THREE LITTLE WORDS: Blu-ray (MGM, 1950) Warner Archive
The cycle in
musical biopics based on the lives of famous composers was winding down by 1950.
Truth to tell, Hollywood had mined virtually all of its viable 20th
century composers, and a few pre-20th century masters for their
rarefied gifts to the world at large. There were still a few holdouts, like
Irving Berlin, Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein, though in each case, they
were still going strong. Hence, no succinct summation of their life’s work was,
as yet, possible. The other oddity from the period was, comparatively speaking,
that fewer truly great songs were actually being penned for the original
Hollywood musical. Throughout the 1940’s the studios increasingly fell to pre-sold
Broadway shows translated to film for this bread n’ butter. Even if studio
meddling ensured many a transplant arrived on the big screen barely to resemble
its stagecraft predecessor, the thought process behind acquiring rights to big
shows was sounder than starting from scratch. Besides, even the old masters,
like Harry Warren and Cole Porter were experiencing dispiriting results with
newer efforts. To resolve this stagnation, Hollywood turned hopefully, or
perhaps, a little desperately, to celebrating the past.
And thus, the
big and splashy musical bio-pic was born. MGM, arguably, perfected this hybrid.
But the vogue was actually kick-started at Warner Bros. with tomes to George M.
Cohan (Yankee Doodle Dandy, 1942), George Gershwin (Rhapsody in Blue,
1945) and, Night and Day (Cole Porter). While oft impressively mounted,
with a contingent of mind-boggling talents on tap to extol their virtues, the execution
of these composer-themed biographies quickly became unvaryingly formulaic. In
an industry that thrives on entertainments built upon personal crises, the
purveyors of these musical bios had to concur, their focus group had led
relatively unremarkable lives, framed by a little struggle at the outset, but cushioned
by great successes thereafter. Hence, in order to tell these tales to the tune
of box office, more than a modicum of creative license was required.
In lieu of really
‘big’ names, producer, Jack Cummings turned to two relative ‘forgottens’ from
Tin Pan Alley - Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby – for, Three Little Words
(1950). At the time of its release, Three Little Words was cited not
only for its intimacy – as, gone was the usual ‘star-studded’ cornucopia of producer,
Arthur Freed’s titanic, musical bon bons devoted to the likes of Jerome Kern (Till
The Clouds Roll By, 1945), Rodgers and Hart (Words and Music, 1948)
and, as yet to turn to sheer bloat, afflicting the mastery of Sigmund Romberg (Deep
in My Heart, 1954) – but also the genuineness with which co-stars, Fred
Astaire (as Kalmar) and Red Skelton (as Ruby) approached their alter egos. In
point of fact, the real-life Kalmar and Ruby, as well as their contributions to
the great American songbook, were of a more modest nature.
Initially
pitched by Cummings to his boss, L.B. Mayer in the summer of 1947, the project
would languish thereafter as Mayer’s attentions were increasingly diverted from
running the studio, and consolidated instead on two private past times;
breeding race horses and courting Lorena Danker – the socialite whom he would
eventually marry. After Mayer’s ousting from power in 1950, the newly installed
Dore Schary became less than enthusiastic about spending profligately on
another lavish musical escapism. To appease Schary and ensure the picture would
actually be made, Cummings approach marked a considerable departure from those lavishly
appointed efforts at the studio; more pleasant, relaxed and sincere, navigating
against the bio-flick tradition into hollow hero-worship. Three Little Words
was one of Fred Astaire’s favorite post-Ginger musicals, rather curiously so,
as he really only gets to dance one solo; otherwise, tethered to the likes of
co-star, Vera-Ellen (with whom he shares several deftly staged, though conventionally-executed
dances) or Red Skelton (with whom he comfortably sings the Kalmar/Ruby catalog,
while appearing to have been paired with Skelton for decades, though this was their
one and only picture together).
Better still, at
least for screenwriter George Wells, Kalmar and Ruby’s real-life stories were
fraught with a chronic professional friction while each hoped to pursue
alternate career opportunities neither was proficient at: Kalmar, as a great
magician, and Ruby, a baseball all-star. Kalmar died in 1947. But Ruby was very
much alive and hired by Cummings as a technical advisor, supplying Wells with droll
remembrances to shape his prose. While Ruby readily concurred Fred Astaire
would make an ideal Kalmar, he was less than enthusiastic to be played by Red
Skelton. Skelton too was not entirely certain he could take on a ‘straight’
role. Cummings went to bat, suggesting that if Skelton stuck to his ‘schtick’
he would soon be out of the movie biz. Deeply wounded by the inference he was
fast becoming a ‘has been’, Skelton almost didn’t do Three Little Words.
Cummings, then appealed to the comedian’s wife who helped coax her husband into
accepting the part. The result, however,
was thoroughly beguiling as Skelton proved amiable, endearing and unaffectedly
natural in Ruby’s skin. When Ruby saw the picture, he concurred that Skelton
had been the right choice all along, wryly to add, “as long as (Clark) Gable,
(Robert) Taylor and Cary Grant are busy in other roles!”
The song catalog
exploited in Three Little Words hails between 1913 and 1931, an entirely
different epoch when songs were symptomatically more bombastic in nature. In
bringing that period up to date, composer, Andre Previn was marginally criticized,
if Oscar-nominated, for toning down the zing and spirit in these tunes to accommodate
that lusher orchestral bent for which MGM’s mid-fifties musicals are more
fondly remembered. Mercifully, much of the score survived his tinkering, the
best bits allowing Astaire and Skelton to harmonize as Kalmar and Ruby while
authoring their legacy. Our show kicks
into high gear with a spirited pas deux between Astaire’s Kalmar and Vera-Ellen’s
Jessie Brown. Aside: Vera-Ellen remains one of Astaire’s most supple and gifted
partners, second only to his dream team pairing with Ginger Rogers and,
perhaps, the long-limbed luxuriating brought on by Cyd Charisse. Ellen’s Brown
is deeply in love with Kalmar. He cares for her. But his real love is his work.
From here, the focus shifts – briefly,
to a chance ‘cute meet’ between Kalmar and Ruby (played with self-effacing
aplomb by Red Skelton).
Before long, the
boys are penning some popular tunes, contributing to the Tin Pan Alley milieu
they each report to care less about than their passions apart; Kalmar’s
aspirations to do magic, and Ruby, bent on becoming a major league baseball
player. Neither of these after-hours’ pursuits is translated into their
mainstay. And so, despite some creative friction, increasingly their time is
spent hand-crafting songs the whole world wants to sing. Alas, and before very
long, the strain shows. Kalmar and Ruby are stumped to write a lyric for their
latest ditty. They stumble upon movers carrying an upright piano into a
brownstone apartment. Inadvertently, they also come upon an adolescent Helen
Kane (Debbie Reynolds), who provides the inspiration for what will ultimately
become, ‘I Wanna Be Loved By You’ – the song soon appearing in their
latest show with Kane reprising it opposite a very uncomfortable-looking Dan
Healy (Carleton Carpenter).
While Kalmar’s on-again/off-again
romantic entanglements with Jessie practically guarantees their eventual
marriage, Ruby’s bachelorhood is repeatedly tested until he meets songstress,
Eileen Percy (Arlene Dahl) who later appears in another of the Kalmar/Ruby
shows. Actually, Eileen met Ruby before, though he does not share in this
recollection…at first. For sometime thereafter, Kalmar and Ruby remain hot
properties. They write more songs, do more Broadway, and ultimately, come to
Hollywood to contribute to the Marx Brothers movies. Ruby weds Eileen. But a
bitter spat terminates the Kalmar/Ruby professional partnership, ostensibly for
good. Despite their separate domestic happiness, both Jessie and Eileen know their
men need to reconcile if ever their lives are to be truly fulfilled. Teaming
together to bring their menfolk under one roof, Eileen and Jessie convince
their hubbies to appear on Phil Regan’s popular radio program. And while the
boys are initially frosty to one another, before long the old magic between them
shows some spark. They come to terms with their past, and possibly – a new
future together – as Kalmar ignites the candles on their reunion cake,
seemingly with a magical wave of his hand.
Three Little
Words is a poignant, if bittersweet affair. It tells the tale of two men not
entirely in tune with each other’s emotions or personal needs who – ‘nevertheless’
– come to terms with their combined ability to bring out the very best in their
work. It was rare then, and even rarely still, to have a musical where the
prospect of romantic love and marriage is not the penultimate goal. But here,
the love affairs of Ruby and Kalmar takes a backseat to the great professional
love they shared for song-writing.
Kalmar and Ruby are their own coupling. And, in some ways, this is far
more meaningful. Sandwiched between Astaire’s reunion pic with Ginger Rogers (1949’s
The Barkelys of Broadway, proving somewhat of a letdown, both creatively
and in terms of box office) and the abysmal teaming of Astaire, on loan out to
Paramount, opposite Betty Hutton (for 1950’s Let’s Dance), Three
Little Words remains the irrefutable highlight of Astaire’s foray into the burgeoning
decade. Mercifully, there would be others, including 1951’s Royal Wedding,
1952’s The Belle of New York (Astaire, reteamed with Vera-Ellen), 1953’s
The Band Wagon, and, capped of by Funny Face, and, Silk
Stockings (both made and released in 1957). Interestingly, Astaire would
all but retire from the Hollywood musical thereafter, concentrating on a spate
of successful light comedies and dramatic roles – coaxed, a decade later to
partake of Finian’s Rainbow (1968) – Francis Ford Coppola’s disastrous
attempt to rekindle the sparkle and gemstone brilliance of happier times.
Three Little
Words theatrical debut was met with mostly enthusiasm by the critics. And while
the joy here is irrefutably blissful and melodic, the greater surprise, at
least for this reviewer, is just how very little has been written about either the
picture’s creation, or, to be sung in its praise since. Virtually all of MGM’s
top-tier musicals have acquired an enduring ‘reputation’ as masterworks from
their generation. One need only mention titles like Singin’ in the Rain
(1952), Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954) or Gigi (1958) and
the legacy of each springs forth from memory. Yet, Three Little Words,
as deserving of such fond commemorations, is only vaguely considered, and this,
merely as the breakout for a very young Debbie Reynolds, lip-syncing ‘I
Wanna Be Loved By You’ to originator, Helen Kane’s vocals. Shot in just
under a month, Three Little Words did not skimp on either quality or
originality, Its more understated approach to the musical bio-pic, oft to
pigeon-hole it as a ‘minor’ MGM programmer, does the picture a great disservice.
It is an ‘A’ list entertainment. George Wells’ screenplay gleans inspiration
from fact, only slightly embellished to suit the constraints of creating a
typical MGM musical.
Although the
score hails from Tin Pan Alley, its’ execution is done with the utmost subtlety
to bring that golden epoch into the ‘then’ present expectations for a ‘contemporary’
entertainment. All of the Astaire/Ellen pas deux are lent ‘class personified’ elegance
by Astaire’s long-time collaborator, Hermes Pan. Each number advances
stylistically from the initial period of fast tap or ‘hoofing’ to the
penultimate ballroom-esque pas deux more in tune with where Astaire’s terpsichorean
bent lay at the dawning of the new decade. And quite unusual too, Astaire sings
more than he dances. Richard Thorpe directs the non-musical scenes with unusual
depth. There is a lot more here than mere connective tissue to link the songs. Despite
his serious tone Red Skelton’s intermittent schtick is a hoot. It also reminds
us of Skelton’s genuine verve for comedy. While Vera-Ellen is much more
profiled in Three Little Words, newcomer, Arlene Dahl distinguishes herself
in the gorgeously staged ‘I Love You So Much’. That MGM never bothered
to cultivate a musical/comedy career for her hereafter owes more to bad timing
than any reluctance the studio brass might have harbored about Dahl’s
irrefutable beauty or talent.
As MGM entered
the 1950’s, it was felled by a palace coup. This ousted its mogul, L.B. Mayer
from his throne of authority. Nowhere was this seismic shift more directly felt
than in the producer’s offices devoted to musical entertainment. And while Mayer’s
replacement, Dore Schary knew enough to keep the momentum of projects in the hopper
going once he took over, he was never supportive of musicals in general, or the
dynamic roster of musical talents it had taken Mayer an entire decade to
cultivate. Therefore, as far as Schary was concerned, Arelene Dahl was the
wrong girl for the wrong period in the studio’s history. For some time yet to
pass, Schary lingered on the top-heavy star system of the bygone Mayer/Thalberg
era. However, as the fifties progressed, contracts were quietly allowed to
lapse. The message (and Schary was big on messages) was clear. MGM’s focus and
interests were now elsewhere. Interestingly, by the end of the 1950’s, with
Mayer’s untimely passing and no one else to blame for a sudden dip in studio
profits, Schary too was asked to return the keys to the executive washroom, leaving
MGM very much at the mercy of bean-counters and, in full-on reflection mode,
grabbing at remakes from its own past successes, rather than aiming higher
still with originality for future prospects at big-screen immortality.
Three Little
Words arrives in hi-def via the Warner Archive (WAC). True to form, this is
another monumentally satisfying effort, resurrecting the glories of vintage
Technicolor. The crispness in Harry Jackson’s
cinematography is breathtakingly realized. And while colors pop as never
before, the real revelation here is flesh tones. Rarely have they appeared more
natural and nuanced. Contrast is uniformly excellent. Age-related artifacts are
wholly absent. The DTS 2.0 mono mix is in keeping with the theatrical mix.
However, in 1999, Rhino Handmade released a CD of the movie soundtrack in full
stereo, culling from audio stems, then, newly discovered in MGM’s vaults. Why
WAC did not provide an alternative stereo soundtrack here for this new-to-Blu,
therefore remains a mystery. Clearly, source material for it exists. The only
extra of merit is a brief featurette on Kalmar and Ruby, with composer, Richard
Sherman and film historian, John Kendrick weighing in, accompanied by sound
bites from Carleton Carpenter, Arlene Dahl, and Gloria de Haven. For the rest,
we get two shorts – one animated, the other, live-action, plus a radio ‘interview’
program, and theatrical trailer. Bottom line: Three Little Words
continues to warm the soul as only a handful of musical entertainments have
over the years. It’s an unassuming charmer with oodles of entertainment to
offer. The Blu is stellar in all regards
and comes very highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out
of 5 – 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
5+
EXTRAS
3
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