MOTHER WORE TIGHTS: Blu-ray (2oth Century-Fox, 1947) Twilight Time

Another cornucopia of copious turn-of-the-century ‘corn’, rhapsodically mythologized by 2oth Century-Fox – the studio to practically invent this sub-genre in Hollywood musicals – and, infectiously capped off by glowing performances from Betty Grable, Dan Dailey, Mona Freeman and Connie Marshall, continues to garner director, Walter Lang’s Mother Wore Tights (1947) a whole new generation of fans, and, for good reason. The picture, adapted from Miriam Young’s 1944 memoir, is a loving tribute to that bygone epoch of well-cured hams, plugging their songs and comedy in the then reigning venue of Vaudeville. As the decades have worn on, the picture also stands as a glorious epitaph to that golden epoch in movie musicals when sentimental regressions into the even more distant past drew in big crowds into the theaters. Mother Wore Tights is a sheer delight, with Grable and Dailey marginally upstaged by the two child stars playing their on-screen children; Connie Marshall – as the baby, Mikie, who conveys a gentle empathy you just want to wrap your arms around and give out with a great big bear hug – and Mona Freeman – who, at age 21 in 1947, still manages to convey the fresh and wholesome teenage angst burgeoning on womanhood, as the couple’s eldest – Iris. In the movie’s penultimate scene, Freeman closes the musical program with a real ‘lump-in-your-throat’ rendition or ‘You Do’ – the Oscar-nominated Mack Gordon/Josef Myrow ballad, first owed garish aplomb by Dailey as a buck n’ wing Vaudeville crowd-pleaser, Dailey’s Frank Burt lasciviously chasing after his dollies of the follies, of which, Myrtle McKinley (Grable) is but one. The song is later reprised by Grable, as a lavishly appointed production number in her satins and feathers, flanked by tuxedo-clad suitors.

Like all of Fox’s vintage musicals from this period, Mother Wore Tights is plentifully endowed; Richard Day and Joseph C. Wright’s stunning art direction, Thomas Little’s gorgeous set decoration, and Orry-Kelly’s spectacular costume design conspiring to really ‘put on a show’ – expertly lensed by cinematographer, Harry Jackson. The trick and wonderment to be had in this magic lantern cavalcade derives from the studio system in full-swing and capable of pulling out all the stops, apparently without even trying. This graceful professionalism belies the fact that making Mother Wore Tights was a lot of hard work. As she had been on the set of Pin Up Girl (1944) Grable was again expecting, necessitating all of the picture’s more ambitious production numbers be shot out of sequence first, before her forthcoming daughter, Jessica James began to show.  Grable - or Mrs. Harry James, as she was equally as well-known back then - could definitely relate to Miriam Young’s loving portrait of motherhood and show biz, the basis for Lamar Trotti’s frothy and fun-filled screenplay. Intermittently, Trotti gives us sentiment without the schmaltz, and, slapstick, spent with a modicum of truth to make it even more infectiously genuine; as in the scene where Frank, having just been reunited with his daughters over the Christmas holidays, endeavors to have a ‘right proper’ tree in their hotel suite, cutting down a sapling in a Boston park, pursued by a police constable for his efforts (tree firmly in hand) – narrowly taking a tumble on the ice and avoiding arrest.  

Mother Wore Tights is also noteworthy for the only big screen appearance of Wenceslao Moreno (better known to the world as Señor Wences), that beloved Spanish ventriloquist whose delightful hand puppetry later became a main staple on The Ed Sullivan Show throughout the 1950’s and 1960’s.  And, while Mother Wore Tights never tests the boundaries of story-telling, it does, rather dramatically depart from the formulaic Grable froth from this period. For one – the musical program here remains complimentary to the dramatic arc of the story. The songs are not mere excuses to string the dialogue along. And while Walter Lang wastes little time launching into the first of many production numbers – ‘At a Georgia Camp Meeting’ – ambitiously cake-walked by Grable and a chorus of male and female dancers, what follows increasingly evolves into a good solid melodrama with songs deftly inserted to augment the story’s integrity. And what a tale it is: told as an homage to generational family love, begun with Myrtle’s devotion to her grandparents, played by the always enriching and stout-hearted Sara Allgood and beloved George Cleveland, and, carried over to Mikie’s adult reflections of her childhood, and the summer when Iris became marginally ashamed of their parent’s ‘vulgar’ profession.     

Mother Wore Tights nimbly navigates through its turn-of-the-century milieu, narrated by a never seen Ann Baxter (as an adult Mikie) from its prologue in Oakland, California, as a teenage Myrtle McKinley comes to quickly realize that a life on the stage is what she really wants to pursue. Crossing the ferry to San Francisco, Myrtle and her two friends, Bessie (Vanessa Brown) and Alice Flemmerhammer (Anabel Shaw) lament the limited opportunities for women in the workforce. Outside menial jobs and prospects for marriage, what else is there? Alice hints that her cousin, working at Schneider’s Opera House, might be able to sneak them into an afternoon matinee. But this plan goes hopelessly awry when the theater’s owner, Mr. Schneider (a wily William Frawley) comes upon them, and, is lied to by the girls, professing to be in search of careers in the chorus. Schneider entertains the notion, ordering them to pull up their floor-length dresses and show off their legs. Bessie and Alice flee in indignation and horror. But Myrtle calls Schneider’s bluff and shows him her luscious limbs. Schneider decides to take a chance. Soon, Myrtle catches the eye of the theater’s headliner, Frank Burt. Fellow chorine, Rosemary Olcott (Veda Ann Borg) forewarns Myrtle - Frank’s offer of an extended part in the show is but a prelude to a romantic overture, certain to end a young girl’s reputation in shame. Unwilling to believe this, Myrtle patiently waits for Frank by the stage door and is promptly accosted with a kiss. She reciprocates with a hearty slap across his cheek, promising to be as big a headliner as he is – without paying such dues. And although she briefly entertains a more promising offer of employment from rival, Roy Bivins (Michael Dunne), pretty soon Myrtle has to admit, if only to herself, that she is in love with Frank.

At Frank’s birthday bash, Myrtle’s impromptu lampoon of his signature tune, ‘Burlington Bertie’ brings down the house. Not long thereafter, Frank proposes and Myrtle accepts. Lamar Trotti’s screenplay quickly dispatches with the formative years in the couple’s life, including the birth of daughters, Iris and Mikie, and their early childhood. Presumably, these were good times, as even Myrtle’s grandmother, who was vehemently opposed to her going on the stage initially, finds Frank utterly charming. Still, as Myrtle has chosen early retirement to raise their family while Frank continues to tour the countryside, grandmother warns the temptations faced by a married man, in a target-rich ‘singles’ environment, surrounded by beautiful starlets, is a recipe for disaster. This proves a needless worry, as Frank is ever-devoted to Myrtle. After his dance partner leaves the act, Frank immediately sends for Myrtle to replace her. Bringing Myrtle out of retirement creates a rift in the family’s homelife. While Iris and Mikie are dutifully cared for by their grandmother, nothing can mend their hearts as the Christmas holidays fast approach with the prospect of being separated from their parents. Grandmother engineers a good ole-fashioned Christmas miracle; sending the girls off to Boston by train to be reunited with their parents. Myrtle rallies the other acts in the troop to gather on Christmas morn and perform for the girls, capped off by Iris singing ‘Silent Night’ (Imogene Lynn dubbing for Mona Freeman).

From this moment on, Iris’ burgeoning teenage desire to become a lady is a paramount concern for Myrtle, who wants both her daughters to have ‘as normal’ an upbringing as possible. Electing to enroll the girls in Miss Ridgeway’s (Ruth Nelson) finishing school for young ladies, Iris and Mikie spend their summer holidays abroad with mum and dad; the devoted foursome, inadvertently checking themselves into a lavishly appointed summer resort, regrettably populated by a lot of aged stuffed shirts. With time, and patience, Frank and Myrtle manage to break through this aged crust of prejudice, particularly after Mikie topples from a balancing beam and is knocked unconscious. The hotel’s patrons rally to her recuperative care. At the hotel, Iris meets Bob Clarkman (Robert Arthur) – a boy of her years from a prominent family. The young people quickly become acquainted and fall in love. Bob’s family invites a select group of girls, including Iris to their summer home. Alas, on the train ride over, Iris’ rousing rendition of an old Vaudeville favorite brings out the worst in hoofers, Lil (Lee Patrick) and her companion, Ed (Chick Chandler), whose ribald behavior is viewed as uncouth by Iris’ friends. Now, Iris fears her friends will be as ashamed of her own parents.

Mikie is deeply wounded by Iris’ guilt and confides as much to Myrtle, who decides to spearhead the problem by inviting Miss Ridgeway and Iris’ entire class to one of their performances. Miss Ridgeway concurs this, a splendid idea and rallies her girls – including Iris and Mikie to the theater where Frank and Myrtle perform a tasteful medley – There’s Nothing Like A song/Rolling Down Bowling Green On a Little Two-Seat Tandem.  At the end, the crowd is exuberant in their applause. Miss Ridgeway confides to Iris she must be very proud of her parents. Instead, a tearful Iris flees the theater – only now, more to sheath her own embarrassment at ever having been ashamed of her parents. We regress to commencement exercises for Miss Ridgeway’s graduating class. The girls serenade the audience with the school’s melodic song, ‘Fare-Thee-Well, Dear Alma Mater’ before Miss Ridgeway calls upon Iris – having graduated at the top of her class – to perform a solo. With pride, Iris re-introduces the song ‘You Do’ – her parent’s signature tune – bringing tears to Mikie, Myrtle and Frank’s eyes. The scene dissolves into a reprise of the movie’s introduction; an aged Frank, half-asleep in his chair on the porch, and Myrtle, quietly knitting at his side. She stirs Frank to make ready for the arrival of ‘the children’. We learn through Mikie’s voice over that Iris eventually made a life for herself on the stage; also, as Mrs. Robert Clarkman. We also discover Mikie grew up contented to live a quiet life away from the spotlight. Frank and Myrtle embrace and stroll into the house.  

Mother Wore Tights is such an ebullient entertainment, genteel and joyously imbued with that lithe and lyrical appreciation for the past, it is impossible not to fall under its spell and be thoroughly buoyed on waves of love by its ornamental style and beguiling performances.  And although transparently conceived as another star-vehicle for Grable, costar Mona Freeman’s mark on the story virtually dominates the second half. It ought to have been Freeman’s springboard to the big time. Alas, Mother Wore Tights comes right in the middle of Freeman’s semi-lucrative movie career; the Baltimore-born actress ventured into pictures as a child star, working first for Paramount, then, Howard Hughes; her forte, perennially type-cast as the cute, but naïve teenager in love. As the bloom of youth wore thin, Freeman found herself being relegated to B-movies, or cameos in A-list pictures that did nothing to advance her prospects.  Her last appearance on celluloid in 1957, Freeman continued to work on television, a reoccurring regular on Perry Mason. This too, she would abandon to concentrate on her portrait painting.  For decades thereafter, she remained quietly apart from the public spotlight, dying of a prolonged illness in 2014, age 87. As for Connie Marshall - as the introspective Mikie – she entered our hearts as a strikingly sensitive ingenue in Fox’s Sunday Dinner for a Soldier (1944), with stellar parts as the empathetic daughter in Sentimental Journey (1946), and, unsettling and spooky offspring of Vincent Price’s morphine addict in Dragonwyck (1946). With her penetrating blue-grey eyes, and faintly sad visage, Marshall was a natural. However, like Freeman, Marshall’s downturn was inevitable with her burgeoning adulthood. By the mid-fifties, she was all but completely forgotten – her career over, and promise of better things to come, completed derailed. What followed between this and her death in 2001 remains quietly a kept secret. Indeed, news of her passing was not even made public until almost 5 years later, when a probing ‘where are they now?’ investigation exposed the particulars of the cancer that claimed her life.

Viewed today, Mother Wore Tights remains a high-water mark in the careers of all its principle players – a loving snapshot from that ‘little wrinkle’ in time when the titanic studios in Hollywood seemed poised to rule popular entertainment indefinitely; the moguls presiding over their vast empires, populated by a glittering assemblage of stars. That this fabled love affair between the movies and audiences was not to endure, or rather, morph and decay barely a decade later and almost to the point of being unrecognizable to itself, in its wake, leaving an uncertain future and an industry once seemingly Teflon-coated and impervious to self-destruct, now in ruins, is a tragedy that the Hollywood of today, either through its own insincere disregard for its past, or perhaps, simply too self-absorbed with prospects for the proverbial ‘next best thing,’ seems incalculably contented to ignore. The nostalgia craze that came rushing back in the mid-1970’s was, arguably, already too late to save much of Hollywood’s history, either from the wrecking ball or ruthless pillage and acquisition by corporate entities that continue to govern the industry using spreadsheets and slide rulers in lieu of ambitious blind gambles on new stars and stories to perpetuate their prosperity. The outlook is even more bleak for the bygone films of yesteryear – too many, viewed as relics, left to molder in climate-controlled vaults, hidden from view; begrudging observed by the corporate entities as mere custodial asset management liabilities rather than assets to be treasured, restored and mined for future profit. How sad!  

The outlook is slightly better for Mother Wore Tights on Blu-ray. While virtually all of Fox’s original elements on this deep catalog title were junked long ago, making any re-compositing of the true 3-strip Technicolor records virtually impossible, the resultant Eastman/Kodak dye transfer created in the mid-1970’s, from which Twilight Time’s Blu-ray release has been derived, exhibits a fairly pleasing image. While what is here in no way represents vintage Technicolor in all its glory, colors are, for the most part, fairly vibrant and, on occasion, startlingly saturated. Actually, I was pretty impressed by the overall saturation levels during Dan Dailey’s rendition of ‘You Do’ – the gaudy orange and purple stage backdrop offset by some sparkling pink and red costuming on the chorus girls, with Dailey’s pink-plaid lapels and lemon-yellow puff really popping off the screen. Fine details abound in close-up, and the overall clarity here is sharp and free from age-related artifacts. Contrast in also pretty solid. Flesh tones are nicely balanced, if wan by Technicolor standards. Point blank: this is not vintage Technicolor, but it does give at least an adequate representation of what the movie must have looked like in 1947. While purists will likely lament the fact that Mother Wore Tights is another Technicolor masterpiece ‘lost’ to the studio’s short-sighted purge in the mid-1970’s, those who only know this movie from home video releases are in for a pleasant surprise. It looks good – if not great – and will surely delight for its content, if not its accuracy. The DTS 2.0 mono audio is adequately represented. Sadly, no isolated score from TT this time, and no trailer either. The only extra here is a Mother Wore Tights radio program. Bottom line: Mother Wore Tights gets my recommendation for an expensively mounted Fox-frothy musical, tune-filled and lovely. The Blu-ray is good enough to pass casual inspection. You’ll like what you see, even if it isn’t pitch perfect.

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

4

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

1