Hit Me With Your Best Shot
I couldn't sleep tonight.
Stephen is in the hospital again (only for a sleep apnea test this time), so I'm on my own. And my back continues to bother me, which always makes falling asleep slightly more difficult. Work continues to be numbing. Thoughts were racing through my head like the track & field runners around the Olympic track (YAY OLYMPICS!).
And then one entered my head that refused to leave: My very favorite blogger, Nathaniel at The Film Experience, was hosting the penultimate edition of his "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" series today, and the film in question was my all-time #1, Singin' In The Rain. The point of the series is for bloggers, twitterers, and tumblr-ers (??? tumblr-ites???) to watch a great film of Nathaniel's choosing (no joke, they're always great, his taste is impeccable) and pick the best shot from that film (you can see the archives here). The definition of "best" is up to the writer; people choose their favorite, the prettiest, the one that best sums up the film's story or themes or color palette, etc. etc. Because this isn't really a movie blog and free time is scarce 'round these parts, I've never participated. Oh, I've commented on the site, chiming in with my opinions here and there when I knew the films in question, culminating in a mini-essay for The Royal Tenenbaums not that long ago. But I've never really given it the full write-up treatment.
Until now.
Because, you see, aside from all the shit mentioned above, Singin' In The Rain is my all-time #1 film. Favorite and Best. For a while I used to dither around and say I couldn't choose when asked my favorite film, but right around my senior year of college that changed, and ever since I've never hesitated to name Singin' my favorite. It's easy to see why: There simply isn't another movie that exudes such joy and open-heartedness and exuberance. It is a perfect blend of "Old Hollywood"-style star power and careful craftsmanship and "New Hollywood"-style expressionism and irony, at least a decade before "New Hollywood" really came to be.
But it's more than that.
Singin' In The Rain is also my cinephile avatar. Along with Star Wars, it's the movie that made me love movies. And it's the movie that, more than any other, has made me the person I am today, who works for an Off-Broadway theatre and takes a week off every year to go to the NYC Tap Dance Festival. The second the movie was over the first time I saw it (on PBS when I was about 8 years old), I turned to my Mom and said, with complete and utter assurance, "I want to do THAT." She thought I meant tap dancing, and I did, but I really meant ALL of that: I wanted to be Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor.
And could you blame me? LOOK at that man. Who wouldn't want to be him? So suave, so graceful, and yet so masculine. Gene Kelly was in so many ways the opposite of Fred Astaire, who was a little odd-looking and always felt out of place in his elegant suits when he wasn't dancing (with or without Ginger), and who read (let's be honest) ever so slightly effeminate. There was never any of that about Gene. He wasn't just a dancer; he was an athlete. (He was also, by all accounts, a perfectionist asshole, but never mind that. Some people wear it well. He was one of them.) There was a sense of danger and excitement when he danced that Fred never had - Fred was all elegance, walking on water, smooth as silk - not to mention a sexuality. And yeah, maybe I wanted to be Gene Kelly because I wanted to sleep with him, but little 8-year-old me had no clue that such feelings existed, let alone inside him.
But anyway, if it weren't for Singin' In The Rain, I would have never started tap dancing, and that's probably my defining characteristic as a person. Hello, I'm Dan, the Tap Man. Since that fateful day, I've seen Singin' In The Rain far too many times to count, to the point where I start noticing little details in the background (like at exactly what point Debbie Reynolds starts cheating her steps in "Good Morning"). I've seen some of the dance sequences even more than that, as I've taught myself the choreography to each and every tap number in the film.
In fact, I've seen Singin' so many times that I knew exactly what my best shot selection would be the second Nathaniel announced it. I was very interested to see if anyone else would pick it, and no one did. To be fair, it's not one of the many (justifiably) iconic shots from the film, like Gene Kelly on the lamppost, or Gene, Donald, and Debbie collapsed on the couch at the end of "Good Morning". But it's the one shot that never ceases to make me gasp a little each time I see it. It's also a bit hard to capture in one screencap, as it's really a graphic match edit that occurs near the end of the "Broadway Melody" dream ballet.
It's maybe not the most thematically relevant shot in the film, but it has more to say about dreams within dreams than the entirety of Inception. As Gene's fantasy of Cyd Charisse (the most beautiful dancer to ever grace the silver screen - sorry, Moira Shearer!) fades back into the fantasy of the dream ballet (which isn't really a dream, but Don's proposed opening sequence for The Dancing Cavalier, the film within the film), the scenery changes from that gorgeous pink and lavender space that seems to go on forever back to the club, which appears to be the same exact set, just with more stuff in it, and curtains to block it off. But look at how cleverly that club shot is composed: Gene is surrounded by lots of people in lots of colors, so that he almost disappears, and as it fades in, the line of people leads your eye directly to Cyd, who is surrounded by open space. Not that with her striking black bob contrasted against her white dress you wouldn't be looking at her anyway, but the way the shot holds her up as not only a romantic ideal, but a STAR in the making, is pretty genius. You see her exactly the way Gene sees her, even if you're viewing her from an entirely different angle.
Of course, the whole "Broadway Melody" sequence is Don's fantasy of a film, a film like the one we're watching and have our own fantasies about. And in real life, the sequence was probably a fantasy of Gene Kelly's. Of course, only Gene could ever see his fantasy onscreen - I don't think that last amazing, surprising composite shot (from which my earlier cap of Gene comes) could have existed back in the early days of the talkies. But both Don and Gene believed in their fantasies so much that it's impossible for us not to believe them, too. Which is only one of the reasons why Singin' In The Rain is such an enduring pleasure. I could drone on and on about the artistic and technical merits of this fantastic film (and have done, for a Film Studies class in college), but I think to do so would be doing the film a disservice. When you start dissecting something that is really only meant to entertain (and despite the obvious care and hard work that went into this picture, that's all Gene and co-director Stanley Donen, and Donald, and Debbie, and that comic genius of dumb blonde-hood, Jean Hagen, wanted to do), you take the pleasure out of it. And when something is as pleasurable as Singin' In The Rain, I prefer to just enjoy it, as I have for the past twenty years.
Stephen is in the hospital again (only for a sleep apnea test this time), so I'm on my own. And my back continues to bother me, which always makes falling asleep slightly more difficult. Work continues to be numbing. Thoughts were racing through my head like the track & field runners around the Olympic track (YAY OLYMPICS!).
And then one entered my head that refused to leave: My very favorite blogger, Nathaniel at The Film Experience, was hosting the penultimate edition of his "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" series today, and the film in question was my all-time #1, Singin' In The Rain. The point of the series is for bloggers, twitterers, and tumblr-ers (??? tumblr-ites???) to watch a great film of Nathaniel's choosing (no joke, they're always great, his taste is impeccable) and pick the best shot from that film (you can see the archives here). The definition of "best" is up to the writer; people choose their favorite, the prettiest, the one that best sums up the film's story or themes or color palette, etc. etc. Because this isn't really a movie blog and free time is scarce 'round these parts, I've never participated. Oh, I've commented on the site, chiming in with my opinions here and there when I knew the films in question, culminating in a mini-essay for The Royal Tenenbaums not that long ago. But I've never really given it the full write-up treatment.
Until now.
Because, you see, aside from all the shit mentioned above, Singin' In The Rain is my all-time #1 film. Favorite and Best. For a while I used to dither around and say I couldn't choose when asked my favorite film, but right around my senior year of college that changed, and ever since I've never hesitated to name Singin' my favorite. It's easy to see why: There simply isn't another movie that exudes such joy and open-heartedness and exuberance. It is a perfect blend of "Old Hollywood"-style star power and careful craftsmanship and "New Hollywood"-style expressionism and irony, at least a decade before "New Hollywood" really came to be.
But it's more than that.
Singin' In The Rain is also my cinephile avatar. Along with Star Wars, it's the movie that made me love movies. And it's the movie that, more than any other, has made me the person I am today, who works for an Off-Broadway theatre and takes a week off every year to go to the NYC Tap Dance Festival. The second the movie was over the first time I saw it (on PBS when I was about 8 years old), I turned to my Mom and said, with complete and utter assurance, "I want to do THAT." She thought I meant tap dancing, and I did, but I really meant ALL of that: I wanted to be Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor.
And could you blame me? LOOK at that man. Who wouldn't want to be him? So suave, so graceful, and yet so masculine. Gene Kelly was in so many ways the opposite of Fred Astaire, who was a little odd-looking and always felt out of place in his elegant suits when he wasn't dancing (with or without Ginger), and who read (let's be honest) ever so slightly effeminate. There was never any of that about Gene. He wasn't just a dancer; he was an athlete. (He was also, by all accounts, a perfectionist asshole, but never mind that. Some people wear it well. He was one of them.) There was a sense of danger and excitement when he danced that Fred never had - Fred was all elegance, walking on water, smooth as silk - not to mention a sexuality. And yeah, maybe I wanted to be Gene Kelly because I wanted to sleep with him, but little 8-year-old me had no clue that such feelings existed, let alone inside him.
But anyway, if it weren't for Singin' In The Rain, I would have never started tap dancing, and that's probably my defining characteristic as a person. Hello, I'm Dan, the Tap Man. Since that fateful day, I've seen Singin' In The Rain far too many times to count, to the point where I start noticing little details in the background (like at exactly what point Debbie Reynolds starts cheating her steps in "Good Morning"). I've seen some of the dance sequences even more than that, as I've taught myself the choreography to each and every tap number in the film.
In fact, I've seen Singin' so many times that I knew exactly what my best shot selection would be the second Nathaniel announced it. I was very interested to see if anyone else would pick it, and no one did. To be fair, it's not one of the many (justifiably) iconic shots from the film, like Gene Kelly on the lamppost, or Gene, Donald, and Debbie collapsed on the couch at the end of "Good Morning". But it's the one shot that never ceases to make me gasp a little each time I see it. It's also a bit hard to capture in one screencap, as it's really a graphic match edit that occurs near the end of the "Broadway Melody" dream ballet.
It's maybe not the most thematically relevant shot in the film, but it has more to say about dreams within dreams than the entirety of Inception. As Gene's fantasy of Cyd Charisse (the most beautiful dancer to ever grace the silver screen - sorry, Moira Shearer!) fades back into the fantasy of the dream ballet (which isn't really a dream, but Don's proposed opening sequence for The Dancing Cavalier, the film within the film), the scenery changes from that gorgeous pink and lavender space that seems to go on forever back to the club, which appears to be the same exact set, just with more stuff in it, and curtains to block it off. But look at how cleverly that club shot is composed: Gene is surrounded by lots of people in lots of colors, so that he almost disappears, and as it fades in, the line of people leads your eye directly to Cyd, who is surrounded by open space. Not that with her striking black bob contrasted against her white dress you wouldn't be looking at her anyway, but the way the shot holds her up as not only a romantic ideal, but a STAR in the making, is pretty genius. You see her exactly the way Gene sees her, even if you're viewing her from an entirely different angle.
Of course, the whole "Broadway Melody" sequence is Don's fantasy of a film, a film like the one we're watching and have our own fantasies about. And in real life, the sequence was probably a fantasy of Gene Kelly's. Of course, only Gene could ever see his fantasy onscreen - I don't think that last amazing, surprising composite shot (from which my earlier cap of Gene comes) could have existed back in the early days of the talkies. But both Don and Gene believed in their fantasies so much that it's impossible for us not to believe them, too. Which is only one of the reasons why Singin' In The Rain is such an enduring pleasure. I could drone on and on about the artistic and technical merits of this fantastic film (and have done, for a Film Studies class in college), but I think to do so would be doing the film a disservice. When you start dissecting something that is really only meant to entertain (and despite the obvious care and hard work that went into this picture, that's all Gene and co-director Stanley Donen, and Donald, and Debbie, and that comic genius of dumb blonde-hood, Jean Hagen, wanted to do), you take the pleasure out of it. And when something is as pleasurable as Singin' In The Rain, I prefer to just enjoy it, as I have for the past twenty years.