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 20^th century composers, and a few pre-20^th 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