THE HARVEY GIRLS: Blu-ray (MGM, 1946) Warner Archive

MGM’s wunderkind producer of movie musicals, Arthur Freed, once offered this bit of sound advice: “Don't try to be different. Just be good. To be good is different enough.” And Freed ought to know. In a period of roughly 2 ½ years he had made five movies in rapid succession, each, a unique and ever-lasting contribution to the studio’s canon in popular entertainments - four musicals; one of them – George Sidney’s The Harvey Girls (1946), initially begun as a ‘serious’ drama to have starred Lana Turner. Taking an option on an as-yet unpublished story by Eleanore Griffin and William Rankin, producer, Bernard Hyman also optioned the book, ‘The Harvey Girls’, written by Samuel Hopkins Adams. Like Freed, Hyman proved an untouchable at the studio. Had death not unexpectedly claimed him at the age of 45, Hyman might have had his way with The Harvey Girls – an ironic ‘blessing’ for the picture. However, after his passing, the property fell into limbo almost immediately – although, not for long. Besides, Turner had already done her due diligence in the western milieu, co-starring with the studio’s resident he-man, Clark Gable in Honky Tonk five years earlier. But The Harvey Girls’ fate would forever be altered in 1943 when Freed attended the New Haven premiere of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Oklahoma!, an experience ultimately destined to propel Freed’s own creative verve onto an original ‘western-themed’ musical extravaganza.  In its heyday, MGM had great success creating original content for the screen, and, under Freed’s tutelage the musical genre, in particular, had flourished in a miraculous renaissance. L.B. Mayer, whose sentiments and tastes were closely aligned with Freed’s, simply doted on Freed’s expertise, affording him unprecedented autonomy to pursue and develop virtually any project he desired.

Despite the passage of time, changing tastes, and its absence from public view for far too long, The Harvey Girls has lost none of its bright-eyed optimism and exuberance for wide open spaces; neither, its intimate charm, chiefly supplied by star – Judy Garland. Above all else, it is Garland’s intangible star presence that sells this picture as a splendid entertainment. Her inimitable blend of comedic/fiery temperament and/or dewy-eyed romantic fragility, dovetails into the picture’s myriad of treasures (and there are many, as yet to be discussed herein). Ironically, Judy had expressed interest in another project simultaneously being prepared by Freed – Yolanda and the Thief, to be directed by her husband, Vincente Minnelli. She was persuaded by Arthur to partake of The Harvey Girls instead. Perhaps, it was Judy’s inability to recognize her own extraordinary qualities as a performer that resulted in her bouts of depression and addiction to various studio-sanctioned prescription drugs to see her through the day. Miraculously, these demons never materialized on the screen; Garland – ever the peerless professional – wringing out her enactments with exacting precision, in spite of her crippling anxieties.  “The thing about Judy,” Minnelli once said, “…is that she would keep you waiting – not out of spite or simply because she could – because she was a star – but rather because you could see how much it was taking out of her to give it her all. You could tell her twenty things…and you never knew if you were getting through to her, because people were messing with her hair and wardrobe and so forth…but, by God when she came on the set, she came there to work…she wouldn’t miss a thing.”

In preparing The Harvey Girls, Freed was marginally hamstrung by the estate of the late, Fred Harvey. The Harvey family, via Fred’s son, Byron and grandson (also named Byron) had given their blessing while Hyman was still alive, though not their permission to make just any movie based on their popularized restaurant chain, unless of course, it conformed to their standards of artistic integrity. In America then, the reputation of the Harvey House franchise was sacred. Indeed, it had all but entered the popular lexicon as legend, begun by Fred Harvey in 1876 in Topeka, Kansas and thereafter spreading across the nation’s landscape like fire in a wheat field. Fred Harvey’s was the first of its kind in America – a chain, linking outposts on route to the west. More than that, any town lucky enough to get a Harvey House was designated for ‘better things’ – the first real signs of human civility being imported to the lawless wide-open western plains. In developing The Harvey Girls, Freed turned to Metro’s seemingly bottomless well of writers, engaging Guy Bolton, Edmund Beloin, Nathaniel Curtis, James O’Hanlon, Kay Van Riper, Samson Raphaelson, Harry Crane and Hagar Wilde to work on the screenplay. Ultimately, all of the aforementioned, except Bolton, would leave their mark on the final draft. But perhaps Freed’s most fortuitous decision during pre-production was to assign Harry Warren and Johnny Mercer to write the score. Warren and Mercer had collaborated on several memorable musicals over at Warner Bros., their cache in working together, destined for some very great things on The Harvey Girls – not the least, their Oscar-winning and infectiously hummable, ‘On The Atchison Topeka and the Santa Fe’. Freed knew he had a good thing going. Nevertheless, he was advised by MGM’s international copyright agent, Rudi Monta to rely on Loew’s New York legal representative, William A. Orr to secure the Harvey family’s necessary releases.

In the meantime, Freed assigned Roger Edens the weighty task of tying together all of these disparate contributions on the picture. Reportedly, Freed ‘discovered’ Edens while auditioning a nondescript chanteuse for a friend during which Edens played backup accompaniment on the piano. When the audition was over, Freed bluntly replied, “The girl’s okay but I really would like to hire the piano player.” Edens had, in fact, already established a reputation as a composer/arranger for Ethel Merman in 1932, so part – if not all of this story – may, in fact, be apocryphal. In any case, by the time Freed was preparing The Harvey Girls, Edens had become an indispensable part of the Freed Unit. Armed with a first draft screenplay and Warren and Mercer’s score, Edens flew to Chicago to meet with the Harveys and their right-hand, Harold Belt. In his inimitable fashion, he spent a cozy afternoon pleading Freed’s case, followed by a complete reenactment of the entire script and songs, at the end of which the family’s concerns were completely laid to rest. Receiving a cablegram from Edens in Culver City, Freed dove headstrong into casting the picture. From the onset, he always had Judy Garland in mind as its star.  But as Freed’s first choice to play the part of Em, the madam of the Alhambra, Ann Sothern, proved unavailable, he fell back on an admirable second choice – Angela Lansbury who, at the tender age of 21, nevertheless managed to pull off the persona of a glamorous and worldly woman twice her years.

For the picture’s romantic lead, Freed leaned toward John Hodiak, who had established himself as something of a second-string heartthrob, but could not sing a note. This oversight was averted when even Hodiak’s few warbled bars of ‘My Intuition’ – a romantic duet with Garland - would remain on the cutting room floor (along with the rest of the song). Aside: Hodiak’s appeal as a romantic lead has always baffled me. He appears, with those piercing eyes and thick brow, to have been far better suited to play ‘the heavy’ than the stud. But I digress. Freed topped off his picture with a formidable roster of talent: rubber-legged Ray Bolger (as the dandified farrier, Chris Maule), buffoonish Chill Wills (lovable lush, H.H. Hartsey), the irrepressible Marjorie Main (Sonora Cassidy, a very rambunctious Harvey House cook), Kenny Baker (in the rather thankless part of second-string romantic interest and saloon piano player, Terry O'Halloran), Virginia O’Brien (as Alma from Ohio -  a deadpan gal with the gall to call a spade a spade and get away with it), Selena Royale (as Harvey House chaperone, Miss Bliss) and Preston Foster (the spurious Judge Sam Purvis). In hindsight, The Harvey Girls would also be notable for dancer, Cyd Charisse’s early appearance as the toe-shoe loving, Deborah Andrews.

The Harvey Girls today is not as celebrated as some of Arthur Freed’s other movie musicals; not because it lacks creative ballast, star-power or the artistic pedigree of say, a Meet Me In St. Louis (1944), The Band Wagon (1950) or Gigi (1958), but ironically, because it arrived smack in the middle of Freed’s most fertile creative period at MGM. In retrospect, The Harvey Girls is every bit as worthy a contender for such high praise.  To helm the production, Freed turned to director, George Sidney, perhaps, not such an obvious choice, considering the two had had a minor falling out during the first month’s shoot on Ziegfeld Follies (1946) for which Sidney asked to be removed from the picture and was promptly replaced by Freed with Vincente Minnelli. Sidney, one of Metro’s most competent workhorses, effectively managed to wade through the numerous delays on The Harvey Girls while quietly moving the picture along to its successful completion, only slightly over time and marginally over budget. The cause for these delays is mostly attributed to Judy Garland, seemingly unable to work up enough gumption to get to the studio on time or exit her dressing room in a timely fashion once newly arrived. Unable to find fault with Garland’s performance while she worked (indeed, after a deferral of several hours, Judy burst into the recording booth and sang ‘On The Atchison Topeka and the Santa Fe’ in one uninterrupted and perfect take, ultimately used in the film), and, equally as sympathetic she was undergoing an exorcism of her own private demons throughout the shoot, Sidney plied his high-strung star with comforts and complements, pleased she was pouring every last ounce of energy and effort to ensure his hard work had not been wasted. “With Judy it was never artistic temperament,” Sidney would later admit in an interview, “You could forgive her almost anything, because she was so fragile and so committed to doing her best for you once she had beaten back the personal stuff that was bothering her. Very sad, but she was just brilliant. I don’t mind working with somebody like that.”

‘On The Atchison Topeka and the Santa Fe’ is undeniably one of The Harvey Girl’s set pieces; a brilliantly conceived ‘travel’ number, introducing us to the character of Susan Bradley (Garland) and her cohorts, bound for the Harvey House in Sandrock, a little no-nothing of an outpost in the American West. Cinematographer, John Alton tirelessly rehearsed the number for twenty-days prior to committing it to celluloid in a series of meticulous camera movements to follow the arriving steam locomotive and railway cars. Fred Harvey’s ‘girls’ had been chosen from all over the United States, mostly for their beauty, though also for their strict moral upbringing and respectability, and then, trained in the art of becoming good hostesses. Freed’s bevy of beauties proved no less equal to this task, at varying degrees, singing about their conjoining pasts with musical bridges interpolated by Roger Edens and his musical collaborator, Kay Thompson. Two other ‘set’ pieces, the melodic, ‘It’s A Great Big World’ and the whirling waltz, ‘Swing Your Partner Round and Round’ round out The Harvey Girl’s musical repertoire, with novelties and solo songs feathered in for good measure. The singular and, arguably, unforgivable sin is that, in the eleventh hour of editing the picture, Freed could find no viable place for one of the most extravagant musical numbers ever filmed: Garland’s towering performance in ‘March of the Doagies.’ Viewed today, ‘March of the Doagies’ remains a heartbreaking loss, Garland – in outtakes - witnessed at the peak of her powers, carried on waves of love, while inspiring all of Sandrock to accompany her across the plains of Chatsworth at midnight, a torch-lit processional, ending with Garland’s exuberant, Susan Bradley hoisted high above a roaring bonfire, dramatically lensed by John Alton. Surviving production memos suggest the number was cut merely for time constraints; The Harvey Girls clocking in at 1 hr. 42 min.

In hindsight, The Harvey Girls is such a perfect movie musical one is apt to forget, that like most any well-conceived and finely executed spectacles, this one too was not entirely without its setbacks – most, decidedly the net result of meticulous behind-the-scenes planning. Predictably, the first day’s shoot did not go according to plan. As the company gathered to photograph Susan Bradley’s reunion with John Hodiak’s notorious gambler, Ned Trent, their pas deux set against the starkly picturesque natural splendor of Chatsworth, several ominous clouds settled in, obscuring the sunlight and forcing Alton to delay.  Somewhere during their mid-afternoon hiatus, news reached the isolated camp that President Franklin Roosevelt had died. For many, the loss was overwhelming. Judy Garland admittedly went to pieces and left the set. George Sidney gathered cast and crew to regale them with the solemn news, after which production was shut down for the day, allowing everyone to regroup their thoughts.  For the next few weeks, the Sandrock Street, built on MGM’s Lot 3, complete with facades of several dozen buildings, including the Alhambra Saloon and Harvey House (built at a cost of $395,969.40.) became home to cast and crew. The climatic torching of the Harvey House raised cause for concern in that the set, while isolated, was nevertheless in the vicinity of others. For safety’s sake, Freed called out Metro’s police and fire departments to standby, just in case a sudden wind cast its pyre of flame in the wrong direction.  On this particular night, Sidney, on a boom, prepared to capture the deluge. Alas, a stuntman disguised as Judy Garland, inadvertently ruined the shot by exposing his knobby knees to the camera. Disheartened, though perhaps more nervously anxious than anything else, Sidney called ‘cut’ – bringing scores of firemen out of hiding to douse the five-alarm blaze. The Harvey House, lain in charred ruins, would have to be rebuilt, and, the sequence completed re-staged and re-shot all over again the next night.

Set in the late 1890’s The Harvey Girls opens with an uncharacteristically intimate moment. Hopeful mail-order bride, Susan Bradley, clings to the open back of a caboose, lazily careening back and forth, dreaming of her new life ‘In the Valley’ (Where the Evening Sun Goes Down). Susan has answered a ‘lonely hearts’ ad, presumably written by H.H. Hartsey. Aboard the train, Miss Bliss, Sonora Cassidy, Deborah Andrews, Alma from Ohio and the rest of the young women on route to start their new lives as ‘Harvey’ girls. Susan is optimistic – though perhaps, more than a tad ‘unrealistic’ about what the future will hold. With a blast of the conductor’s whistle, everyone arrives in Sandrock ‘On The Atchison Topeka and the Santa Fe’.  Meanwhile, at the Alhambra Saloon, Hartsey – a chronic, though lovable drunk – confides in its proprietor, Ned Trent that ‘his girl’ is newly arrived in town. Ned cannot believe it. He only wrote the mash letter as a joke, never believing Susan would reply, much less follow through and make the trip to this isolated outpost.  Encouraging Hartsey to step down from accepting Susan as his mail-order bride, a decision the commitment-shy Hartsey is only too pleased to concede, Ned intervenes on his behalf and explains the situation to Susan. She is, of course, properly outraged. Ned offers to pay for Susan’s return ticket home.

But instead, she takes up Miss Bliss’ offer to become a Harvey girl. Em, the madam of the Alhambra, is not amused. Perhaps even from the outset, her womanly intuition tells her Susan’s arrival will do more than merely distract Ned from his casual romantic overtures toward her. Ned is visited by Judge Purvis and Rev. Claggett (Morris Ankrum), a pair of acrimonious plotters who, along with thug muscle, Marty Peters (Jack Lambert) aim to do harm to the Harvey House in order to maintain Sandrock’s lawlessness. A hot time in the ole town has proven very profitable for all concerned and Purvis and Claggett expect Ned to play along with their plans to evict the newly arrived lovelies. Ned suggests everyone can coexist in Sandrock – a decision ultimately leading to more than a few botched threats, including a planted rattlesnake in Deborah’s trunkful of belongings, the poisonous attack narrowly averted when Ned puts a bullet through the serpent to save her life. Deborah begins to fall for the Alhambra’s piano player, Terry O’Halloran while Alma latches on to the somewhat effete farrier, Chris Maule. Simultaneously, Susan harbors affections for Ned. He is mildly smitten with Susan too, but repeatedly toys with her affections, incurring both Susan and Em’s ire in tandem. Em wants Susan out of Sandrock - period. But Susan has dug in her heels with renewed confidence, particularly after a gutsy move to rescue her employer, Jed Adams (Edward Earle) and recover raw meats stolen from the Harvey House’s cooler by Purvis and Claggett – hidden in the backroom of the Alhambra – proves a success.

Ned is increasingly delighted by Susan’s resourcefulness. Moreover, he is not so far gone as to not be able to recognize how virtue alone can, in fact, be its own reward. Naturally, Purvis and Claggett do not share this sentiment. Em, however, is sympathetic as, at least in her own way, she deeply cares for Ned, and, would sincerely hope her love is enough to convince him to remain at her side. After Purvis and Peters sneak into the Harvey House, determined to burn it to the ground, Ned attacks them in a knock-down/drag-out brawl. The Harvey House is lost to the hellish flames. But the girls escape unharmed and with a renewed vigor to rebuild the restaurant. The next day, Ned gives over the Alhambra to be used as a makeshift Harvey House. He packs his bags and prepares to leave with Em and her prostitutes for another outpost further down the line where lawlessness still prevails. But even Ned knows these days are numbered.  Thus, at the last possible moment, he has a change of heart. Susan’s goodness, it seems, has purified his outlook on life. He will remain in Sandrock and propose marriage, if she will have him. Em is bitterly disappointed, masking her sadness with a glib “Thanks…thanks for nothin’!” as the train pulls out of the depot.

But only a few moments later, Em realizes Susan is also on board, having erroneously assumed Ned is too. Susan confides in Em. She has decided to ‘join’ Em’s lot in life to please Ned. Em is sincerely touched by the depths of Susan’s love in this noble gesture, pulling on the emergency cord to stop the train and wrestling with Susan until she explains Ned is not travelling with them. Em and Susan share in a moment of understanding, one woman’s loss, decidedly the other’s gain. Susan departs and meets Ned, who, presumably having discovered she is on the train is presently speeding towards it on horseback. As Em looks on, Susan and Ned are reunited on the rocky plains, tripping over the foliage and falling to the ground (a running gag throughout the movie, symbolic of their similarities as the ‘perfect couple’). The scene dissolves to Ned and Susan’s staged ‘outdoor’ wedding – actually shot on a rather obvious MGM stage-bound replica of the Chatsworth landscape, the bridal party singing a reprise of the Oscar-winning ‘On The Atchison Topeka and the Santa Fe’.

The Harvey Girls is exuberantly realized from the very first to last frame. Even for its sneak peek on July 12, 1945, the picture had already undergone several deletions, the loss of the aforementioned ‘March of the Doagies’; also, ‘My Intuition’ – a love ballad between Susan and Ned, and ‘Hayride’ – another big and boisterous outdoorsy number.  In the audience, opening night, composer, Ralph Blaine (who had worked under Edens’ tutelage on the picture) narrowly averted catastrophe when a lit cigarette he thought he had extinguished before placing into the breast pocket of his dress jacket, suddenly caught fire. Riding high on anxiousness, Blaine and the others in attendance could breathe a sigh of relief when spontaneous applause broke out in the audience after ‘On the Atchison Topeka and the Santa Fe’. From that moment, the picture was a colossal smash hit, easily making back its $2,524,315 budget, and topping out with a very lucrative, $5,175,000 in pure profits.  However, its official premiere had to be delayed until January 18, 1946, as virtually all of MGM’s premiere Loew’s Theaters were already pre-booked for the Christmas holidays.

'My intuition' tells me the Warner Archive has done another outstanding remastering job on The Harvey Girls. Actually, my eyes told me that. The Blu-ray is absolutely gorgeous. Like the release of The Pirate, Warner has culled an image herein that is pristine and derived from a new 4K scan from original 3-strip elements. Color reproduction is excellent, with eye-popping reds, yellows, purples, greens and blues, and flesh tones that are absolutely exquisite. Fine detail abounds. I was absolutely dumbstruck when close-ups revealed finite detail in hair and stitching in costumes. Contrast is bang on and a light smattering of grain gives this one a film-like appearance.  The DTS 5.1 audio from original stems sounds year’s younger and provides us with yet another example of Judy Garland’s inimitable musical styling. Extras have all been ported over from the original DVD release and include two alternate takes of the deleted ‘March of the Doagies’ number, and ‘My Intuition’ – in HD, plus an audio commentary from George Sidney and a theatrical trailer. Bottom line: all aboard for Sandrock. The Harvey Girls is an exceptional movie musical – one receiving its proper exposure on this fantastic Blu-ray. Buy today. Treasure forever.

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

5+

VIDEO/AUDIO

5+

EXTRAS

3