Sunday 19th February, 11am – An American in Paris (1951)
An American in Paris at 11 o’clock on a Sunday morning? This will gauge the true extent of Gene’s appeal in the old city, and, I have to say, the turnout was pretty good, much better than I had anticipated — not like yesterday’s packed-to-the-rafters crowd, but pretty close. As usual we began with an introduction from Allan Hunter and a thank you to the sponsors of the festival — Glasgow City Marketing Bureau, Creative Scotland, and Event Scotland.
A chap in the seat in front of me, who had clearly been dragged to the cinema by his girlfriend, asked, “Is this a musical?” Not a good start. Then, to my utter astonishment, I spotted Pat bounding up the stairs and waving at me like an old friend. An “Astaire man” at a Sunday morning screening of An American in Paris? This was much more promising. [Read yesterday’s post for more on Pat.]
Fans usually place An American in Paris either at the summit or at the second spot in the Gene pantheon. For the score, the choreography and the dancing, I would place it third. There are some problems, not least of which is the character of Jerry Mulligan: a petulant, self-righteous narcissist who also exhibits the behavioural patterns of a serial stalker. Mulligan’s wooing of Leslie Caron in the Perfume Shop is perhaps the most implausible courtship recorded on film — she makes the transition from revulsion to breathlessly charmed in precisely 1.8 seconds and all because her relentless suitor (not even Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Terminator possesses that kind of doggedness) pretends to squirt perfume in his mouth and put one of the bottles on his head…
Gene is supposed to be playing a much younger man here, so we can maybe forgive Jerry’s atrocious behaviour in the nightclub, mere minutes after his haughty and precious indignation at Milo’s little ruse to lure him to her apartment. Personally, I’ve always preferred Nina Foch’s predatory heiress to Leslie Caron’s irritatingly childish gamine; the giant bow on Milo’s blouse when we first see her is identical to those favoured by Romantic poets like Keats, Shelley and Byron, and it tells us much about her character — the romantic notions that define her will also be her undoing.
Directorially and choreographically, the film is an unadulterated joy. Vincente Minelli and Gene have never been more masterful. Gene’s heavily choreographed morning routine was met with titters of delight by the audience and I found myself marvelling again at the movement of Minelli’s camera during the initial introductions and his use of subjective camera — very reminiscent of Ernst Lubitsch. When the camera pans from Georges Guetary and Oscar Levant to the mirror where their reflections dissolve for the beautifully framed ‘Embraceable You’ medley that showcases the various aspects of Lise’s personality, it’s difficult to think of anybody who has received a more gorgeous on screen introduction than Leslie Caron is favoured with here.
Georges Guetary is more than an able replacement for the original choice of Maurice Chevalier and his rendition of ‘I’ll Build a Stairway to Paradise,’ complete with unruly displays of affection from adoring fan girls, is a splendid evocation of Parisian Music Halls. Although his romantic ‘advice’ to a typically self-absorbed Jerry amounts to this: tell her you love her and ignore every other aspect of the relationship… and reality. That Jerry is not only dumb enough to believe this, but to actually put it into practice, is always met by a silent cheer from me and the wish that both men should be woefully unhappy for the rest of their lives.
Oscar Levant was possibly as big a hit with today’s audience as Donald O’Connor was yesterday. The endearingly misanthropic and cynical Adam Cook fits Oscar’s hangdog expression and pessimistic demeanour like a surgical mask. The scene where Adam is composing ‘I Don’t Think I’ll Fall in Love Today’ while a troubled Jerry is lying on the bed is one of the film’s most natural scenes: it begins and ends with Adam whistling the tune’s melody, fitting bookends to his subtle implications about the real nature of Jerry and Milo’s relationship. It is beautifully written and played, but is all too brief. Oscar is a great pianist, too, and I wondered exactly how many people in the audience instinctively reached for the fast-forward button when he sat down to perform the Concerto in F… Ah, the magic of cinema.
Gene’s most important co-star in An American in Paris is, of course, the music of George Gershwin. The audience is treated to a compendium of varying interpretations and styles throughout: from the lushness of ‘Embraceable You,’ through the jazzy medleys in the nightclub and the achingly romantic ‘Our Love is Here to Stay’ number to the breathtaking interpretation of the ‘An American in Paris Suite’ that closes the film, you merely have to sit back and allow the genius of a master craftsman to bathe you in a heavenly light. Those close to Gershwin have commented that he probably wouldn’t have liked ‘The American in Paris Ballet,’ but surely for a dance fan who would often offer Fred Astaire terpsichorean advice on set there are many elements that would have pleased him? As a film ballet and the realisation of Gene’s vision, it simply stands alone. The music, the costumes, the colour, the lighting, the interpretations of the styles and moods of various artists, the choreography and its execution… It is a cinematic gift of riches and time has been unable to diminish its majesty.
“I much prefer this to yesterday,” said Pat excitedly, the ballet clearly having worked its considerable magic on him. “Here you can see Gene Kelly the artist, whereas yesterday it was Gene Kelly, the all American.”
More to come tomorrow… And here’s what you may have missed so far: