DANCING LADY (MGM, 1933) Warner Home Video

Joan Crawford and Clark Gable reached something of a zenith in their on-screen teaming with Robert Z. Leonard’s Dancing Lady (1933) – a musical hodge-podge that, among its many misguided virtues, briefly employs Ted Healy and The Three Stooges in a diverting vignette that goes nowhere fast. For Dancing Lady, MGM threw everything but the kitchen sink into this patchwork of burlesque; melodrama and comedy, with a patina of forgettable songs and Metro’s inimitable gloss. Whether sashaying about the dance floor of a penthouse with then hubby, Franchot Tone (as millionaire playboy and stage door Johnny, Tod Newton) or riding a petrified pony around an art deco carousel, in-house couturier, Adrian glams up Crawford in unforgettably obscene gowns to mask the fact Dancing Lady’s screenplay, plastered together by Allen Rivkin and P.J. Wolfson (with uncredited assists from Robert Benchley, Zelda Sears and Crawford, herself) – all of this lovable nonsense based on a book by James Warner Bellah, is a dead end affair. Nevertheless, Dancing Lady evolved into the sort of generously meaningless distraction that suited Depression-era audiences to a tee and helped revive Crawford’s pre-sound-era career as a singer/dancer of limited means.  Crawford’s early years at the studio had been predicated on her hoofing; her introduction to sound, 1929’s Hollywood Revue, also debuting her fractured warbling of ‘Gotta Feeling for You’. But in a few short years, the crude spectacles of early sound had given way to a more refined handling of the technology and even more grandiose escapist fantasies as directors gambled on outlandish fluff and nonsense. The gimmick worked – mostly – and Dancing Lady, despite its sincere flaws, remains the recipient of that decade’s devotion to heady, if brainless entertainments. It also endures as something of a mind-boggling treat, despite a rather wooden performance from co-star, Nelson Eddy.

Difficult to assess the importance or merit of Dancing Lady today. On the surface, at least, it has everything. But the veneer is quite thin, and this misguidedly opulent extravaganza quickly - and rather disappointingly - squanders much of MGM’s illustrious talent on yet another preposterous and predictable ‘shop girl makes good’ story. Bellah’s novel was something of a chestnut even then. But Rivkin and Wolfson’s threadbare reconstitution of it further emasculates the tale, as story subservient to spectacle. MGM threw in its most promising talent into this mishmash, including Crawford, whose star was catapulting into the stratosphere, and, Gable – looking ever more the quintessence of dashing/rugged masculinity – already considered ‘the king’ around the backlot. Crawford is Janie Barlow, a no-account hoofer at a popular house of Burlesque. Gable steps up to the play as Patch Gallagher, a Broadway sensation with director’s nerves over his latest sumptuously mounted stage spectacle. During a performance at her current place of employ, Janie is spotted by wealthy playboy, Tod Newton. The police raid the Burlesque and Janie is imprisoned. However, she is sprung by Newton who takes a fancy and introduces her to the finer things in life; moonlight swims, carousing aboard his fashionable yacht and late-night parties at Manhattan’s most swinging night spots. For Tod, the passion play is aimed at a genuine romance. In fact, Tod even tells his grandmother, Dolly (May Robson) he is going to marry this winsome chorine before the summer is out. For Janie however, her sights are set a tad lower.

After having been introduced to Patch by Tod, Janie’s affections begin to focus on rising through the ranks as a dancer in Patch’s new show. She garners Patch’s respect and then, much later, something more – leaving Tod without love. Eventually, the star of the show bows out, forcing Janie, as its understudy, to assume the lead and appear in the convoluted claptrap of musical offerings that round out Dancing Lady on a bizarre not of eclecticism and oddities. We have, as example, The Three Stooges (on the cusp of their illustrious tenure with Columbia Studios), as a trio of clueless backstage hands, mugging for the cameras briefly. When asked by Patch to musically accompany Janie during rehearsal, Moe declares, “Oh, boy! Will we? We’re the best in the country!” to which Larry replies, “Ah, but how are you in the city?” Fred Astaire (on the verge of being united with Ginger Rogers at RKO) appears briefly in musical support with ‘Heigh Ho, The Gang’s All Here’ a rather incongruous bit of hoofing in which he and Crawford are whisked from an art deco ballroom aboard a magic carpet to a German beer garden where Astaire looks perfectly outrageous and as uncomfortable in lederhosen and painted moustache. It’s a laughable introduction to the movies, and Astaire would later comment that he looked like ‘a knife’ on the screen, cringing whenever the picture was brought up and brief inserts were shown in latter-day TV retrospectives and interviews. MGM’s resident crooner, Nelson Eddy debuts the bizarre finale - ‘Rhythm of the Day’ a number that begins in Louie XIV France, with Eddy insulting the posh and stilted courtiers before he migrates over to a contemporary facsimile of Manhattan. From here, the number briefly features Crawford, clumsily tapping down a congested street, before being perched atop the aforementioned art deco carousel, beautifully lit, along with its cavalcade of Busby Berkeley-esque wanna-be’s.

MGM spared nothing in mounting this super-production. The score alone reads like a who’s who of composers; Metro’s residents, Nacio Herb Brown and Arthur Freed (Hold Your Man), James P. Johnson (Alabama Swing), Burton Lane, Harold Adamson (Everything I have Is Yours, Let’s Go Bavarian, and, Heigh Ho, The Gang’s All Here), Jimmy McHugh, Dorothy Fields (My Dancing Lady, and, Hey Young Fella), and finally, Richard Rodgers and Lorenzo Hart (Rhythm of the Day).  Oliver T. Marsh’s gorgeous B&W cinematography makes the absolute most of Crawford’s immaculate features, her face catching the key light just so and radiating real/reel megawatt star quality. Gable, appearing either in tux or undershirt, looks every bit the stud, and manages to convey that killer charisma he possessed in spades, despite being cast herein as the driven and harried task master.  Sadly, and mostly in retrospect, Dancing Lady debuts as more a mutt than a masterpiece. Given Crawford and Tone were real-life husband and wife at the time, their on-screen chemistry herein is antiseptic. Aside: Crawford’s matrimonial bliss with Tone was complicated by the fact neither was particularly interested in being married to the other at the time. Crawford had wed Tone with aspirations to become the piss elegant ‘lady of the Maison’ but permitted Tone to court other women throughout the duration of their union. Evidently, Crawford was not enough for Tone. And Crawford was, in fact, indulging her passions then with Gable – an on again/off again affair that ought to have paved the way to their bridal bower – but didn’t. So, Crawford on the whole sparks much better vibes off of Gable. The rest of the cast is mere background scenery with little to say or do. In the final analysis, Dancing Lady is just a lot of kitsch and coo. Abandon all hope for storytelling – good, bad or indifferent – and it is possible to simply enjoy the picture for what it is - wildly plot-less and full of promises never entirely fulfilled on the screen.

Warner Home Video’s DVD is now well over 3 decades old, but holds up spectacularly under closer scrutiny. At the time, much was trumpeted of the fact Warner had gone back to original elements and applied due diligence to its restoration acumen. Even so, the image continues to suffer occasionally from age-related artifacts, dirt and scratches. For the most part, however, it is sharply focused and vastly improved over previous incarnations that were once available on Laserdisc and VHS. The gray scale contains some rather impressive tonality, given that the elements at the time of restoration were more than 70-years old. The audio is Dolby Digital mono, but well preserved with minimal hiss and pop. Extras are confined to vintage shorts and the film’s original trailer. Bottom line: Dancing Lady is a thoroughly ridiculous, implausible, obscenely lavish gem stone that trundles out a lot of star power, but as readily makes it disposable instead of iconic at a glance. There are good moments to be had here, but the cumulative effect is less dazzling than dull. As there is no Blu-ray in sight, the DVD will have to suffice and is currently retailing at a bargain basement price point.

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

3.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

4

EXTRAS

1