DOWN ARGENTINE WAY (2oth Century-Fox 1940) Fox Home Video
Anyone
desiring a textbook example of the typical frothy 40’s Technicolor musical need
look no further than director, Irving Cummings’ Down Argentine Way (1940); an unabashedly sentimental, tune-filled
and lighter-than-air confection from the Fox stables that unequivocally proves
‘substance’ is not required when ‘style’ is in abundance. Exploiting the ample
‘lucky’ charms of rising glamor ‘gam’ gal, Betty Grable, swarthy Don Ameche,
the incomparable Nicholas Brothers and a ‘discovery’
made by Darryl F. Zanuck – Carmen Miranda (who fairly steals this show, despite
appearing in only three musical numbers that have absolutely nothing to do with
the plot and were not even photographed at the studio), Down Argentine Way is a cornucopia of musical pleasures; its
screenplay by Karl Tunberg and Darrell Ware, not particularly its strength.
Does it matter? Not really. Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy sings songs and
gets girl. She helps a little. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. It’s
serviceable, at best. But oh, what 2oth Century-Fox could do with a dash of
Grable and a splash of Technicolor in those halcyon days before the war, when
the dream had yet to turn ugly and dark. Down
Argentine Way is a delicious bonbon; its biggest asset, undeniably its’
uber-glamorous trappings, jointly photographed by cinematographers, Ray
Rennahan and Leon Shamroy; the pampas and gauchos never looking more exquisite,
and, the surreal mixture of process plates and studio-bound sets, seamless as a
South American oasis where love blooms richly as the crista-galli.
The picture’s
other great asset is its songs, mostly written by Harry Warren and Mack Gordon;
the pairs’ best, probably, the title number, performed as a rumba in one of
those impossibly posh and parquet-floored nightclubs that could only fit inside
a cavernous soundstage, complete with crystal cut chandeliers (borrowed from
the Maharaja’s palace set from The Rains
Came, 1939); the other, ‘Two Dreams
Met’, a luscious love ballad, set against the moonlit lingering magic of an
out of the way hacienda. In both cases, Grable and Ameche give us their all.
Viewing Down Argentine Way today, it
is fairly easy to see why Grable became one of the studio’s biggest assets for
a time. Like Marilyn Monroe, who would follow in her footsteps and eclipse
Grable’s legacy in the fifties and sixties, Grable herein is exactly the sort
of fresh-faced, platinum-haired sex bomb any Johnny Doughboy could fall in love
with; oddly, the girl-next-door and an exotic bird of paradise, inscrutably rolled
into one.
An ample bosom
will only get you so far. Thus, Grable – unlike a good many who tried to
emulate her aura later on – relied on more than just a good set of legs to see
her popularity through the war years. Grable would, of course, discount herself
frequently, claiming, “I’ve got two
reasons for success…and I’m standing on both of them.” Yet, Grable’s beauty
may not be immediately apparent to today’s movie-goer; her chipmunk cheeks and
smiling eyebrows exuding wholesomeness utterly lacking in today’s bumper crop
of Hollywood starlets. But it is precisely because Grable does not play to the
va-va-voom of her sex kittenish physicality that she comes across far sexier
and more desirable than most of her contemporaries. After all, there is nothing
quite so erotically satisfying to a real (reel) man than a real (reel) woman
who knows her best feature is her brain and has a plan how to use it to get
what she wants. Grable’s enterprising
Glenda Crawford, a spirited breeder of champion race horses, on a working
holiday in Argentina, is just the gal to win the heart of our Latin Lothario, Ricardo
Quintana (Ameche). Ric’s been sent to New York by his father, Don Diego (Henry
Stephenson) to auction off a small contingent of his prized race horses. Alas,
Diego has informed his son no horse shall be sold to Binnie Crawford (Charlotte
Greenwood), due to an old blood feud with her brother, Willis (Edward Fielding).
The wound from this betrayal has festered for too long, but like the scenario
in this carefully plotted musical, it is bound to be healed by merriments
aplenty, after a very brief case of mistaken identity is cleared up.
Zanuck likely
saw Down Argentine Way as Fox doing its
part in support of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s ‘Good Neighbor Policy’. For those unfamiliar, the growing Nazi
influence in Latin America prompted the U.S. government to develop an
administrative agency, The Office of
Inter-American Affairs, meant to stem this tide of Axis influences abroad
and encourage ‘good relations’ with our Latin American neighbors. Although Down Argentine Way precedes the
establishment of this agency, Zanuck’s timing for an escapist Latin-themed
movie musical could not have been more apropos; ramping up the studio’s output
of pro-South American propaganda with two more lavishly appointed musicals in
1941 - That Night in Rio and Week-End in Havana. The inclusion of
Carmen Miranda in Down Argentine Way
occurred almost by accident – and narrowly, did not happen at all. Miranda, a
Portuguese Brazilian samba singer/dancer, was already a formidable radio and
nightclub talent in her native Brazil, when Broadway impresario, Lee Shubert
imported her for his all-star revue, The
Streets of Paris. Miranda’s dearth in English comprehension, indeed she could
not speak a word, did not prevent this diminutive powerhouse from bringing
audiences to their feet nightly.
Zanuck had
seen Miranda in The Streets of Paris
and simply had to have her. Alas, he was forced to concede to two requests made
by the star: first, that she only appear in musical numbers accompanied by her Bando
de Lua and sung in her native tongue; second, her work be shot in New York, as
Miranda was then under an ironclad contract and could not go to Hollywood under
any circumstances. Undaunted, Zanuck rented space, built sets and sent a small crew
to Manhattan to film three production numbers featuring Miranda in all her
gaudiness; two traditional - Bambu Bambu,
and, Mamãe Yo Quero, and South American Way; the latter, an
infectious ditty, written by Jimmy McHugh and Al Dubin in English, then
translated into Portuguese, for which Miranda was only required to infrequently
utter the ‘title’ in lovingly-fractured English. In hindsight, Miranda’s latter
day career at Fox would remain something of a lost opportunity – often billed
above the title, yet never appearing in anything more than novelty cameos in
any of the fourteen movies she made between 1940 and 1953. Miranda’s greatest
asset was undeniably her uniqueness. A bowl of fruit adorning any other head in
the biz would look ridiculous. On Miranda, it was an absolute essential.
Throughout her brief, but luminous career, she sported absurd costuming,
tailor-made for the Technicolor camera; a veritable bombshell of colors,
sequins, spangles and glittery turbans, bedecked in a baffling assortment of
tinsel, artificial flowers, bananas, cocktail-umbrellas, and, in what must rank
as her most curious headdress of all – a lighthouse tower with a functioning
swivel lamp.
It is one of
Hollywood’s ironies that of the three stars featured in Down Argentine Way, the one with the greatest workaday longevity,
in terms of career prospects, is also ironically the one least remembered
today. For a time, Wisconsin-born, Don Ameche was Fox’s most amiable leading
man, with a shock of heavily pomaded jet-black hair and a captivating toothy
smile, capable of radiating a thousand kilowatts of male virility. Ameche would
frequently be cast as the swarthy male of foreign extraction, the amiable
womanizer and/or heel, brought to heel by the love of a good woman. Yet, he was
equally at home in dramas. Indeed, his performance in Fox’s The Story of Alexander Graham Bell (1939)
was so potent and beloved it led to his last name being used as slang for the
telephone, as in “you’re wanted on the
Ameche.” A fallow period in the late sixties was followed by a return to
form in the mid-1980’s with movies like Trading
Places (1983) and Cocoon (1985),
the latter winning him his only Academy Award as Best Supporting Actor. Critical
praise for his work on Broadway also came late in life, the New York Times reviewing
his performance in David Mamet and Shel Silverstein’s Things Change, as “...the
kind of great comic aplomb that wins actors awards for other than sentimental
reasons.”
While Don Ameche
would round out his body of work, steadily tapping into these wellsprings on
stage, screen and television, his reputation today has somewhat faded from
public view. This is, indeed, a tragedy – one magnified when observing the
actor in his prime in Down Argentine Way.
Apart from cutting a dashing figure in Technicolor, Ameche is in very fine
voice and an exceptional raconteur. He is a joyous presence, anesthetizing
Grable’s pert and plucky brittleness. But his greatest asset remains his ability
to convey oodles of bright and breezy genuineness that never equates to silliness
or bungling as the hammy foreigner. While Ameche’s Italian/Scottish good looks
frequently paved the way for his being cast as the exotic male with the
perpetually dark and flashing eyes, his all-American congeniality and
exceptional mastery of several languages made him intercontinentally sexy to
female costars and legions of adoring fans. Time has been unkind to his legacy
though and we are poorer still for the absence of his best work on home video
today. Down Argentine Way allows for
a brief porthole into his extraordinary diversity as a performer. The role is
never a strain, but Ameche acquits himself rather nicely of being the rakish Mister
with love in his heart and occasionally daggers in his eyes; juicy, delicious
and utterly captivating.
Down Argentine Way marks two debuts: Betty Grable’s
in Technicolor, and, Carmen Miranda’s first screen appearance. Despite the rest
of the plot intrinsically built around Grable’s grand amour with Ameche’s heir
to a stud farm, immediately following the main titles, the picture opens with
the ebullient Miranda bedecked in beads, baubles and an extravagantly bizarre gold-lamé
and fiery red ensemble, sashaying about in her platform shoes with exposed midriff,
cooing ‘South American Way’ with the
Bando de Lua. In later productions, Miranda’s exceptionally firm midsection
would either be fully sheathed or merely masked in a rather stiff,
flesh-colored camisole, thanks mostly to Joseph Breen’s strenuous objections as
the head of Hollywood’s governing board of censorship. After Miranda’s brief
and joyous song, director, Irving Cummings cuts to a travelogue montage of
Argentina looking positively radiant in Technicolor. We regress to the Fox lot,
a mockup of a ship preparing to depart for New York where horse breeder, Don Diego
Quintana sincerely hopes his champion race horses will fetch a handsome price
at auction. Diego is not making the trip himself, rather, sending his son,
Ricardo in his stead.
At first, the
showing at the Tuxedo Club goes well. Alas, the fabulous horse flesh –
Carmelita – is admired by Glenda Crawford. Earlier, Don Diego had forewarned his
son: no horse should be sold to the Crawford estate, barring an old dispute
that was never settled by Willis Crawford (Edward Fielding) – Glenda’s father. Ricardo,
of course, agrees to this stipulation, but then falls completely under Glenda’s
spell without first knowing her name, their serenade inside the Westchester’s
ballroom, transformed into a gargantuan production number, staged by
choreographer, Nicholas Castle; the extras wearing some stunning Travis Banton
costumes with Grable, unreservedly ravishing in yet another midriff-exposing
ball gown – the top half a sequined robin egg blue; the lower, a flair of black
velvet. Afterward, Ricardo pitches a little woo, referring to Glenda’s ‘remarkable
eyes’ as reminding him of a storm over the pampas – and yes, the line
(seemingly hopelessly hokey, actually works when uttered by Ameche in his faux
Latin accent). Alas, the deal to buy Carmelita falls through as Ricardo reneges
on his offer after discovering Glenda true identity; lying to her about having
to honor a previous bill of sale. When Glenda learns this is not the truth she
is wounded by the insinuation Ricardo has made love to her merely to finagle
his way out of his promise to sell her Carmelita.
Glenda
convinces Aunt Binnie to accompany her on a race horse-purchasing expedition to
Buenos Aires. More cases of mistaken identity to follow, as Glenda accepts an
invitation from a close friend of her father, the Ambassador, Dr. Arturo
Padilla (Charles Judels), but winds up going out with the brother of her
chauffeur, Tito Acuna (Leonid Kinskey) instead, under the false assumption he is the Ambassador. The couple
frequents the more fashionable nightclubs in town, entertained by a spectacular
terpsichorean display from The Nicholas Brothers at the Club Rendezvous. More
entertainment: two back-to-back numbers performed by Carmen Miranda at another
club, El Tigre, and the plot advances. A chance meeting with Ricardo: he makes
his most valiant effort to pick up where they left off in New York, professing
hot-blooded romance. But this leaves Glenda feeling cheated once more. She
slaps his face and storms out of the club – this time, leaving Ricardo
bewildered.
Still unaware
of the bad blood harbored from so very long ago, Glenda and Binnie journey to
Don Diego’s stud farm. The Don is most cordial until Binnie lets her last name
slip. Outraged, Don Diego orders her off his property. Meanwhile, Glenda and
Ricardo have been getting better acquainted. Indeed, she has all but forgiven
him. To narrowly avert another scene, Ricardo passes Glenda off to his father
as Senorita Cunningham – an old acquaintance from New York. At a fiesta,
Ricardo observes as one of the jumpers from his father’s stable, Furioso wins a
local race. It seems, the family’s stable hand, Casiano (J. Carroll Naish) has
been training the thoroughbred in secret for quite some time, raking in pure
profits on the side. While Ricardo is initially stern, Glenda is elated and
quite certain Don Diego will be as thrilled to discover he has a champion racer
in his midst. Alas, the Don has already entered Furioso as a jumper; the horse
confused by the alternative methods of its training, unable to perform during
the competition and coming in dead last; an embarrassment to the family’s
honor.
Learning of
Glenda’s true identity, Don Diego disowns Ricardo. Undaunted by his reversal of
fortune and desperately in love, Ricardo immediately moves into the same hotel
as the Crawfords and proposes marriage to Glenda. He also makes plans to race
Furioso in the Argentine Handicap at San Isidro Park. The race is fixed by Tito
so Furioso will lose. But the horse defies its jockey and wins anyway. Don
Diego is immeasurably pleased, but still unable to forgive Glenda her father’s
indiscretions. When Glenda produces a letter from her father, explaining how he
saved Diego from making a complete fool of himself with a woman unworthy of his
love, the Don reconsiders his stalemate on the Crawfords. In the movie’s
penultimate celebration, Don Diego and Aunt Binnie strike a bargain to buy
several horses, Ricardo and his father are reconciled, and Ricardo and Glenda
are brought together in an orchestrated flourish of grand romance, presumably
meant to lead them directly to the altar.
In retrospect,
Down Argentine Way is a very
predictable entertainment. There are no real surprises along the way and the
plot – such as it is – is merely in service to the ultra-glossy Technicolor
treatment of its subject matter and the songs. These have absolutely nothing to
do with the story and are inserted to provide the viewer with one example after
the next of Fox’s supremacy as peerless craftsmen of amiable, escapist fluff.
Both The Nicholas Brothers and Carmen Miranda are not even represented outside
their cameos. Regrettably, in the case of The Nicholas Brothers, their absence
elsewhere in this superficially lustrous production was predicated on appeasement:
Southern exhibitors absolutely refusing to show pictures featuring black
entertainers. Viewed from the vantage of our modern day cynicism, Down Argentine Way is positively
antique, though nonetheless enjoyable. Relics do have their place in modern
society, you see. After a brief resurrection in the late 1970’s and early 80’s,
nostalgia for such overstuffed bonbons has steadily dwindled; I would argue,
not because the audience has lost its craving for ‘sweetness and light’, but
rather, because contemporary Hollywood has increasingly retired its once
ambitious plans to keep movie like Down
Argentine Way perpetually in the public spotlight.
As a child of
the seventies, I am old enough to recall an era in television when the three
major networks were more than willing to show such ancient flowers as Down Argentine Way to fill late night
programming Monday through Friday or as filler on a Saturday afternoon after
the kiddie cartoons, or early Sunday mornings before their religious and
political programming kicked in; to say nothing of the UHF channels to whom the
custodianship of these classics became something of their bread and butter,
sandwiched between syndicated reruns of recently off-the-air TV shows. Interminably
interrupted by commercials, and unceremoniously hacked apart to satisfied time
constraints, the classics nevertheless shone beyond these attempts to discount
and bastardize their enduring appeal. Today, we have specialty channels dedicated
to the proliferation of classic movies. And while my admiration for private
networks like Turner Classic Movies, AMC and their like endures, the relative exclusivity,
for those able to pay for the privilege, has only served to isolate classic
movies from a large portion of the audience who otherwise might partake in
enjoying them if they were free.
With old-time
audiences either unable and/or unwilling (or both) to stream content via the
internet, plus, the home video market steadily drying up ‘new’ releases of
classic movies to mainstream retailers, the studios now merely content to slap
out their vintage content in whatever quality (or lack thereof) it presently
exists via even more exclusively marketed on-line burn-on-demand ‘archives’
(who refuse to ship their product outside the continental U.S. – though there
are ways around this ridiculous roadblock), the future of movies like Down Argentine Way grows bleaker with
each passing year. The marketing strategy for vintage content has not been
aggressive enough; the studios arguing against asset preservation on the
grounds it is both time-consuming and costly. My judgment is thus: that
improper storage over several generations prior to our present epoch is no
excuse for the present-day custodians of this material not to be doing
their utmost to resurrect their damaged and decaying legacy; especially with
the myriad of digital tools readily at their disposal, capable of erasing a
goodly percentage of these ravages of time. Yes indeed: it is all about time and money. For classic movies, the former is running out at an alarming
rate. But the result will be a heritage more richly satisfying and enduring
than most any entertainment created within the past thirty years.
At the last
gasp of Fox Home Video’s now long defunct classics division in the late 1990’s,
Down Argentine Way was given a
beautiful DVD release under the banner, as one of their ‘marquee musicals’. I shudder to think what their present-day hi-def
mastering efforts would make of this exuberant Technicolor transfer; Fox’s
recent spate of classics like Tyrone Power’s The Black Swan (1942) suffering from an intense blue and/or teal
bias. Fox’s DVD is impeccable, the Technicolor dye transfer positively glowing.
Colors are gorgeous and eye-popping. Flesh tones have been accurately
reproduced. Grable’s lips are blood red. Night scenes are bathed in a haunted
midnight blue afterglow. Carmen Miranda is a rainbow made for Technicolor. Fine
details are very crisp throughout, occasionally revealing the heavy make-up
applications on co-star, Charlotte Greenwood. Contrast levels are bang on
perfect. The soundtrack has been remixed to 5.1 stereo (the original mono, also
included). Inherent shortcomings – hiss and pop – have been tempered. Extras
include a fantastic audio commentary from resident Fox historian, Sylvia
Stoddard. There is also an A&E Biography Special on Betty
Grable’s life, plus a stills gallery and theatrical trailers. Bottom line: Down Argentine Way is a classy
entertainment, slickly packaged with the express earnestness to warm the heart
and set the toes a-tapping. It succeeds on both levels. Highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
4.5
EXTRAS
3
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