character names. Thus, Ada Brown is Ada Brown, the proprietress of a Beale Street speakeasy where
the likes of Fats Waller nightly entertains and Selina and Bill are reunited,
much to Chick’s chagrin. Enigmatically, the most dynamic musical performance within
this cavalcade of stars is Cab Calloway and the Nicholas Brothers – curious,
because apart from their electrifying Jumpin’
Jive, none is integral to this threadbare plot. But for 3 ½ minutes, Fayard
Antonio and Harold Lloyd Nicholas become the toast of the town, displaying
their trademarked acrobatic splits, leaping from podium to podium in perfect
synchronization and with lightning speed, before ascending and descending a
pronounced gleaming white art deco staircase. It is a mesmerizing display of
balletic taps and raw athletics, capping off Stormy Weather’s revue on a penultimate high note; officially
closed out with Horne and Robinson reprising, ‘My, My, Ain’t That Something’, to suggest the proverbial and
prerequisite happy ending at hand.
Stormy Weather begins with Bill Williamson
blissfully enjoying retirement on the veranda of his country cottage. Here
again, we are presented with that Hollywoodized quaint and ultra-sanitized bucolic
domesticity few were living in 1943, but all could sincerely hope and aspire to
achieve someday. At present, Bill is entertaining the neighborhood children
with a brief overview of his showbiz exploits. We regress to the end of the
First World War, Bill and Gabe glimpsed amidst a homecoming processional of
returning veterans; the pair carrying a big bass drum for Jim Europe’s (Ernest
Whitman) Orchestra down the middle of 5th Avenue. Arriving at a
fashionable nightclub later in the evening, Bill forewarns Gabe his profligate
spending will soon put him in the poorhouse. Nevertheless, Gabe is only
interested in impressing his gal pal of the evening (Florence O'Brien) who runs
through his limited means in no time. Bill is almost immediately drawn to
Selina, the center of attention for all the enviable male suitors in the
ballroom. Bill introduces himself as a good friend of Selina’s brother, Clem,
who was killed in the war. He also gives her a memento to remember her brother
by and then proceeds to make romantic inroads for himself.
Selina is
congenial and grateful to Bill for looking her up. However, in inquiring as to
Bill’s future, she quickly realizes he has no definite plans. But Gabe boasts
he and Bill know practically everyone in showbiz. Selina then asks if either
know Chick Bailey. As the name means virtually nothing, Gabe lies through his
teeth; not only does he know Chick, but he practically gave him his start in
showbiz. Recognizing the untruth as such,
Selina is nevertheless gracious as she introduces her piano accompanist to
their table – none other than Chick Bailey.
Unaware of what has transpired, Bailey greets the pair as the total strangers
they are, but soon becomes adversarial towards Bill, particularly after Selina
agrees to partake in the Cakewalk with him. She quickly learns Bill is a free
spirit, having no real direction in life except to go to Tennessee and return
to New York only when, in his own words, he has become ‘somebody’.
We dissolve to
a cotton boat cruising the Mississippi. Bill and a fellow co-worker are resting
after a long day’s work at the mills. Overhearing harmonica music from the
other side of the deck, Bill discovers ‘The Tramp Band’ kicking up their heels.
He begins to partake with a soft shoe tap routine. The band members are very
impressed with his skill and urge Bill to disembark wit them in Memphis. No
urging required, it seems, as Bill has already decided if he ever sees a bale
of cotton again it will be too soon. We fast track o Ada Brown’s Beale Street
café. The star attraction is Miss Ada herself, a hefty, whisky-voiced
chanteuse, accompanied by the inimitable ‘Fats’ Waller. Bill is a lowly waiter.
Thus, when Selina and Chick arrive for a drink, she barely recognizes him at
first. But soon Selina’s memory kicks in and she is delighted to see Bill
again, urging Chick to give him a job in their new show. Reluctantly, Chick
obliges. But Bill’s first placement in the revue is atop a tree branch far
removed from the action. Quickly disillusioned, Bill elects to hijack Chick’s
number, accompanied by a drum solo. Bill uses his feet instead of beaters to
tap out the rhythm. The crowd loves it. But Chick has decided this is just the
infraction he’s been looking for to fire Bill. It doesn’t really matter,
because by now Selina prefers Bill to Chick.
Again, the
plot incongruously leaps ahead, ineffectively linked by Robinson’s present-day
narration on the steps of his cottage. We flashback to Bill, determined to put
on a show but unable to find a backer to loan him the $500 dollars he needs to
pay off his chorines and keep them happy. Bill runs into Gabe, now a bootblack,
shining shoes on the street corner. Gabe tells Bill he doesn’t need money. He
merely has to pretend as though money is no object. To this end, Gabe arrives
by taxi at the theater, and in a tuxedo no less. He feigns being a wealthy
patron of the arts who has agreed to sign everyone’s pay voucher with a bonus,
provided they commit themselves to the opening night, Gabe almost pulls off
this ruse until two of the show’s extras remember him from his corner bootblack
station. The incensed chorines decide to set Gabe up, luring him into their
dressing room before beating him up with their powder puffs and a box of
chocolates he had intended to give them for their debut.
Bill and
Selina put on their show despite this misfire and are a great success. Their
romance, very antiseptic on the screen, though presumably clandestine and
progressing, eventually leads to Bill popping the question. Selina is
empathetic, but unreceptive. She doesn’t want the white picket fence and
children – not yet. She is in love with her career and the excitement of performing
around the country. A temporary parting of the ways occurs. Bill retires to his
beloved cottage; the dream home he picked out for Selina. We return to the
present, Bill receiving an impromptu visit from Cab Calloway. The band leader encourages
him to bring his tap shoes out of retirement for one last show – a big-time
extravaganza dedicated to the soldiers preparing for deployment to Europe at
the height of WWII. Bill willingly agrees: anything for those gallant boys
defending our honor at home and abroad. He and Selina are reunited backstage.
With seemingly no rehearsal, the pair performs a signature tune before a packed
nightclub audience. Calloway takes over with The Jumpin’ Jive; introducing The Nicholas Brothers, who
effectively bring down the house. Backstage, Selina informs Bill the time has
come for her to settle down. If Bill still wants to – and he does – she is more
than willing to entertain his proposal of marriage now. The cast briefly
reassembles on stage for a reprise of ‘My,
My, Ain’t That Something’ before the screen fades into the end titles.
Stormy Weather is a fairly truncated mishmash
of plot entanglements, none convincingly realized. The impetus for this song
and dance spectacular really is the numbers themselves, strung together with
the most threadbare – and barely utilitarian – of plots to hold the audiences’
attentions. Yet, here is a showcase for
the very best in black entertainment circa 1943, the alumni, most having risen
through the ranks from Vaudeville, to the ‘legitimate’ stage, and finally, the
movies, are undeniably at the pinnacle of their respective powers. When Lena
Horne serenades, as example, with the film’s title tune, she smolders with the
integrity of a vintage torch singer in her prime. Personal opinion, of course,
but I have always viewed both Stormy
Weather and Cabin in the Sky (as
yet to make its hi-def debut) with a modicum of remorse for Lena Horne.
Despite her
undeniably glamorous façade, immense singing talent and deft ability to handle
comedy and drama in tandem with ease, here is a performer systematically denied
from plying her gifts to the art of the movie musical beyond brief cameos or
specialty numbers, the bias solely based on the color of her skin; her two
aforementioned ‘starring’ features banned in the South. Horne was oft’
criticized in the black press too for not looking ‘black enough’; her
fine-boned features plied with a special makeup to register – particularly in
B&W – as little more than a light tan. Horne, like Dorothy Dandridge, who
would follow in her footsteps briefly in the mid-1950’s, ought to have been one
of movie-land’s greatest musical stars. Instead, she remains something of a
misplaced – though never forgotten – footnote within its annals; a similar fate
befallen every other performer in Stormy
Weather. Mercifully, most everyone
in this cast went on to have enduring careers elsewhere after the Hollywood
machinery was done with them.
And it remains
a testament to these formidable stars not even the incongruity of Stormy Weather’s lackadaisical
plot is enough to sink the picture. Arguably, Zanuck would have done better to
merely produce a revue-styled program sans narration; a sort of all-black
Ziegfeld Follies in which skits and songs are merely lumped together. That’s
pretty much the structure adhered to in this film, periodically interrupted by
a shoestring commentary from Robinson.
Setting aside the film’s racial stereotypes for a moment, it is still
possible to bask in the myriad of musical treasures. James Basevi and Joseph C.
Wright’s art direction is nonpareil; a textbook example of old-time/big-time
Hollywood glamor. Leon Shamroy’s B&W cinematography teems with eye-popping
imagery. Helen Rose’s costumes are gorgeous; particularly flattering to Lena
Horne’s lithe and petite features.
Obviously, the
film’s focus is on its musical performances – a staggering 20+ inserted into
this scant 78 minutes of super kitsch and coo. From a purely nostalgic perspective,
Stormy Weather hails from another
epoch almost entirely devolved from our own, when such featherweight
concoctions were par for the course. It’s a musical full of intensely beautiful
moments, yet, strangely lacking a warm heart-filled center of proverbial ‘feel
good’ the greatest musicals all possess. As such, it’s the exercise that
continues to impress; the sheer size and momentum of the piece and the
fractured song and dance vignettes we commit to memory even as we exit the
theater. Despite its limited run, the picture made money. It also caught
something of the popular zeitgeist while being filmed; Fox taking full
advantage by having bleachers built inside the sound stages to accommodate ‘guest
traffic’; also, exploiting the cast for command performances on Armed Forces
Radio. Never again would Hollywood invest in such a glittery all-star display
with an all-black cast. A first-rate counterpoint to the all-white fantasy
realms Hollywood gave us during its’ musical heyday, Stormy Weather lives on because it so blissfully validates that astonishing
wellspring of African-American talent from the early part of the twentieth
century. My, my, ain’t that something...indeed!
Via their
alliance with Fox Home Video, Twilight Time gives us Stormy Weather in a 1080p transfer that marginally bests the old
Fox sanctioned ‘Marquee Musical’
edition DVD from 2003. Stormy Weather
has never looked solid on home video, primarily owing to Fox’s short-sighted
improper storage of its archival materials throughout the years. The DVD was competently
rendered. TT’s reissue in hi-def bumps up the overall clarity, but contrast
still seems to be lacking, as does a smattering of fine-grain. If I had to
guess, I’d say Fox has culled this transfer from older digital files and
without going the extra mile to clean up what’s here. If you haven’t seen the old DVD, the
Blu-ray will impress. The 1.0 mono DTS is about what
you’d expect, exhibiting minor attenuation in spots, Lena Horne’s ‘There’s No Two Ways About Love’ sounding
slightly shrill. TT affords us the opportunity to resample the soundtrack on an
isolated score track; an improvement over the way these songs and dances sound
in the actual film, though minus their vocal tracks. We also get an audio commentary from Dr. Todd Boyd,
Professor of Critical Studies at USC; a holdover from Fox’s old DVD, and
grateful to see it resurface on this Blu-ray.
Bottom line: recommended, but with caveats.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
3.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
1
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