Skip to main content

Back home everyone said I didn't have any talent. They might be saying the same thing over here but it sounds better in French.


An American in Paris
(1951)

Vincente Minnelli’s musical won the Best Picture Oscar in 1952 but you’d be hard-pressed to explain just what made the film so deserving. Likely, it was a response to the ever-expanding artistic aspirations of star Gene Kelly, resulting in an extended 17-minute dance sequence at the climax.

Of which, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Minnelli was channelling Michael Powell (except without the visual precision or narrative grasp); fittingly, Kelly screened The Red Shoes to MGM to convince them to make the film. The final sequence is by some distance the most impressive one here, but it is all spectacle and insufficient content. Elsewhere, the moves are as accomplished as you’d expect from Kelly, but the complete routines aren't nearly as winning. And while the Gershwin songs are generally agreeable, they are not, aside from the title song, the most memorable work of George and Ira.

Kelly plays Jerry Mulligan, a WWII veteran settled in Paris as an unsuccessful but typically-cheerful-Kelly-type artist. His associates include Adam, a concert pianist (Oscar Levant), and Henri, a successful singer (Georges Guetary). Fortunes change when he meets wealthy heiress Milo (Nina Foch) who assumes his patronage but has amorous intentions in mind. Jerry, however, is smitten with young French girl Lise (Leslie Caron) whom, unbeknownst to him, Henri is romancing.

So it’s a solid enough set-up, but one that rarely comes alive. The sound stage version of Paris is impressive but claustrophobic (Kelly wanted to film on location). There’s too much cutesy business with Kelly goofing off in front of annoyingly American-French kids. Crucially, there is zero chemistry between Kelly and Caron. In fact, the latter makes little impression at all aside from her teeth. Lise is insipid and bland, and if it weren’t for her dance skills you’d be clueless as to why Caron got the role (Cyd Charisse was cast but dropped out due to pregnancy). There’s something entirely unconvincing about the way  Jerry is instantly smitten and, further, this is made slightly unsettling by the Kelly clearly being twice as old as Caron.

The result is an unbalanced film. You don’t believe in the love story, so the supporting plot threads have to do the trick. Levant is amusing in the best buddy role; he gets much of the smarter dialogue and, in particular, has an amusing “performance” dream where he plays every part on stage and also makes up the entire audience.

Crucially, in terms of the film's greater failure, the performers who spark off each other are the ones destined to remain apart. Jerry is essentially manoeuvred into the position of Milo’s gigolo (the film is far too demure to ever say this explicitly), and we’re clearly not supposed to care about this rich, privileged gal too much; the last we see of her, rejected, is exiting stage right to look for champagne. But Foch (by far the most talented actor in the cast and, though 12 years younger than him, every bit Kelly’s equal) makes her so sympathetic and likeable that you end up concluding that Jerry’s an idiot to ignore someone so alluringly feisty and who is loaded (there are a number of films where the leading man wanders off with the least interesting woman in the cast; at the front of the pack are a couple of Andie McDowell starrers, Four Weddings and a Funeral and Green Card).

If An American in Paris can’t live up to the hype of being showered with Oscars, that’s nothing new. It does remain a strong indication of the direction Kelly (who directed some of the scenes here) was heading in; the following year’s Singin’ in the Rain would prove artistically and commercially satisfying and more than justify it’s reputation over the passing years.

***

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

She writes Twilight fan fiction.

Vampire Academy (2014)
My willingness to give writer Daniel Waters some slack on the grounds of early glories sometimes pays off (Sex and Death 101) and sometimes, as with this messy and indistinct Young Adult adaptation, it doesn’t. If Vampire Academy plods along as a less than innovative smart-mouthed Buffy rip-off that might be because, if you added vampires to Heathers, you would probably get something not so far from the world of Joss Whedon. Unfortunately inspiration is a low ebb throughout, not helped any by tepid direction from Daniel’s sometimes-reliable brother Mark and a couple of hopelessly plankish leads who do their best to dampen down any wit that occasionally attempts to surface.

I can only presume there’s a never-ending pile of Young Adult fiction poised for big screen failure, all of it comprising multi-novel storylines just begging for a moment in the Sun. Every time an adaptation crashes and burns (and the odds are that they will) another one rises, hydra-like, hoping…

Well, we took a vote. Predator’s cooler, right?

The Predator (2018)
(SPOILERS) Is The Predator everything you’d want from a Shane Black movie featuring a Predator (or Yautja, or Hish-Qu-Ten, apparently)? Emphatically not. We've already had a Shane Black movie featuring a Predator – or the other way around, at least – and that was on another level. The problem – aside from the enforced reshoots, and the not-altogether-there casting, and the possibility that full-on action extravaganzas, while delivered competently, may not be his best foot forward – is that I don't think Black's really a science-fiction guy, game as he clearly was to take on the permanently beleaguered franchise. He makes The Predator very funny, quite goofy, very gory, often entertaining, but ultimately lacking a coherent sense of what it is, something you couldn't say of his three prior directorial efforts.

Right! Let’s restore some bloody logic!

It Couldn't Happen Here (1987)
(SPOILERS) "I think our film is arguably better than Spiceworld" said Neil Tennant of his and Chris Lowe's much-maligned It Couldn't Happen Here, a quasi-musical, quasi-surrealist journey through the English landscape via the Pet shop Boys' "own" history as envisaged by co-writer-director Jack Bond. Of course, Spiceworld could boast the presence of the illustrious Richard E Grant, while It Couldn't Happen Here had to settle for Gareth Hunt. Is its reputation deserved? It's arguably not very successful at being a coherent film (even thematically), but I have to admit that I rather like it, ramshackle and studiously aloof though it is.

I can't explain now, but I've just been murdered.

The Avengers
5.21: You Have Just Been Murdered
Slender in concept – if you're holding out for a second act twist, you'll be sorely disappointed – You Have Just Been Murdered nevertheless sustains itself far past the point one might expect thanks to shock value that doesn't wear out through repetition, a suitably sinister performance from Simon Oates (Steed in the 1971 stage adaptation of the show) and a cartoonish one from George Murcell (1.3: Square Root of Evil) as Needle, of the sort you might expect Matt Berry to spoof.

Never compare me to the mayor in Jaws! Never!

Ghostbusters (2016)
(SPOILERS) Paul Feig is a better director than Ivan Reitman, or at very least he’s savvy enough to gather technicians around him who make his films look good, but that hasn’t helped make his Ghostbusters remake (or reboot) a better movie than the original, and that’s even with the original not even being that great a movie in the first place.

Along which lines, I’d lay no claims to the 1984 movie being some kind of auteurist gem, but it does make some capital from the polarising forces of Aykroyd’s ultra-geekiness on the subject of spooks and Murray’s “I’m just here for the asides” irreverence. In contrast, Feig’s picture is all about treating the subject as he does any other genre, be it cop, or spy, or romcom. There’s no great affection, merely a reliably professional approach, one minded to ensure that a generous quota of gags (on-topic not required) can be pumped out via abundant improv sessions.

So there’s nothing terribly wrong with Ghostbusters, but aside from …

Anything can happen in Little Storping. Anything at all.

The Avengers 2.22: Murdersville
Brian Clemens' witty take on village life gone bad is one of the highlights of the fifth season. Inspired by Bad Day at Black Rock, one wonders how much Murdersville's premise of unsettling impulses lurking beneath an idyllic surface were set to influence both Straw Dogs and The Wicker Mana few years later (one could also suggest it premeditates the brand of backwoods horrors soon to be found in American cinema from the likes of Wes Craven and Tobe Hooper).

He mobilised the English language and sent it into battle.

Darkest Hour (2017)
(SPOILERS) Watching Joe Wright’s return to the rarefied plane of prestige – and heritage to boot – filmmaking following the execrable folly of the panned Pan, I was struck by the difference an engaged director, one who cares about his characters, makes to material. Only last week, Ridley Scott’s serviceable All the Money in the World made for a pointed illustration of strong material in the hands of someone with no such investment, unless they’re androids. Wright’s dedication to a relatable Winston Churchill ensures that, for the first hour-plus, Darkest Hour is a first-rate affair, a piece of myth-making that barely puts a foot wrong. It has that much in common with Wright’s earlier Word War II tale, Atonement. But then, like Atonement, it comes unstuck.

Dude, you're embarrassing me in front of the wizards.

Avengers: Infinity War (2018)
(SPOILERS) The cliffhanger sequel, as a phenomenon, is a relatively recent thing. Sure, we kind of saw it with The Empire Strikes Back – one of those "old" movies Peter Parker is so fond of – a consequence of George Lucas deliberately borrowing from the Republic serials of old, but he had no guarantee of being able to complete his trilogy; it was really Back to the Future that began the trend, and promptly drew a line under it for another decade. In more recent years, really starting with The MatrixThe Lord of the Rings stands apart as, post-Weinstein's involvement, fashioned that way from the ground up – shooting the second and third instalments back-to-back has become a thing, both more cost effective and ensuring audiences don’t have to endure an interminable wait for their anticipation to be sated. The flipside of not taking this path is an Allegiant, where greed gets the better of a studio (split a novel into two movie parts assuming a…

I think World War II was my favourite war.

Small Soldiers (1998)
An off-peak Joe Dante movie is still one chock-a-block full of satirical nuggets and comic inspiration, far beyond the facility of most filmmakers. Small Soldiers finds him back after a six-year big screen absence, taking delirious swipes at the veneration of the military, war movies, the toy industry, conglomerates and privatised defence forces. Dante’s take is so gleefully skewed, he even has big business win! The only problem with the picture (aside from an indistinct lead, surprising from a director with a strong track record for casting juveniles) is that this is all very familiar.

Dante acknowledged Small Soldiers was basically a riff on Gremlins, and it is. Something innocuous and playful turns mad, bad and dangerous. On one level it has something in common with Gremlins 2: The New Batch, in that the asides carry the picture. But Gremlins 2 was all about the asides, happy to wander off in any direction that suited it oblivious to whether the audience was on …

Whoever comes, I'll kill them. I'll kill them all.

John Wick: Chapter 2 (2017)
(SPOILERS) There’s no guessing he’s back. John Wick’s return is most definite and demonstrable, in a sequel that does what sequels ought in all the right ways, upping the ante while never losing sight of the ingredients that made the original so formidable. John Wick: Chapter 2 finds the minimalist, stripped-back vehicle and character of the first instalment furnished with an elaborate colour palette and even more idiosyncrasies around the fringes, rather like Mad Max in that sense, and director Chad Stahleski (this time without the collaboration of David Leitch, but to no discernible deficit) ensures the action is filled to overflowing, but with an even stronger narrative drive that makes the most of changes of gear, scenery and motivation.

The result is a giddily hilarious, edge-of-the-seat thrill ride (don’t believe The New York Times review: it is not “altogether more solemn” I can only guess Jeannette Catsoulis didn’t revisit the original in the interven…