Busby Berkeley

  • The Go-Getter (1937)

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) There’s a refreshing undercurrent of can-do optimism at play in The Go-Getter, a romantic comedy featuring an indefatigable veteran whose positive attitude is ready to take on disability, an unfavourable hiring environment, an eccentric millionaire and the heart of the millionaire’s daughter. George Brent plays the ever-sunny protagonist, while Anita Louise is the romantic interest and Charles Winninger apparently has a lot of fun as a retiree so rich he’s become benevolently capricious. Various obstacles are thrown in the protagonist’s way, but they don’t matter: he still finds a way to triumph over them all. Directed by Busby Berkeley, The Go-Getter is not a musical—anyone looking for his signature lavish choreography will be disappointed. But as a light-weight romantic comedy, it breezes along smoothly. What may not be so successful is the film’s refusal to go all-out on the comedy: Despite the kind of protagonist and idle rich character designed for laughs, this film remains comfortably within the realm of the plausible—although the blue vase episode gets close to outright comic mayhem. Maybe the film could have benefited from a more farcical rewrite, or maybe it would have destroyed the delicate balance at play here. (Or maybe Berkeley wouldn’t have known what to do with a more slapstick project.)  Still, it’s watchable enough: neither Brent nor Louise strike me as the best possible choices in their roles, but they are competent, and that’s probably all we could ask for a B-movie of the time.

  • Varsity Show (1937)

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) I swear I’ve seen Varsity Show a year or two ago, but I can’t find any trace of it in my notes. Maybe I dismissed it as not being worth a review the first time around, but that’s not the case now. For one thing, I’m revisiting it with a greater appreciation for Dick Powell and his early crooner-idol phase. For another, I’m more informed about Busby Berkeley, whose imprint on the film’s finale is unmistakable. For a third thing, I’m perhaps better disposed toward silly college/showbiz comedies of the 1930s: it’s easy to burn out on those, but a second look at Varsity Show caught me in a favourable mood. The story is a blend of college comedy and Broadway musical, as students in a middling college want to put on a variety show and get the bright idea of hiring a celebrated alumnus (Powell) to modernize it. As it happens, that alumnus has fallen on hard times, and the idea of taking a few months off Broadway to work in an obscure college is exactly what he wants. The action, after a few shenanigans opposing “traditional” (1900s!) versus “modern” (1930s!) shows, eventually makes its way back to Broadway, where Berkeley takes care of the finale’s impressive choreography (inspired by college cheers) and everything ends on a good note. Powell plays the Broadway-shunned alumnus with his then-usual boyish good looks, singing prowess and irresistible charm. Varsity Show is not a shining moment for anyone involved in its production and easily gets lost in the shuffle of similar films (it’s a good thing it ends on a Berkely high note), but it’s fun to watch if you’re in the right mood—it’s peppy and fun and, in comparing the 1930s to 1900s notions of modernity, even has something to teach us about the sliding window of what is considered stuffy.

  • The Singing Marine (1937)

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) It took me far too long to notice Dick Powell. What makes him fascinating isn’t as much his individual roles as the overall arc of his career, as he transitioned from matinee idol roles requiring comic timing and a good signing voice to more hard-boiled characters in the film noir genre that made good use of his ability to deliver lines. (Later on, Powell further transitioned into directing and television producing.)  The Singing Marine is, obviously, a film from Powell’s first era: he plays a soldier with an unusually good voice who finds his military vocation sidetracked by show-business success. Much of the film’s dramatic arc has to do with his ego being inflated by showbiz before wizening up and returning to the armed forces. The Singing Marine is not that good or memorable a movie, but it does have its highlights and odd tangents as a piece of pre-WW2 propaganda, as a minor showcase for Busby Berkeley’s choreography, and obviously as Powell in his earliest persona. He’s pure charm and voice here and there’s really never any doubt that he’ll end up doing the right thing in the end. That probably explains why the film was a big box-office hit at the time… and is largely a curio these days.

  • Cinderella Jones (1946)

    (On Cable TV, November 2022) The nice thing about once-popular movie genres is that if you like the classics in that category, there’s plenty more to enjoy. Light-hearted but meaningless Cinderella Jones, for instance, is clearly not a great musical. But it is a musical, so if you like the tone (and are ready to overlook a few execution issues), then you’ve got a perfectly fun little movie that plays well even if it leaves no great impression. Here, we have Joan Leslie as a likable but dim singer who discovers she’s the heir to a fortune… if she can meet the conditions of the will and marry a certifiable genius. Given that this is a musical, the next logical step is, of course, to enroll in an elite all-male college to find a suitor. For a film directed by Busby Berkeley, the “musical” aspect of this musical comedy is lacking—there isn’t much here in terms of dancing or choreography. All the effort seems to have gone into the comedy, which is occasionally amusing but again not all that great. Still, even an amusing comedy can be interesting, what with a few zingers along the way and a showy little part for S. Z. Sakall. There’s a bit of systemic misogyny that is, for once, the butt of mild potshots. Calling Cinderella Jones a wartime musical may seem weird for a 1946 release, but that’s not taking into account that the film was completed in 1943, then held back for years. By the time it was released, it had to be re-edited to reflect the end of the war, leading to a few glaring inconsistencies (and probably many more unseen issues) within the film. Don’t watch Cinderella Jones because you’re expecting a top-notch musical—watch it because you’ve seen everything else, and like the overall atmosphere of such movies. Then it becomes a lot more fun.

  • Babes on Broadway (1941)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) I’m going to make this review rather short, considering that it could almost double as the one I just wrote about is quasi-prequel Babes in Arms.   Here goes: Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney both star in this Broadway-themed variation on the “backyard musicals” they so often did together in the early stages of their career. She sings, he emcees and together they put on a show. Much of the filmmaking crew is the same, working under the celebrated Freed Unit of MGM musicals. There’s quite a bit of wartime propaganda, including pulling up a few adorable British poppets for sympathy. Alas, well, the film does introduce its climax with, well, let me quote that for you: “What’s wrong with doing something old? Something tried and true. Well, how about a minstrel show? Does that appeal to you? A good old-fashioned minstrel show!” at which point twenty-first century audiences are screaming NOOOOO. That’s right: after a rather sweet and unremarkable film, Babes on Broadway, exactly like Babes in Arms, concludes with an expansive Busby Berkeley extravaganza featuring… dozens of people in blackface. As with the first film, it’s a significant minus in a movie that doesn’t have a lot of unique pluses. It’s exactly why it’s one of the least-seen, least-broadcast Arthur Freed-produced musicals in the twenty-first century. (Whenever it dusts it off, TCM is careful to accompany it with a verbal warning AND a blackface documentary as follow-up.)  See it once to say that you did, then never think about it again.

  • Broadway Serenade (1939)

    (On Cable TV, May 2022) The 1930s were big on Broadway musicals, and Broadway Serenade stars high-pitched operatic singer Jeanette MacDonald in a familiar story about a married couple in which she strikes it big and he doesn’t. It all leads to a big musical number directed by Busby Berkeley that will be, for many, the single biggest reason to see this otherwise undistinguished film. (Robert Z. Leonard otherwise directs the rest of it.)  MacDonald is a hit-or-miss kind of star – while her vocal talents were undeniable, they weren’t always suited to the kinds of musical comedies in which she starred – an opera singer forced into a movie singer role. I’d rather watch Virginia Gray (who looks wonderful here), but that’s not necessarily a knock against MacDonald. The sexist plot isn’t worth remembering (especially given the flaws of the male protagonist – many of which go unacknowledged by the film) but the musical numbers are much better. After all, Broadway Serenade was designed as a star vehicle for MacDonald. It’s effective as such – but anyone looking for Broadway musicals has several many better choices to pick from.

  • Garden of the Moon (1938)

    (On Cable TV, May 2022) Director Busby Berkeley does (mostly) non-musical comedy in Garden of the Moon, a humdrum film showing the management of a nightclub by an unscrupulous owner dealing with a temperamental band leader. It’s amiable stuff, not all that funny nor all that musical: contrary to many Berkeley films, this one remains very sedate while it presents the nightclub band doing its thing. (But then again, this was Berkeley’s last musical for Warner Brothers – by that time, the musical genre in which he specialized was seen as expensive and on its way out. He’d get his revenge a few years later at other studios as the genre regained in popularity.)  Garden of the Moon is watchable without necessarily being good – the film’s most memorable moment comes very late in its running time, as the owner fakes death to keep his star signed up. That doesn’t make it unsatisfying, but only Berkeley completists will seek out this one.

  • The Gang’s All Here (1943)

    (On Cable TV, May 2022) Like many Busby Berkeley musicals, The Gang’s All Here is an otherwise average genre entry made remarkable by a few signature scenes. In this case, Berkeley’s colour debut earns its rave largely through Carmen Miranda performing “The Lady in the Tutti-Frutti Hat” while backed up by dozens of fruit-clad dancers – a visually inventive anthology number (girls waving gigantic bananas!) no matter how you see it. True to form, the film also scores a terrific concluding segment, “The Polka-Dot Polka,” again due to Berkeley’s staging of a large-scale hallucinatory ensemble dancer number. It’s not just in colour: It’s incredibly colourful in its design, and clearly shows how Berkeley could marry new elements to his cinematography. The rest of the film? Fair, but not particularly remarkable. The plot is equal romance, equal musical, and equal wartime propaganda. Benny Goodman and his orchestra show up for a bit part and a few numbers. There’s also a version of “Brazil” that’s good for an earworm or two. Miranda gets a really good showcase here, and Berkeley also scores a good directing coup with a complex one-shot opening sequence taking up from fiction to, well, more fiction. Some contemporary reviews made comparisons with Fantasia (I’d add 2001: A Space Odyssey) and they’re not wrong – even more so than many black-and-white Berkeley productions, The Gang’s All Here gets its best visual impact by pure shapes and movement, with the humans being mere props to a bigger vision. It may not be one of Berkeley’s very best musicals on a sustained basis, but it ranks as a can’t-miss entry in his filmography solely due to its high points.

  • Blonde Inspiration (1941)

    (On Cable TV, May 2022) As someone who spent a lot of time reading about pulp fiction magazines of the 1940s–1950s (albeit of the Science Fiction genre), I had a favourable predisposition toward Blonde Inspiration: After all, it’s a romantic comedy set against the world of western pulp fiction magazines, with a writer protagonist (John Shelton) trying to make it big as an author. It does help a lot that he’s the heir to a sizeable family fortune, as his worth to the magazine publishers he works with is more as an investor than an author. But don’t fret—thanks to the intervention of the lovely Virginia Gray’s character, he’ll manage to expose fraudsters, make his name as a fiction writer and get the girl. All the way to writing an entire issue of a magazine for himself when the usual writer flats-out refuses to work until he’s paid. Alas, this plot summary sounds better than the film as it exists – despite a decent amount of potential and some rather charming period detail for anyone who once dreamt about the life of pulp fiction writers (if you’re curious about that, have a look at the adventures of Harlan Ellison and Robert Silverberg as short-fiction writers in 1950s–1960s Manhattan – able to finance a modest urban lifestyle by writing a stream of short stories and throwing them over the transom of locked publishers’ doors.), Blonde Ambition struggles to create enough narrative rhythm. Director Busby Berkeley doesn’t have his usual tools here – the film isn’t a musical and doesn’t feature any dance sequences—so he falls back on a serviceable directing style that is undistinguishable from many other for-hire directors of the time. I enjoyed Blonde Inspiration, but I didn’t love it, and considering the potential hook that the film had for me, that’s not exactly a ringing recommendation.

  • Gold Diggers of 1937 (1936)

    (On Cable TV, May 2022) For a series that gleefully aimed at female characters looking to marry rich, it’s interesting that Gold Diggers of 1937 spreads the cynicism around both sexes, poking fun at upwardly-mobile women as much as commission-hungry salesmen. The familiar opening (as a group of young women discuss their prospects for marriage next to a salesman’s convention) is soon undercut by the glum realization that insurance salesmen aren’t the best prospects – which does stop a train full of girls from getting a free meal. While our lead couple (the likable Dick Powell and Joan Blondell) has met on the train, the action gets going once they find themselves working at the same insurance office, and a wealthy businessman decides to sign a very lucrative policy. But plot progressively takes a backseat to the musical numbers – Powell and Blondell don’t need much more than their own selves to make “With Plenty of Money and You” crackle, but then director Busby Berkeley’s work kicks into high gear right in time for the film’s near-hallucinatory climactic number “All’s Fair in Love and War.” It’s a familiar patten for Berkeley, but at least the film ends on a high note. While it may not be as striking as its two immediate predecessors, Gold Diggers of 1937 is nonetheless a rewarding musical – funny, melodic and visually impressive when it counts.

  • Forty Little Mothers (1940)

    (On Cable TV, May 2022) An awkward mixture of genres stops Forty Little Mothers from being completely successful, but it’s still worth a look. Much of the film rests on the shoulder of Eddie Cantor, in a far more dramatic vein than his earlier, lighter roles: Here, he plays a down-on-his-luck schoolteacher who finds an abandoned baby and decides to raise it himself rather than give it to an orphanage. That would be enough material for an entire drama, but then he gets a job at an all-girl school and has to content both with resentful schoolgirls (mad that he replaced their favourite teacher, and trying their best to get him fired) and hiding the baby from the school administrators, since he’s a boarder. The drama, fortunately, gets less overpowering when the girls become his biggest allies in raising the kid, and Forty Little Mothers goes for a more comic approach in its later half. Fortunately, it all ends well for everyone – including the baby and its mother. It’s regrettable that the film stuck so much to the drama, because director Busby Berkeley (best known for his musical choreography) is on firmer footing when shooting comedy. There’s quite a bit of delightful material involving the headmistress and her assistant, with a few glances and chuckles suggesting much naughtier material right under the surface. Alas, this was six years in the pre-Code era, and so the potential for something much more enjoyable remains unrealized. If you think you spot Veronica Lake and Virginia O’Brien in the background, you’re not wrong – MGM went deep in its roster of ingenues to fill up those forty schoolgirl roles. Too bad that Forty Little Mothers, as presented, seems a bit scattered between heart-wrenching drama and much lighter comedy – the film’s tone goes from one end of the spectrum to another, at the expense of a unified comic approach.

  • They Made Me a Criminal (1939)

    (On Cable TV, May 2022) You won’t find that many drama films in director Busby Berkeley’s filmography – the man who defined kaleidoscopic dance routines in the 1930s was best used in musicals and light-hearted fare, but by 1939 his time at Warner Brothers was nearly up, and movie musicals were on the way out. As a result, he ended up directing drama They Made Me a Criminal in which a boxer, convinced he’d killed a man, goes in self-exile in the desert — where he finds redemption, romance, and purpose. It’s not that much of a plot (and this being before noir’s heyday, there’s a surprising restraint in dwelling on the fatalism of the character’s fate) but the film moves effectively even when it’s not that memorable. They Made Me a Criminal is perhaps more interesting behind the scenes as a film of beginnings and endings – an ending for Berkeley, who would move to MGM and find renewed success in the new glossy colour musicals that were about to define the studio’s glory days; and beginnings for the Dead End Kids that litter this film, since they would go on to become the East Side Kids and then the Bowery Boys. (Although this film won’t make converts to their brand of humour and malapropisms.)  There are many, many ways in which this film could have been better – leaning on the grimness of the story or conversely highlighting its humanistic aspect, or taking out the insufferable kids – but They Made Me a Criminal is not that unpleasant to watch. John Garfield gives plenty of dramatic energy to a role that could have been underwritten, and the time spent in the desert marks a change of pace if you’re jaded about the urban landscapes of 1930s Warners crime movies.

  • Hollywood Hotel (1937)

    (On Cable TV, May 2022) There’s a reason why “Midwestern hopeful comes to Hollywood for fame and fortune” is such a cliché, and it goes way back to the 1930s, a decade in which studios released a flood of such films. There was clearly some mythmaking at work, and some laziness as well: if you’re supposed to write what you know, then Hollywood was ideally suited in talking about Hollywood. Some of those films have had decent legacies (the original A Star is Born, for instance), while others are near-undistinguishable TCM fodder. They’re still enjoyable in their own way, but don’t be surprised if you can’t quite tell them from others. (For an extra challenge, have a look at the multiple Broadway musicals from the same era!)  Hollywood Hotel does manage to distinguish itself in a few ways. For one thing, its Midwestern hopeful is a man (Dick Powell), a singer/musician lured to Hollywood by way of a contest. (In the film’s over-the-top opening sequence, the entire town and Benny Goodman make a show of his departure.)  As another wrinkle, the love interest comes into the story as a substitute for a temperamental diva (Lola Lane, quite amusing). While the film follows a solid arc of early success, discouragement and ultimate stardom, the way getting there goes through a few evocative tangents, including a bit of comedy at a drive-in restaurant. (Also, alas, some unfortunate blackface that annoys even the film’s characters.) If you’re familiar with Hollywood history, you’ll see an early for Ronald Reagan, a screen appearance from gossip columnist Louella Parsons, and a supporting role for Benny Goodman and his orchestra – including a performance of the now-standard “Hooray for Hollywood.”  Oh, and it’s directed by Busby Berkeley, even though he doesn’t add much of his visual touch to the musical numbers. This doesn’t make Hollywood Hotel all that good – but it does add some additional interest to something that could have been far more generic – you have no idea of how many hopefuls-to-Hollywood movies were made in the 1930s, and most of them are far duller than this one.

  • Easy to Love (1953)

    (On Cable TV, March 2022) With a title like Easy to Love for such a middling musical, it’s irresistible to reply that it’s more like Easy to Like, right, right? A mid-career Esther Williams vehicle (notoriously filmed as she was pregnant, with choreographer Busby Berkeley reportedly not caring much about her safety), it’s very similar to her other aqua musicals—not necessarily a compliment given their generic nature. The standout moment of the film comes in its climactic sequence: a grandiose Berkeley number with waterski jumpers photographed in colour against a Floridian backdrop. Alas, the rest of the film isn’t as… easy to like. There are the usual romantic hijinks, set against the former Cypress Garden theme park and involving no less a romantic lead like Van Johnson (among three others). In Williams fashion, it’s watchable enough, but not particularly interesting until the final aquatic number. That number, on the other hand, is good for anthology reels (literally—it’s featured in That’s Entertainment II) so that’s reason enough to see Easy to Love right there.

  • Bathing Beauty (1944)

    Bathing Beauty (1944)

    (On Cable TV, May 2021) There’s probably one heck of a box-set (or, these days, “digital collection”) in some distant future in which Red Skelton’s early-1940s films are brought together to give a better appreciation of the incredible run he had as a comic performer at the time. No, his broad ingratiating style isn’t to everyone’s liking. No, the films are not usually high art. But he usually gave it everything he had and he was blessed with some of the era’s most amazing actresses as co-leads, whether it’s Eleanor Powell, Ann Sothern, Lucille Ball, Virginia O’Brien or, in the case of Bathing Beauty, aquatic athlete Esther Williams. The story is contrived to the point of bewilderment (what with a newly married couple not consummating the marriage, and the husband chasing her back to the college she works at) but that’s part of the point, as Skelton plays a virtual stranger chasing a woman while claiming, “but I’m her husband!”  There’s quite a bit of idiot plotting required in making it work, but Skelton’s comedic style is one that easily accommodates such shenanigans as indulged by director George Sidney. As usual for a Williams film, there are a number of musical interludes and aquatic sequences that have cemented her enduring image. (The final sequence, choreographer by Busby Berkeley, is a favourite for re-creations and homages, especially in Berkeley retrospectives.)  There’s a silliness to the college comedy that feels timeless, some snappy tunes and an overall amiability that makes Bathing Beauty hard to dislike. It’s also, crucially, a good showcase for Skelton’s talents, and a reminder of why he was a box-office draw at that time.