YOU'LL NEVER GET RICH: Blu-ray (Columbia 1941) Twilight Time

When Fred Astaire left RKO in the fall of 1939, effectively retiring the greatest dance team partnership in screen history, it was not without misgivings; the old adage about Ginger Rogers having done everything he expected of her, “backwards and in heels”, suggesting to Astaire his tenure in Hollywood might be at an end. Nearly a decade before, Astaire’s inauspicious audition at RKO had yielded the absurd assessment, “Can’t act. Can’t sing. Can dance a little…balding.” Astaire’s Hollywood debut in 1933 at MGM, opposite Joan Crawford in Dancing Lady, did not allay his fears or manage to spark a long-term contract with the Tiffany of all studios. But that was then. Besides, at the cusp of 1940, Astaire had found himself back at MGM, cast opposite their leading lady of tap, Eleanor Powell and given a big ‘build up’ for Broadway Melody of 1940 (the last in Metro’s lucrative film franchise begun in 1929). Despite its success, L.B. Mayer again did not encourage Astaire to stick around. This likely suited Astaire just as well, as freelance work at Paramount would keep him very busy throughout most of the 1940s. And while Ginger would effortlessly segue into a career intermittently as a comedy/dramatic actress, she would never dance again with another partner as memorable as Fred. By contrast, Astaire’s future in showbiz seemed inextricably linked to his discovering ‘the next Ginger’. It was never to be. For although Astaire would kick up a storm with some of the most proficient and prolific dancers of their generation (everyone from Cyd Charisse to Gene Kelly), by his own design, he never again wished to be ‘partnered’ for any duration.

Immediately following Broadway Melody of 1940, Astaire received an offer from Columbia Studio’s president Harry Cohn to appear opposite their fledgling starlet Rita Hayworth in You’ll Never Get Rich (1941), a war-themed comedy of misdirection, scripted by Michael Fessier and Ernest Pagano, directed by Sidney Lanfield. In hindsight, it remains the lesser of the two movies Astaire would make with Hayworth – their follow-up, 1942’s You Were Never Lovelier, infinitely more delightful all around. Barely considered as one of the ‘poverty row’ production houses until latching onto director, Frank Capra in the early thirties; whose legendary tenure there resulted in some of the greatest threads for the common man comedies of all time, Columbia was now looking for new ways to redefine itself. Capra had moved on and so had Cohn – eager to establish a reputation to rival MGM’s supremacy in musical motion pictures. Alas, in an era of ‘in-house’ production design, Columbia struggled to refine its position as a viable purveyor of movie musicals. The hiccups of this adolescent period of adjustment are woefully on display in You’ll Never Get Rich. Although the picture yields some superb examples of Astaire’s musical agility, moreover, his immediate chemistry with Hayworth on the dance floor, You’ll Never Get Rich mostly sinks under the weight of its vignette-structured screenplay. Fessier and Pagano give us scene after scene of Vaudeville-esque comedy skits, sandwiching the musical numbers whenever the pranksters have momentarily run out of steam.

While no one could ever classify You’ll Never Get Rich as ‘joyless’ – it remains decidedly unevenly paced and very clumsily strung together. The Astaire/Hayworth dance highlights, set to some of master composer, Cole Porter’s weakest compositions, bear brief discussion; beginning with a virtuosic ‘rehearsal’ tap routine. It’s an early spark of absolute magic, regrettably ne’er to be reincarnated with such blissfully sublime perfection later on; the leggy Hayworth matching Astaire tap for tap under some strenuous paces. Astaire’s sweat-less elation upon their finish leads directly into the Boogie Barcarolle – Porter’s exceptionally transparent attempt to reincarnate the vigor and tempo of Robert Russell Bennett's Waltz In Swing Time from 1936’s Fred and Ginger vehicle, Swing Time. Despite its similarity to the aforementioned, the ‘BB’ is electric; yet another example of that graceful prowess and finesse both Astaire and Hayworth bring to their terpsichorean opportunities; too few and scattered about thereafter. After an interminably long period in which Fessier and Pagano work like hell to set up the movie’s thimble of a plot, we get Porter’s Shootin' the Works for Uncle Sam – a patriotic song with little opportunity for Astaire to do more than perform a ‘march-like’ time step, backed by a scantily clad chorine army.

The specialty number involving neither Astaire nor Hayworth is ‘Since I Kissed My Baby Goodbye’ – arguably, the one outstanding song in the catalog, debuted herein by The Four Tones - an African-American quartet comprised of Lucius ‘Dusty’ Brooks – the lead vocal, Leon Buck, Rudolph Hunter, and John Porter. The rest of the numbers in You’ll Never Get Rich are a mixed bag at best: ‘March Milastaire’ (a.k.a. A-Stairable Rag), Porter’s second attempt at a march/jazz rhythm, this one married to a positively electrifying tap routine performed by Astaire. ‘So Near and Yet So Far’ is Astaire’s first Latin-American ballroom pas deux, the number arguably inspired by Hayworth’s Latin dance pedigree. Here, Astaire and Hayworth float effortlessly about the dance floor without ever putting their full abilities to the test; Lionel Banks’ uninspired art direction, basically consisting of a painted stucco wall and sky backdrop with one incongruously situated fake palm tree – smack-center - around which this happy couple bounce and frolic. The finale is as misguided: ‘The Wedding Cake Walk’, featuring Liltin' Martha Tilton’s vocals and a chorus of military men and war brides bounding about the stage, at times almost eclipsing Astaire and Hayworth, who eventually escape this gyrating throng to the top of a huge art deco tank.  

Given Astaire’s box office cache at RKO, it is more than a little off-putting to discover, despite his costar-billing, he is decidedly subservient to a plot repeatedly attempting to isolate him as either a straight foil for comedian, Robert Benchley (cast in a role that would have – and usually did go to RKO’s resident fop, Edward Everett Horton), or as the tap-happy appendage to Hayworth’s supple charms. The picture opens with Benchley ordering his driver (Emmett Vogan) to slow down as they pass billboards and sign posts touting the movie’s title cards.  Benchley is Martin Cortland, theater proprietor/financial backer and notorious scamp where women are concerned. At present, his desired sexpot du jour is Sheila Winthrop (Rita Hayworth); a chorine in the new show helmed by his stage manager, Robert Curtis (Fred Astaire). Sheila does not share in Martin’s affections. Indeed, she prefers Robert, who is virtually oblivious to her flirtations.  Martin buys Sheila an expensive engraved bracelet, but only a Chinese back scratcher to mark his own wedding anniversary to Julia (Frieda Inescort). Sheila and Julia cross paths for the first time in Martin’s outer office; the wily old codger ushering Sheila out, presumably with her present, moments before Julia’s arrival. What Martin does not know is that Sheila has deposited his gift back into his coat pocket. Thus, when Martin suggests to Julia her anniversary gift is waiting there, she inadvertently discovers the bracelet instead.

Informing Martin he has gone ‘too far’ this time, Julia departs with the veiled threat the next time they speak it will be in front of ‘twelve men’ – a.k.a. – a jury at their divorce trial. This would ruin Martin. After all, everything he has is because of Julia’s money. And so, Martin concocts a lie to rectify his deception; ordering Robert to woo Sheila and thus present her with the same bracelet he bought for her, presumably on Robert’s behalf. The ruse turns sour – first, because Julia does not buy it for a moment, and second, because Sheila, wounded from being passed between Robert and Martin – decides to plant her hurt on Robert’s cheek in a series of overtly sexual kisses; hence, playing the part of the whore and making Robert decidedly ashamed of it. Now, Sheila doubts Robert’s sincerity. At the same time, she is practically engaged to army captain, Tom Barton (John Hubbard). With Tom’s complicity, Sheila and her Aunt Louise (Marjorie Gateson) play a fowl trick on Robert; Tom, presents himself as Sheila’s southern gentry brother, hell-bent on either forcing Robert into a shotgun wedding to his ‘sister’ or shooting him dead for defiling her honor. Amused when Robert flees the apartment in hysteria, Tom next invites Sheila and Louise to visit him and his mother (Ann Shoemaker) at the army base.

Too coincidentally, Robert has since been drafted, despite being five pounds under the legal weight class. What follows is a drawn out comedy sequence: Robert pushes a fully clothed Martin into the shower to prevent him from following him, before hurrying off happily to join the fight, loading the rim of his hat with weights to pass the army’s physical exam. Conveniently stationed at Tom’s base, Robert is put under the rigorous command of a Top Sergeant (Donald McBride). He also swiftly befriends two fellow draftees, Swivel ‘Swiv’ Tongue (Cliff Nazarro) and Kewpie Blain (Guinn 'Big Boy' Williams). Life in the army is not all Robert anticipated. Frequently he finds himself in the guardhouse for infractions. On one such occasion, Robert practically collides with Sheila who is startled to see him. He lies to her about a promotion to Captain and later steals an officer’s uniform to further promote this subterfuge; exposed when Sheila re-introduces him to her fiancé and the man whose captain’s garb he has stolen. At the last possible moment, Sheila takes pity on Robert and affords him a graceful exit. Nevertheless, it’s the guardhouse for Robert again, along with Swiv and Blain, who helped him plot the disguise.

Desperate to have his top man back on Broadway, Martin resurfaces on base to promote a show for the enlisted men that Robert will help to choreograph. Robert agrees to these terms, provided he is allowed to use Martin’s bachelor pad Manhattan apartment as his base of operations to woo Sheila. It makes no difference to Martin. He has already moved on, and, in hot pursuit of another chorine, Sonya (Osa Massen), alas, and to whom he has promised the starring role. Time is running out for Robert. Tom has since learned he is to be stationed in Panama and asks Sheila to be his wife. Distressed, Robert hurries to retrieve the engraved diamond bracelet Martin purchased for Sheila. Regrettably, Martin has already had the inscription changed to give it to Sonya. Once again, Sheila is turned off by the prospect of accepting another woman’s jewelry. She makes the impromptu decision to marry Tom instead and withdraws from the show. Now, Robert invites Julia to the show’s rehearsals, raising her level of suspicion to effectively oust Sonya from the cast. Without a leading lady, the show will surely be canceled. There’s only one solution. Get Sheila back. Unbeknownst to anyone, Robert gets a real Justice of the Peace (Frank Ferguson) to perform the wedding ceremony in the play costarring Sheila and him.  Nevertheless, Sheila is all set to walk out on her ‘new husband’ until Martin effectively confesses his machinations to her. Realizing Robert’s love for her is genuine Sheila confides she has always loved him too. Rather magnanimously, Tom allows for Robert’s early release from the guardhouse for their honeymoon. Unaware of this, Swiv and Blain make an inept attempt to break Robert out and are apprehended for their efforts – presumably, destined to spend some time there themselves.

You’ll Never Get Rich is silly, idiotic and, in spots, effervescently charming. The picture’s strengths are decidedly Astaire and Hayworth, and, to a lesser extent, Benchley – always disarming as the scamp. The Pig-Latin byplay frequently indulged in by Blain to get him either in or out of a jam, wears thin after a while; although, it is brilliantly reciprocated by Astaire’s Robert – catching the master con at his own game, as it were – in a scene that still holds up remarkably well today. The most disappointing aspects of the movie are, first and foremost, that none of these characters ever go beyond two-dimensional cardboard cutouts. Astaire plays the same marginally insolent and infrequently harried and/or befuddled innocent we have seen him appear as in all nine of his pairings with Ginger Rogers. Rita Hayworth is decorous and sassy; a persona she would cultivate to perfection in her greatest role ever as Gilda (1946). Benchley is as Benchley was – a loveable ‘cooked’ ham. But none of these principals ever distinguish themselves as real people we can root for or call out as our favorites. They are merely present and accounted for as stock characters within the standardized – and in this case, homogenized Hollywood musical mélange.

The last regret is Cole Porter’s to bear. His score is basic at best and very subpar for Porter’s talent.  Apart from the aforementioned ‘Since I Kissed My Baby Goodbye’, a standard for some years thereafter and covered by many an artist successfully, the songs and dances in You’ll Never Get Rich are as disposable as they are mediocre. None distinguishes itself, despite Astaire and Hayworth’s awe-inspiring polish to provoke our renewed interest. You’ll Never Get Rich did make money for Columbia. As a matter of fact, it also made a star out of Hayworth; quickly re-teamed with Astaire for the infinitely superior, You Were Never Lovelier (still MIA on Blu-ray along with far too many other Columbia classics like The Talk of the Town, Holiday, Theodora Goes Wild, The Awful Truth, etc. et al). But the score to You’ll Never Get Rich is woefully spread much too thin across its meager 88 min. runtime. In the end, it’s not a movie for the ages, but rather one that has not aged all that well in the interim.

Twilight Time gives us the first B&W Astaire musical on Blu-ray. For shame to Warner Bros. – custodians of the Astaire/Rogers catalog, yet with seemingly zero interest to release any of it to Blu in the foreseeable future. TT’s release of You’ll Never Get Rich is a bit of a disappointment, however. I suspect there are no surviving original elements to go back on this deep catalog release. And Sony, presently under the inspired tutelage of Grover Crisp, I will equally assume have done absolutely everything in their power to resurrect this movie in 1080p. Nevertheless, contrast is weak – decidedly so – everything falling into a sort of mid-register mire of tonal grey with no distinct blacks and very often whites teetering on the verge of being blown out. Fine detail is lost except in close-ups and grain appears to have been marginally scrubbed. The overall texture here is soft and, intermittently slightly out of focus. The DTS mono audio is adequate, if unremarkable. TT’s only extra is an isolated score with effects. Bottom line: You’ll Never Get Rich is for Astaire or Hayworth completionists only. It’s not a great musical, and at times, gives very real pause to reconsider it as menial and unprepossessing. Regrets.

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

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

3

EXTRAS

1