THE EMPEROR WALTZ: Blu-ray (Paramount, 1948) Kino Lorber

The near-perfect intersection of three careers, two on the rise, one already well-established, went into the creation of Paramount’s lavishly appointed musical, The Emperor Waltz (begun in 1946, but not to be completed until 1948), to star one of the 20th century’s irrefutable heavy-hitting titans of both the music/film industry: Bing Crosby. The other ‘two’ zeitgeists on tap were seemingly invisible, collaborative screenwriters, Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder, who also directed the picture. In hindsight, The Emperor Waltz is just one of those big and splashy movie spectacles one sincerely wishes had been a little bit better than it actually is. Do not misunderstand. There are some very good things in it. And yet, somehow, the picture never entirely clicks as it should, becoming instead, an impressively tricked out programmer with its A-listers doing everything in their power to make us forget it. The plot, alas, can be summarized in a nutshell: brash American gramophone salesman, Virgil Smith (Crosby) pitches his wares to Emperor Franz Josef (Richard Haydn) of Austria. The idea, is actually grounded in truth. Yet, while the picture sports some gorgeous scenery reporting to be of the Alps, Paramount went no further than Canada’s Jasper National Park to shoot the exteriors. Wilder, however, was displeased, and had pines imported from California at a then staggering cost of $20,000. He also insisted on the planting of 4000 daisies, hand-tinted blue, to photograph better in Technicolor. Virtually everything else was shot inside the studio’s soundstages, including some very impressive palace recreations.

Immediately following the Oscar-winning success of 1945’s The Lost Weekend, Wilder and Brackett endeavored to work on a project, squarely to address the strife and struggle of U.S. military personnel in Europe. Alas, Wilder’s trip abroad so disturbed him, he returned to Hollywood, determined to commit his talents to a light and frothy musical instead. This was not the first time Wilder and Crosby’s paths had crossed. Brackett and Wilder had worked on Crosby’s well-received Rhythm on the River (1940). Now, Wilder drew upon a little known ‘incident’ at the 1900 World’s Fair in Paris to involve Danish inventor, Valdemar Poulsen, who had demonstrated his magnetic recording device to Austria’s Emperor in the hopes he would finance its further research and proliferation. But alas, joy galore was not to be the order of the day. Crosby’s aloof attitude towards co-star, Joan Fontaine – on loan from RKO – created an undercurrent of animosity. “I was a star at that time,” Fontaine later reasoned, “…but he treated me like he’d never heard of me.” As for Wilder, Crosby confided in Fontaine his inability to understand his direction, because of Wilder’s accent. Finally, Crosby chose, often, to adlib or change his lines to suit his own impressions of the character he was playing. Reflecting on the experience decades later, Wilder reasoned, “Bing Crosby operated for himself - not for the group or the film. He was a big star, the biggest, and he thought he knew what was good for him.”

Important, I think, to pause a moment here on the meteoric and enduring legacy of Harry Lillis ‘Bing’ Crosby, the Tacoma-born crooner extraordinaire, whose only genuine rival in the early days of sound recording was that ‘other’ skinny little fellow from Hoboken whom Crosby amusedly once referred to as a ‘brash, young newcomer who had a lot to offer.’ Of course, it was Sinatra. But by 1948, Bing Crosby was already an American institution. Precisely how he earned the nickname ‘Bing’ remains open for discussion. The established tale is that a neighbor lent him the moniker ‘Bingo from Bingville’ that Crosby later foreshortened to ‘Bing’. We’ll stick with that one, as the always musical Crosby, involved in several vocal trios in his youth, was eventually spotted by noted band leader, Paul Whiteman. Crosby then ventured on his own, as part of another act, The Rhythm Boys. But by 1932, he had outgrown them too, and next ventured on a solo debut that would, as they used to say, became the stuff from which dreams are made. By 1936, Crosby had eclipsed even Whiteman’s popularity, taking over as the radio host of NBC’s Kraft Music Hall. He also signed his first studio contract with Paramount Pictures. With very few exceptions, Crosby would remain exclusively their property for the next 30-years, occasionally venturing to neighboring studios to make a picture or two. In June 1945, Life Magazine hailed Crosby as ‘America’s #1 star’ having accrued an enviable fan base and even more staggeringly impressive personal wealth from his recording (he cut more than 60,000,000 discs) and film careers (he was already the star of 49 movies, with another 37 yet to make!).  To date, his greatest success remained ‘White Christmas’ – the song, first immortalized in 1942’s Holiday Inn, and later, to be re-launched as its own movie, Paramount’s first, in their patented VistaVision motion picture high fidelity widescreen process.  The song White Christmas has endured as the biggest-selling single of all time, currently with well over 50 million copies sold around the globe. But I digress.

The Emperor Waltz is set at the turn of the twentieth century. We meet traveling salesman, Virgil Smith on his latest sojourn through Austria hoping to pitch his gramophone to Emperor Franz Josef, whose purchase of this latest and greatest American invention would likely create a fervor among the Austrian people to own one too. At the same time, Countess Johanna Augusta Franziska von Stoltzenberg and her father, Baron Holenia (Roland Culver) are celebrating their black poodle, Scheherazade, selected to mate with the emperor's prized pooch. As Augusta and the Baron exit the palace, they encounter Virgil and his charming white fox terrier, Buttons. The dogs’ natural antagonism ultimately leads to an unflattering, yet comical discussion about class distinction. According to veterinarian, Dr. Zwieback (Sig Ruman), who practices Freudian psychology, Scheherazade has suffered a nervous breakdown, the only cure, for her to encounter Buttons again. Alas, when the dogs reunite, an unanticipated romance blossoms – and not just between them – also, their owners. Johanna and Virgil begin to spend a lot of time together, oblivious to the fact their animals have already mated.

Having fallen haplessly in love, Virgil implores Johanna to reconsider the power of true love, capable of overcoming their social differences. Rather impetuously, Virgil asks the Emperor for the Countess’ hand in marriage. In what remains the movie’s most tender and reflective scene, the fatherly leader of the nation is cordial but firm with Virgil. “We are not better than you”, the Emperor explains, “I think perhaps you are better than us. But we are like snails. If you take us out of our majestic shells, we die.”  Now, the Emperor attempts to strike a bargain with Virgil, to endorse the gramophone, surely to invigorate Virgil’s bank account, though only if he refuses Johanna. Virgil is highly insulted he should surrender the woman he loves for the profit it might otherwise derive. But the Emperor remains circumspect as he explains how previous attempts for royalty to mate with commoners has resulted in some very disastrous unions, concluding to Virgil, “Are you sure you will be enough for her?” Rather than wreck Johanna’s happiness Virgil agrees to walk out of her life for good. Accepting sole responsibility here, Virgil lies to Johanna that his love has cooled, hoping she will learn to hate him and move on with her life.

Several bitter months of regret pass. However, when Scheherezade gives birth to a litter of white puppies with black patches, undeniably sired by Buttons, the kingdom is agog. Fearing reprisals, Baron Holenia lies that the puppies were stillborn and secretly orders them drowned. Mercifully, having already snuck back into the palace, in order to clarify the reasons for his hasty departure, Virgil now rescues the puppies and confronts the emperor, whom he believes is responsible for the order to have them killed. The emperor demands an explanation from Holenia but asks Virgil to bequeath him the puppies. Still disgusted, Virgil admonishes the emperor for his class snobbery and, unaware Johanna is in their midst, admits he should have never agreed to surrender his love to spare her from a commoner's life.  The choice ought to have been hers to make. Realizing the depth of his love, Johanna makes her presence known, reasoning it is better to take a one-in-a-million chance for true happiness than no chance at all with someone from her station in life whom she will never truly love. Forced to reconsider his position on the marriage, the emperor concurs. Virgil and Johanna are a match set and allowed to marry.

The Emperor Waltz was an unusual movie from the outset. Brackett and Wilder’s acerbic wit remains a strange bedfellow for Victor Young’s melodic score. And given the picture is supposed to cater to Crosby’s strengths as a crooner, it is decidedly light on its musical program. The score is a patchwork quilt by some of the top tunesmiths of their generation including Richard Heuberger, Jimmy Van Heusen and Johnny Burke. Yet, there are only 5 songs in the picture, most – utterly forgettable, with the most distinct, being, The Kiss in Your Eyes, affectingly warbled by Der Bingle in his usual easy-going style. Given all the strife involved in bringing The Emperor Waltz to fruition, Billy Wilder rarely spoke of the movie thereafter, once telling an interviewer “I never want to see it again.”  Critics of the day were quick to condemn Wilder’s efforts as a wan ghost flower of the kind of fun and frothy spectacles made by the late Ernst Lubitsch. Indeed, The Emperor Waltz marginally suffers from these slightly embalmed phantoms of the past.  Even so, Wilder never blamed Crosby for the picture’s artistic failings, though co-writer, Charles Brackett held steadfast to the opinion the show was an outright stiff and stultifying “stinker” further bludgeoned by Hollywood’s prevailing censorship, which found the mating of Virgil’s Buttons, and the Countess’ Scheherazade, a distasteful lampoon of class distinction. Evidently, Wilder’s disdain for the outcome of the movie was noted by producer, Samuel Goldwyn who, in typically fractured Goldwyn fashion, encouraged Wilder to take his lumps and accept “…the bitter with the sour!” Decades later, while accepting his own Lifetime Achievement Award from the AFI, Wilder affectionately mused with a smile, “…I wish the old boy were still around today!”

The Emperor Waltz was a terrific critical and financial flop for Paramount abroad, though, ironically, it did well in America. In the end, however, it remained more of an ordeal than a labor of love for all concerned. Wilder’s initial aim, to transform the picture into an homage to the Austria of his youth, dotted in rose-colored memories of its former pre-war gemutlich charm, failing to gel as it should. On occasion, the backstage strain between Crosby and the rest of the cast seeps into the performances on the screen. Fontaine’s Countess Johanna Augusta Franziska is frequently stilted and seemingly uncomfortable in her costar’s presence, exuding a glacial beauty, though precious little else to recommend her participation here. The film is undeniably a vehicle for Crosby and he dominates it with a certain galvanized verve. Yet, this borders on shameless scene-stealing at the expense of finding the soft-core center of the story. Crosby had fleeting success with the picture’s love ballad – popular on the hit parade. Ultimately, his legacy would emerge unscathed by the experience of making The Emperor Waltz. Indeed, he still had some of his biggest movies to make, including White Christmas (1954), as well as two more memorable outings in his lucrative ‘road’ series with Bob Hope and Dorothy Lamour: 1947’s Road to Rio and 1952’s Road to Bali.  Crosby would also anchor Disney’s latest animated anthology in an ongoing narration for 1949’s The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad. But perhaps his most outstanding performance was as the sad alcoholic in 1954’s The Country Girl – an anathema to all his other usual bright and breezy characters.  

The Emperor Waltz’s Virgil Smith never strains Crosby’s dynamic range, either as a performer or singer. Indeed, he only sings 3 of the 5 songs featured herein. But it should be noted, that from nowhere, we get a fabulously staged ‘specialty number’ showcasing the formidable balletic skills of Bert Pival (cast as the characterless chauffeur) and Roberta Jonay (as an even more nondescript servant girl). It’s an exuberant moment in this sumptuously mounted movie. If only there were more like it. There are some very fine supporting players here, to include Roland Culver as the Countess’ father, Harold Vermilyea as the Emperor’s Chamberlain and the always dependable, if owl-like sage, Lucille Watson as gossipy Princess Bitotska. We lean to these wonderfully cast characters for dramatic sustenance. Bedecked in ravishing costumes by Edith Head, and shot with mesmeric Technicolor brilliance by cinematographer, George Barnes, Franz Bachelin and Hans Dreier’s production design truly calls out the fastidious flair and finesse of a bygone Hapsberg court. Regrettably, the end result is only just lovely to look at, but somehow more of a snore than a success.

Kino Lorber’s new-to-Blu of The Emperor Waltz features a competently rendered 1080p image, floated by its fabulous Technicolor cinematography. The picture favors reds – deep, rich and velvety in everything from the emperor’s guard’s uniforms to the peasant class’ costumes and the countess’ blood-red lip balm. Emerald green is the other color to be showcased dramatically herein. On occasion, we get some ever-so-slight mis-registration of the 3-strip negative, to create a softer image with some minor halos. But overall, The Emperor Waltz fares better than most of Paramount’s vintage catalog now under the lack-luster custodianship of Universal Pictures. Contrast is solid. Age-related artifacts are present, but not to egregious levels. The 2.0 DTS audio is nicely turned out, with crisp dialog and some engaging fidelity in the songs. Film historian, Joseph McBride weighs in with an engaging audio commentary. Aside: McBride’s commentary is extremely refreshing and, in a class far above the commentators Kino usually gets to schmooze about the movies they barely understand and generally try to force into some critical discussion based either on current impressions culled from feminist or race-related perspectives.  McBride’s background as Billy Wilder’s biographer affords us none of that, but rather a thoroughly comprehensive backstory on the director that covers a lot more ground than anticipated. We also get a whopping 10 trailers Kino is using to market other fare to the consumer. Bottom line: The Emperor Waltz is not a great movie. There are great things in it, but they never come together as they should. So, who’s to blame? Not sure. For Crosby completionists only.

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

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

1

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