BROADWAY MELODY OF 1940: Blu-ray (MGM, 1940) Warner Archive
1940 was an interesting year for debonair, Frederick
Austerlitz, better known to the world as the incomparable, Fred Astaire. Only a
year after his seemingly indestructible partnership with RKO glamor gal, Ginger
Rogers had self-destructed on their penultimate picture together, The Story
of Vernon and Irene Castle (1939, and the only one of their pictures to lose
money), and with Astaire having conquered the mediums of stage (with his
sister, Adele) and screen, the grand ole man of the dance was now sincerely
pondered what came next. Retirement? Indeed,
Fred was 40-years-young in 1940 – a true renaissance man from another
generation entirely, to have carved his niche in the 20th century as
few artists of his, or the burgeoning generation could or had. But Astaire’s
career, while at a crossroads in 1940 was hardly nearing its finish. And thus,
Astaire made the fortuitous decision to return to MGM – the studio to have
provided him with his first sincere opportunity to shine in 1933’s Dancing
Lady, opposite their reigning diva, Joan Crawford, after a thoroughly
misguided exec at RKO had already assessed his criteria in the movies as “Can’t
act. Can’t sing. Balding. Can dance a little!” Aside: I have often wondered whatever became
of that nameless assessor.
Astaire on celluloid is grace itself, as his eight
outings with Ginger proved. To observe him in motion is to experience a sublime
understanding of the human form at its most eloquent. There is a finesse to Astaire
that goes well beyond mere technical proficiency – even raw talent. Liberated
from the confines of time and space, Astaire occupies his own stratosphere, his
feet never to touch the ground. And the voice? With all due respect, no less an
authority than the dean of American music, Irving Berlin once commented he
would rather have Astaire introduce one of his songs to the public than any
other artist then working in pictures. And while Norman Taurog’s Broadway
Melody of 1940 (1940) does allow Astaire the opportunity to warble a tune
or two, the picture places its emphasis squarely on Astaire’s seemingly effortless
way with a time step and tap. Broadway Melody of 1940 contains two
iconic duets set to the illustrious music of Cole Porter – ‘Jukebox Dance’,
and, ‘Begin the Beguine’ - both with the lady MGM once billed as ‘the
tops in taps’ – Miss Eleanor Powell. It remains one of those Hollywood ironies Powell’s
career never quite recovered from her pairing with Astaire. The star of some of
Metro’s most lavishly appointed musical extravaganzas of the late thirties, including
Broadway Melody of 1936/1938, Rosalie (1937), and Honolulu
(1939) Powell’s immortality appeared secure, if to fade into premature
obscurity until 1973’s musical anthology tribute, That’s Entertainment!
brought her back into the public spotlight. Her relatively short tenure as a
major box office draw began in 1935 on a bumpy note of distinction in George
White’s Scandals. By 1943, it was all over, except for sporadic appearances
as a novelty act in service of other headliners.
It has been suggested Powell’s pictures rescued Metro
from sinking into the red during the Great Depression. But this is owing a bit
much to those memorable and gargantuan spectacles. Indeed, MGM’s profits during
the Depression rivaled those of all the other majors combined, and that kind of
cache cannot be summarized in just 4 movies Powell churned out in rapid
succession, just prior to Broadway Melody of 1940. For certain, the
usually unflappable Astaire found a niggling intimidation setting in at the
outset of their partnership. Astaire, however, had the deepest admiration for
his co-star and was humbled to learn Powell felt similarly about his own
talent. “She 'put 'em down like a man,” Astaire later reflected, “…no
ricky-ticky-sissy stuff with Ellie. She really knocked out a tap dance in a
class by herself.” And Powell, appearing as part of the AFI’s 1981’s
tribute to Astaire, gingerly described how the great man had set her own
giddiness at ease, adding, “Oh, Mr. Astaire. How I wish we could do it one
more time!” A year later, she was gone, felled by ovarian cancer, age 69 –
a regal and resplendent class act to the end. Astaire would outlive her by 5
more years. While Astaire’s partnerships throughout his long and illustrious career
have been truly the stuff that dreams are made of, and Ginger Rogers will
likely always be considered his ‘greatest’ dance partner, Powell’s
technical prowess here is beyond reproach and the perfect complement to
Astaire. The two are firecrackers on their feet, electrifying the highly
polished, poured-mirror floors in ‘Begin the Beguine’ – an exemplar of the
peerless gloss of a generation lost to us now.
Broadway Melody of 1940 also marks a
finale on several levels. First, it put a period to MGM's lucrative franchise
begun with the Oscar-winning The Broadway Melody (1929/30). Second, it
was the last of the big B&W movie musical spectacles that - in mood, tone
and production values - harkened back, not only to its two predecessors (Broadway
Melody of 1936/38), but the infancy of sound pictures, and the glory years
of the Busby Berkeley flourishes at Warner Bros., rather than looking ahead to
the real golden age of the ‘integrated’ musical, already launched with 1939’s
production of The Wizard of Oz. Story-driven musicals would come to
dominate the 1940’s and, arguably, reach their zenith with 1944’s Meet Me In
St. Louis. But the plot here, two hoofers coming together with the aid of another
(George Murphy as King Shaw - the proverbial ‘third wheel’) to put on a show,
is fairly inconsequential, or rather, follows the typical ‘boy meets girl’
trajectory, with the girl, star-struck and day-dreaming of romance and success –
a formula well-established in the musical mélange. Perhaps coincidentally, Broadway
Melody of 1940 is also the last truly memorable musical to feature Eleanor
Powell. Although Powell would continue to trip the light fantastic until the
mid-1940’s, mostly as a novelty act in films like Thousands Cheer
(1943), hers was a style more aptly suited to thirties glamor than forties froth.
Eleanor Powell - what a gal: beautiful, talented,
smart and funny - a total package, she blazed a lightning streak too white hot to
last. And it is saying much of Ms. Powell as an actress too, that despite the uncanny
and formulaic similarities in all 3 of her outings in the Broadway Melody
franchise (she missed the first one), she manages to retain some of that wholesome
innocence and excitement that kept this series alive and so vital. Yet, given
the popularity of this final installment, and her perfect casting opposite
Astaire it is a distinct tragedy for movie lovers everywhere that Metro’s raja,
L.B. Mayer was to never again pair them together. Leon Gordon and George
Oppenheimer's screenplay for Broadway Melody of 1940 won't win any
awards for originality, but it is more than serviceable, with plenty of
opportunities for Astaire and Powell to do what they so obviously loved doing
best - dance. On this occasion, Powell
is Claire Bennett – a girl already in a show but in search of a partner to
accompany her, step for step, across the Great White Way. Claire’s new leading
man is King Shaw (George Murphy) – a small-time operator working with Astaire’s
Johnny Brett who gets his big break, then makes the least of it by slipping on
the good life into alcoholism. The wrinkle is, of course, producer, Bob Casey
(Frank Morgan at his best) has mistaken King for Johnny. While Johnny struggles
to support himself in mediocre dance halls, King realizes he is actually
ruining Johnny's chances to hit the big time. So, King fakes another bout of
alcoholism, forcing the company to make a last-minute substitute and thereby
give Johnny his big break.
Gordon and Oppenheimer use this rather trite and
threadbare narrative as a springboard for various comedic gems, as when Bob
repeatedly makes overtures to young beauties, each believing he is about to
perform a Svengali-esque transformation on her. And truth to tell, Morgan, not
Murphy, is the real third star of this film - bumbling, caustic, easily
befuddled and thoroughly misguided - in short, Frank Morgan. One of the things
I miss most in today's movies is the absence of such 'character' actors like a
Frank Morgan or S.Z. Sakall. One glimpse of Morgan and we know immediately we
are in for a very good time. Apart from
Morgan’s mugging and Cole Porter’s score Broadway Melody of 1940 would
have very little to recommend it if not for its mesmerizing dance sequences.
Astaire does 'Please Don't Monkey with Broadway' a featherweight buck n’
wing with George Murphy, but is at his most brilliant with Powell during 'The
Jukebox Dance' - a competition, and later, in disguise for 'I
Concentrate on You'. If nothing else, Broadway Melody of 1940 is
justly famous for its spectacular finale to Porter's evergreen, Begin the
Beguine.
The song begins as a sultry Latin rumba-styled
serenade sung by Charlotte Arren. In short order, this gives way to a Powell
solo, sheathed in sparkling spangles. Backed by a shadowy chorine of lovelies
and silhouetted palms reflected in the impossible gloss of a floor made of
poured glass, Powell dazzles us with her glycerin movements. She doesn’t move.
She floats. Astaire appears in an embroidered waist coat, joining Powell as she
whirls and twirls before they momentarily spin off backstage. This transition
clears the way for a change of beat, from a whiff of ole Spain to bouncy swing.
The Music Maids appear, breaking out with an infectious pop version of Begin
the Beguine. Astaire and Powell re-emerge from the wings, this time dressed
in contemporary clothes. What follows is a hypnotic 3 ½ minutes of undiluted
tap-tacular magic. At one point, even the music falls silent, nothing except
the strong clear clickety-clack of Astaire and Powell’s magic feet striking rhythms
to dazzle the ear. He whirls around her, before the orchestra picks up the
tempo for the grand finale as both come to a full stop in unison, Powell’s
billowy skirt, defying with a pirouette of its own around her lissome body. Broadway
Melody of 1940 is fondly and justly remembered today for this singular
flawless moment of nonpareil excellence. The rest of the picture never quite
rises to this occasion. But Porter’s score, a mesmeric myriad, ensures a very
good time had by all.
Oliver T. Marsh and Joseph Ruttenberg’s expertise in
painting with light is on full display in their captivating cinematography. It’s
the ole MGM perfection at play here. Reportedly, it was absolute hell to keep
those poured glass floors free of debris. After virtually every take, a small
army of broom’s men, with buffers on their feet, were sent out to remove the
scuffs incurred by Astaire and Powell. Viewed today, Broadway Melody of 1940
remains a light and lovely screen sensation, jubilantly executed to suggest
anyone could suddenly leap from their seats and swing the light fantastic. The
illusion of Astaire and Powell’s simplicity and casualness together was, in
fact, a lot of excruciating hard work. Nothing this good ever comes that easy.
And reportedly, Powell was to often practice alone for hours, her shoes filling
with blood from all the strain she had put on them to make everything look as
fun and familiar as skipping down the street. One has to admire such dedication
and pay it its due. After all, we are all imperfect, impermanent creatures, aspiring
to create a more lasting world. The passage of the years may have deprived us
of an Astaire and Powell in the flesh – their gifts now, satisfying the angels
somewhere – but the testaments to their craft left behind on celluloid remain
ours to cherish. And indeed, it is my sincerest hope future generations never
lose the ability to respect true artists of a different vintage long gone before
their own.
To this end, Warner Archive’s (WAC) new-to-Blu of Broadway
Melody of 1940 is cause to rejoice. The DVD, release in 1999 was a bit of a
disaster, suffering from an inconsistently rendered image with intermittent gate
weave, some light speckling, and culled from sources to range from excellent to
just below par. WAC’s new 4K scan from original nitrate elements yields a
visual presentation so far above this previous effort, it positively puts the
DVD to shame. The uber-sheen in Marsh and Ruttenberg’s cinematography is back
with a high-gloss vengeance. A light smattering of film grain looks indigenous to
its source. Fine details pop as they should, and contrast is excellent. Prepare
to be thoroughly amazed. WAC’s high standards remain intact. The DTS 1.0 mono audio has also been
refreshed. There were occasions on the DVD in which dialogue sounded slightly
muffled. Those instances are gone here, as is any strident remnants of hiss and
pop. The track sounds wonderful. Extras are limited to a toss-away featurette hosted
by Ann Miller, who attributes her aspirations to become a dancer to first
seeing Eleanor Powell on the screen. There is also a badly worn theatrical trailer. Bottom line: Broadway Melody of 1940
belongs on everyone’s top-tier of movie musicals you would want to take with
you to a desert island, its pedestrian plot, easily overcome by Astaire and
Powell’s peerless perfection in the art of the dance. Very – very –
highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
5+
EXTRAS
1
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