WITH A SONG IN MY HEART (2oth Century-Fox, 1952) Fox Home Video
In honor of the
Walt Disney Corporation’s most recent public announcement that, after decades
of sitting on their own goldmine of Uncle Walt’s live-action film legacy, as
well as to have since annexed the asset management catalog of the now-defunct
2oth Century-Fox (inexplicably rechristened 2oth Century Studios by Disney
Inc.), Walt’s successors have reached a distribution deal with Grover Crisp and
Sony Home Entertainment (whose home video model is decidedly more progressive
and aggressive), we at Nix Pix have decided to revisit several Fox catalog
releases, decidedly, requiring some immediate love and attention.
In the pantheon
of truly outstanding musicals made at 2oth Century-Fox, Walter Lang’s With a
Song in My Heart: The Jane Froman Story (1952) remains an unabashedly
bright spot; a semi-biographical, sentimental tearjerker that continues to
affect the soul as it quite deliberately plucks at the strings of our hearts.
Few, are the musicals that can so obviously manipulate without devolving into
maudlin treacle. But in star, Susan Hayward, too infrequently revived these
days to be revered for the truly outstanding performer that she was, With A
Song in My Heart exudes a sort of womanly grace and quiet rectitude, wholly
in keeping with the lady on whom this escapist entertainment is based.
Lip-syncing to Froman’s tracks, Hayward does more than merely mouth the words. This
isn’t a clever pantomime. Rather, Hayward creates an alternate reality that
really sells Froman, not only as a compelling ‘human interest’ story gussied up
in the trappings of an elegant song-and-dance extravaganza, but as convincingly
pitched into the stratosphere as high art. It behooves us to pause to pay
homage to the woman who inspired this fictionalized account. The real Jane
Froman was a much-beloved torch singer, nightclub performer, major radio
celebrity and minor movie star. Her crippling paralysis after a fiery plane
crash, triggered a lifelong battle against excruciating physical and mental
anguish, extraordinarily challenged, and ultimately defeated by Froman’s formidable
stamina, her immovable resolve, her never-waning devotion to God, and,
ultimately, her testament to that ‘never surrender’ attitude, parlayed into
personal triumph.
The world of
entertainment no longer breeds such unicorns among us, either Froman, or Hayward,
who take Froman’s saga to her bosom and makes it her own. Jane Froman was a
hell of a gal. Not only for her indomitable spirit or fervent desire to
entertain us. Even today, listening to those rich
recordings of yore, Froman’s voice reaches from beyond the grave, her
classically trained, operatic mezzo soprano given over to the likes of the
Gershwins, Cole Porter and Irving Berlin. This truly was a songstress out to
conquer all forms of popular entertainment. Like Judy Garland,
Froman was the little dynamo that could, seemingly with no limitations. This
tenacity would be cruelly tested after the USO Boeing Yankee Clipper she was
flying home on crashed into the Tagus River near Lisbon, Portugal on February
22, 1943, derailing Froman’s success at the height of her career. For anyone
else, surviving would have been enough. Of the fateful
thirty-eight on board, only fifteen were pulled from this fiery wreckage alive.
And Froman’s
injuries were considerable. A gash above the left knee had all but severed her
leg. There were multiple fractures to her right arm, and, a compound fracture
threatening amputation of her right leg. In the moments preceding the crash,
Froman had exchanged her seat with another passenger, Tamara Drasin who did not
survive. This whim of fate plagued Froman’s conscience for the rest of her
life. To many, it must have seemed as though Froman’s career – if not her life
– had been cut short. Yet, if nothing else, Froman had had a formidable run,
begun on the radio, appearing opposite such luminaries as Bing Crosby and Jack
Benny, joining the 1933 installment of the Ziegfeld Follies, garnering top
honors as the most popular radio singer of 1934, and appearing in three big-budget
musical extravaganzas from 1933 to 1938. Froman was already a headliner when
catastrophe struck. Then as now, the press reports of Froman’s threadbare survival were immediately repurposed in their own
blitzkrieg of hype and hyperbole.
Yet, those who
speculated the best was now behind her, really did not know Jane Froman at all.
For Froman had set herself upon a vision quest. Not only would she recover from
her injuries – if never entirely (forever to wear an archaic back brace to
conceal her ongoing malady behind cleverly placed props and costuming) – then
enough to exude the illusion as the spokesmodel of unbridled defiance against
seemingly insurmountable odds. Perhaps the fortitude, co-pilot, John Curtis
Burn (to become Jane’s second husband) had shown – fashioning a makeshift raft
from floating debris with a broken back no less, on which he and Froman clung
until help arrived – provided the motivation for Jane’s steadfast recovery. Undergoing
thirty-nine excruciating surgeries, Froman wore a leg brace for the remainder
of her life, but staunchly refused to let it slow her down. In fact, a scant
two years after the crash, she was touring Europe, entertaining the troops in a
daunting slate of 95 shows. To cope with chronic, agonizing pain, Froman turned
to alcohol and pills, becoming addicted to both. Yet, she fought and won her
battle against these considerable demons, eventually to regain her health,
sanity and sobriety. From 1952 (the year Fox set to work immortalizing her life’s
story for the big screen) until 1955, Froman hosted her own TV program on
CBS. A year later, she divorced Burn.
With a Song in
My Heart does not delve too deeply into any of the aforementioned backstory,
either out of respect for Froman, or perhaps, merely to satisfy the
requirements of a frothy and escapist musical. Froman not only contributed
heavily to story ideas, eventually fleshed out in Lamar Trotti’s screenplay,
but also agreed to supply the soundtrack, convincingly lip-synced by Susan
Hayward. The re-recorded
album version of that soundtrack was an immediate best-seller; the movie, a
runaway smash. Although exaggerated somewhat, With a Song in My Heart adheres
to the basics in Froman’s life story… to a point. We chart Froman’s meteoric
rise to fame via blind optimism and driving ambition. The film concentrates on
Froman’s altruism and respect afforded by first husband, Don Ross
(David Wayne), and, the supportive nurturing gleaned from her second, John Burn
(Rory Calhoun). It says something of Froman she chose, with Trotti’s
efforts, neither to deify nor condemn either man in the movie. There is no 'bad marriage' here, and certainly, no 'bad men' to justify the change-over from husband's one to two. Merely, the passage of time, the inevitable drifting apart of people to remain loyal, good friends even after the love between them had gone.
Perhaps out of a
sense of modesty, the extent of Froman’s life-threatening injuries is glossed
over in montage with an as fictional narration given by private nurse, Clancy (the
enduring and irrepressible, Thelma Ritter in a role expressly created from
creative license). We don’t really get to see the full extent of Froman’s
depression, nor the tribulations of her abuse of alcohol and pills.
Her crippled hand, addiction to
painkillers, mounting personal insecurities, and debt, and her second divorce from Burn are never even
mentioned herein, as the modus operandi of movies like With A Song in My Heart is
never to dwell on the ugly imperfectness of life; only, one’s triumphant re-emergence into the light. It helps to know such hopeful promise was as much
a part of the real Jane Froman’s efforts to conquer those hardships merely glossed over in
the movie. So, it wasn’t all just fantastic, light and airy fun.
To fill in the
narrative gaps, Trotti’s screenplay zeroes in on Froman’s commitments during
the war, fabricating a reoccurring friendship between Froman and a nondescript
GI Paratrooper, superbly played by a very dashing Robert Wagner. Hayward and
Wagner appear together in only two brief scenes, but they narrowly steal the
show. In the first, Wagner’s cocky flyer flirts with Froman after making a
request she sing him a ballad during her Manhattan nightclub act. It is an
engaging, if ephemeral moment, mostly focused on Hayward’s devil-may-care
outlook, and, only completely understood in the movie when Wagner’s GI
resurfaces much later, only this time as a shell-shocked veteran, barely
conscious, teary-eyed and unable to speak. Few moments in any musical attain
this level of bittersweet acknowledgement, as Froman, suddenly to recall this
shell of a man from his better days, indulges him now with a painfully brave rendition
of, ‘I’ll Walk Alone’; Wagner’s catatonic, stirred, tears, reciprocated
in Hayward’s eyes.
The other great
moment in the picture concludes our story with the unabashedly patriot, The
American Medley; a rousing compendium of time-honored songs addressing many
states in the union, and bookended by Froman’s heart-stirring rendition of America,
The Beautiful. Here, Hayward, as Froman, tossing her crutches to Clancy in
the wings, effortlessly elevates the stature and importance of the USO, flanked
on a choral of men and women in uniform and singing her heart out to a
collective of the wounded, though hardly forlorn. The genuine tragedy today is that some will
view this sort of flag-waving celebratory call to national pride as hokey at
best or utterly passé at its worst. To such naysayers, my condolences. I have
never been able to get through this emotional H-bomb without shedding a few
well-regarded tears for all that was, all that has been lost, and all that
might someday be honorable, fine and respectable yet again. It’s just that
good. From this towering moment we regress, rather antithetically to the
ballroom from which this movie’s titanic regression into Froman’s past first
began. Hayward concludes with a reprise of the title track as the camera pulls
back and the screen fades to black.
What
distinguishes With A Song in My Heart from just another Fox musical is
Susan Hayward’s heart-wrenching performance. A distinguished and
versatile actress, today sadly relegated to all but forgotten B-grade status,
Hayward’s raw and uninhibited turn as Froman is a tour de force. Although her vocals are dubbed by Froman, Hayward gives us genuine empathy during the
dramatic scenes and, when ordered to lip-sync to Froman’s tracks, assimilates
that inimitable voice into her own earthy blend of pathos, joy and exuberance.
As a child, I knew nothing of Froman, nor of the art of dubbing, and thoroughly
believed Hayward was singing for herself. Even knowing the truth now does not
negatively impact my appreciation for Hayward’s conveyance of Froman’s art. The
women, at least in my mind, have melded into a singular ‘third’ entity that is
the Jane Froman we see on the screen. Atypically mounted with all the studio
gloss Fox could lavish in those days, With A Song in My Heart endures chiefly
as a great ‘human’ story about the value of perseverance through adversity.
Our story begins
on the star-studded eve of the annual New York newspapermen’s ball. Froman
receives an honorary distinction as ‘the most courageous entertainer of the
year’. As she takes to the stage and begins to sing the title song, Leon
Shamroy’s camera effortlessly glides about the room, settling on an adoring
John Burns, his thoughts momentarily elsewhere. We regress to the mid-1930’s,
Jane – the ingénue, determined to make good, but arriving too late for a
coveted audition on a syndicated Cincinnati radio program. Mistaking
Vaudevillian, Don Ross for the station manager, Jane belts out ‘It’s a Good
Day’, her infectious verve and style impressing Ross who, upon confiding to
Froman he is not the manager, fetches the real McCoy to hear her sing
again. Of course, this inauspicious beginning launches Froman’s career as the
station’s resident ‘staff singer’. Personal appearances follow and Ross, who is
unable to attain any lasting success on his own, eventually undertakes to
manage Jane’s career.
Believing
Froman’s talents are not being utilized to their utmost, Ross orchestrates a
lucrative series of nightclub gigs in New York. Soon, Jane is the toast of the
town and Ross is enamored with his protégée. Alas, the feeling is hardly
mutual. Although Jane is grateful to Ross for being her friend and mentor, she
doesn’t really love him. It doesn’t matter. Ross bides his time and eventually
wears Jane down. They are wed, though not entirely destined for the proverbial
‘happily ever after’. Ross increasingly dissatisfied with being the man
behind the legend, picks quarrels with his wife, leading to frustrations on
both sides. Jane goes to Hollywood and makes a movie – then another. She’s
hotter than ever. Yet, at the zenith of her popularity, Jane makes a momentous
decision to throw it all away and devote herself to her marriage.
Altruistically, Ross loosens the yoke of his conceit, realizing that while he
may not have had Jane’s best interests at heart for quite some time, she has
decidedly proven she has always had his in the pocket closest to her own heart.
Jane enlists in
the USO as an entertainer. Ross concurs that the separation may be just what
they need to recharge their batteries and begin anew. Regrettably, during the ill-fated flight from
London, via Bermuda and Lisbon, Jane briefly befriends co-pilot, John Burns and
fellow entertainer, Jennifer March (Helen Westcott) who asks Jane to switch
seats with her. The plane experiences mechanical failings shortly after
takeoff, losing altitude and crashing into the Tagus River. In the fiery aftermath and amidst the chaos of
screams for help, John manages to rescue Jane from drowning, holding her broken
body afloat against a piece of wreckage until they are saved. At hospital, Jane is attended by
sharp-shooting nurse, Clancy (Thelma Ritter) who will become her closest
confidant. Jane also learns Jennifer has died in the crash. Mercifully, John
has survived. In the arduous months of recovery yet to follow, Jane and John
grow close. Jane struggles to maintain her cheery disposition. John confides he is in love with her. But
Jane resists. Sent home to America shortly thereafter, Jane takes Clancy on as
her private nurse. In New York, Ross stands beside his wife as she endures even
more hideous operations to save her leg from the threat of amputation. But when
John arrives in town to vie for Jane’s heart, Jane confides in Clancy she now loves
him too. Ever the pragmatist, Clancy advises Jane to forsake the romance and
concentrate on her recovery. Meanwhile, Ross has been busily concocting a new
show for Jane to appear; essential to help pay for her mounting medical
expenses.
Although she
must be carried to and from the stage, Jane’s Broadway debut is a critical and
financial success. Alas, the run is cut short when Jane becomes depressed at
the thought of losing her leg. Motivated by her stubborn devotion, Clancy
admonishes Jane for her self-pity. In private, however, she weeps sincere
tears. Another nightclub engagement follows, Jane charming a brash young
paratrooper with a song. Afterward, John tells Jane she must choose her future.
Instead, Jane encourages Clancy to go with her overseas on a grueling USO tour.
In Europe, Jane sings to the wounded men. In some ways, she derives great
strength from this series of concerts, realizing how many of the wounded are
facing similar adversities. It’s a revelation, made all the more humbling when
Jane is reunited with a paratrooper she once sung to in New York, now among the
severely wounded and stricken by depression. Jane’s solo stirs the flyer into a
half smile. She gingerly takes him in her embrace at song’s end and he begins
to speak softly for the first time since his injuries. As their thirty-thousand-mile
tour draws to a close, Jane leads the soldier corps in a rousing tribute to
America as Clancy looks on. Receiving a drunken phone call from Ross, informing
him he will not be waiting at the docks for Jane’s return, John rushes to meet
the ship instead. The flashback concludes with a return to the newspaperman’s
ball. Jane concludes the night’s festivities with a song in her heart
and John takes great pride in the small part he has played in this great lady’s
life.
With a Song in
My Heart is one of the last Fox musicals to be photographed in vintage 3-strip
Technicolor. Within the year, Darryl F. Zanuck would announce his sweeping
reform for all Fox output, to be photographed in the expansive new widescreen
process of Cinemascope. Viewed today, the movie’s sentiment is hardly strained.
Fox’s lurid use of Technicolor throughout the 1940’s and early 50’s was the
envy of every other studio, as well as the centerpiece of its’ colorful
candy-box of musical stars, to include Betty Grable, June Haver, Carmen Miranda
and Alice Faye. Susan Hayward lacked the singing pipes to immediately mark her to
appear in a big and splashy musical entertainment. But what she lacks for in vocal
skill, she more than makes up for as a great dramatic star. And since drama is
at the crux of With A Song in My Heart, Hayward is, undeniably, the
perfect star from the Fox stables to transform Froman’s fame and frothiness
into a sentimental journey of the highest order.
Unfortunately, Fox
Home Video’s DVD leaves a great deal to be desired. Visually, this is a real
mixed bag. Image quality ranges from relatively sharp and nicely contrasted, to
downright grainy, with severely mis-registered Technicolor creating disturbing
halos to distract and disappoint. When the image is properly aligned, we get a
faded facsimile of what Fox’s pronounced use of vintage Technicolor must have
looked like in its heyday. As Fox ditched all of its separation masters in the
late 1970’s whatever can become of With A Song in My Heart these days is
but an approximation of what it once was when shown theatrically. Even so, the
ugly blue/green halos to distort image quality considerably throughout this
transfer ought to have been corrected before porting this out to disc. Color
balancing also could have been improved. Flesh tones rail between piggy pink
and ruddy orange. There is a muddy tonality to all beiges, blacks, browns and
army greens. The image is also grainier than anticipated. Remember, Technicolor
was a grain concealing process. So, this should have adopted a more velvet
sheen with a slight patina of film grain looking indigenous to its source.
Instead, this one looks very rough in spots. The 2.0 mono is adequate, though
just. Extras include three insightful documentaries on the real Jane Froman;
one, a glowing personal account (audio only, but supplemented by still images)
from Froman’s second husband, Robert Burns. There is also an interactive press
kit, restoration comparison, and, the film’s original theatrical trailer.
Bottom line: while highly recommended for content, Fox’s efforts here remain
highly suspect and do not represent the movie in a quality befitting today’s
hi-def mastering standards.
FILM RATING (out
of 5 – 5 being the best)
4.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
2
EXTRAS
3
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