Retro Review: An American In Paris (1951)
Since swan_tower is off in Indiana with most of my stuff, I've found myself fiddling around with Netflix's Watch Instantly functionality, where you can get streamed full-length movies to your desktop / Internet-ready media center / cyborg laser-shark. Fortunately, this means I can watch movies on my beefy work laptop without spending even more money on rentals. Unfortunately, their selection is very limited; of the 120 or so titles in my queue, Netflix offers just 14 as "Watch Instantly" options. Likewise, it's burdened with all sorts of DRM, but else could you expect?
Anyhow. Last night, on a lark, I decided to try An American In Paris. My mother used to love watching old musicals while I was growing up, so I have a huge soft spot for Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Danny Kaye, Cyd Charisse, Donald O'Connor, Debbie Reynolds, and the rest of that '40s and '50s singing / dancing / acting crew, both before and after Rodgers and Hammerstein. It had been a while since I'd seen this particular one, so I decided to give it a whirl.
Unfortunately, I wasn't as taken with it as I had been back in the day.
The plot was ... um ... thin, at best, and I keep forgetting how willing Gene Kelly was to portray assholes, albeit charming assholes who smiled a lot and could dance like the dickens. I suppose it's unsurprising that I liked Leslie Caron and Oscar Levant a great deal, even though Levant's character really didn't add anything to the story other than being a surly, chain-smoking drunkard who happened to be "friends" with the two male leads. I'll admit to not remembering Nina Foch in any of her later roles, where she actually had some experience to back up her acting chops, but she was somewhat flimsy here, although I approve of the fact that Kelly took someone who could dance and taught them to act, rather than trying to do the reverse.
The strengths of the movie, obviously, are the musical and dance numbers. The Gershwin score is obviously classic, and I was taken with Levant's daydream concert in the middle of the film. Kelly's choreography in the completely over-the-top twenty minute dance extravaganza at the end of the movie was nothing short of phenomenal. ...but did it deserve Best Picture or Best Writing, Story, and Screenplay? No. Not against A Streetcar Named Desire, for instance.
Overall, particularly when contrasted with Singin' In The Rain or the later, more coherent Rogers and Hammerstein stuff, An American In Paris doesn't really hold up that well. Great music, silky smooth dance, but I really had a difficult time buying into the stuff they used to tie the musical numbers together. I might have, if Foch and Levant had been the leads, but then there wouldn't have been as much dancing. Ah well.
Anyhow. Last night, on a lark, I decided to try An American In Paris. My mother used to love watching old musicals while I was growing up, so I have a huge soft spot for Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Danny Kaye, Cyd Charisse, Donald O'Connor, Debbie Reynolds, and the rest of that '40s and '50s singing / dancing / acting crew, both before and after Rodgers and Hammerstein. It had been a while since I'd seen this particular one, so I decided to give it a whirl.
Unfortunately, I wasn't as taken with it as I had been back in the day.
The plot was ... um ... thin, at best, and I keep forgetting how willing Gene Kelly was to portray assholes, albeit charming assholes who smiled a lot and could dance like the dickens. I suppose it's unsurprising that I liked Leslie Caron and Oscar Levant a great deal, even though Levant's character really didn't add anything to the story other than being a surly, chain-smoking drunkard who happened to be "friends" with the two male leads. I'll admit to not remembering Nina Foch in any of her later roles, where she actually had some experience to back up her acting chops, but she was somewhat flimsy here, although I approve of the fact that Kelly took someone who could dance and taught them to act, rather than trying to do the reverse.
The strengths of the movie, obviously, are the musical and dance numbers. The Gershwin score is obviously classic, and I was taken with Levant's daydream concert in the middle of the film. Kelly's choreography in the completely over-the-top twenty minute dance extravaganza at the end of the movie was nothing short of phenomenal. ...but did it deserve Best Picture or Best Writing, Story, and Screenplay? No. Not against A Streetcar Named Desire, for instance.
Overall, particularly when contrasted with Singin' In The Rain or the later, more coherent Rogers and Hammerstein stuff, An American In Paris doesn't really hold up that well. Great music, silky smooth dance, but I really had a difficult time buying into the stuff they used to tie the musical numbers together. I might have, if Foch and Levant had been the leads, but then there wouldn't have been as much dancing. Ah well.