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Ads featured in Motion Picture News (Jan 4, 1930)
The first “deranged ventriloquist” film.
Date of Release: Sept 12, 1929
Studio: Sono-Art
Director: James Cruze
Screenplay: Ben Hecht, Hugh Herbert
Music: Lynn Cowan, Paul Titsworth, Donald McNamee, King Zany, Howard Jackson
Choreographer: Maurice L. Kusell
Leading Actors: Erich von Stroheim (Gabbo), Betty Compson (Mary), Donald Douglas (Frank), Margie Kane (Babe)
Date of Release: Sept 12, 1929
Studio: Sono-Art
Director: James Cruze
Screenplay: Ben Hecht, Hugh Herbert
Music: Lynn Cowan, Paul Titsworth, Donald McNamee, King Zany, Howard Jackson
Choreographer: Maurice L. Kusell
Leading Actors: Erich von Stroheim (Gabbo), Betty Compson (Mary), Donald Douglas (Frank), Margie Kane (Babe)
The Great Gabbo was based on “The Rival Dummy,” a magazine serial by Ben Hecht published in 1929 (and later novelized). Despite performing well at the box office, it was considered to be inferior to the earlier Sono-Art hit The Rainbow Man. The Great Gabbo was Erich Von Stoheim’s first talkie, and it was an early talkie for silent film director and actor James Cruze.
The Great Gabbo was dogged by lawsuits. The Great Lester, a New York ventriloquist, attempted to sue Sono-Art and the creatives for using his life story without permission. An ad from Variety (September 1929) however, claims von Stroheim was impersonating Marshal Montgomery, “America’s foremost ventriloquist.”
The Great Gabbo was dogged by lawsuits. The Great Lester, a New York ventriloquist, attempted to sue Sono-Art and the creatives for using his life story without permission. An ad from Variety (September 1929) however, claims von Stroheim was impersonating Marshal Montgomery, “America’s foremost ventriloquist.”
Variety (Sept 1929)
Motion Picture News (March 22, 1930) reported that Pauline Starke, who was originally signed to play the role of Mary, sued for breach of contract after director Cruze replaced her with his own wife, Betty Compson.
Later, the Good Amusement Company attempted to sue James Cruze for failing to pay laboratory bills, and threatened to hold the film’s negative until Cruze settled his debt. The case went to the New York Supreme Court, where the judge ruled in Cruze’s favor, stating that the Good Amusement Company didn’t have distribution rights, and therefore couldn’t hold onto the negative.
Later, the Good Amusement Company attempted to sue James Cruze for failing to pay laboratory bills, and threatened to hold the film’s negative until Cruze settled his debt. The case went to the New York Supreme Court, where the judge ruled in Cruze’s favor, stating that the Good Amusement Company didn’t have distribution rights, and therefore couldn’t hold onto the negative.
Finally, Sono-Art sought an injunction against the New York Police Department to stop the police from taking down a “living sign” in Times Square. The studio had erected a giant spider web, a recreation of a scene in the film, featuring thirty Chester Hale girls who posed, paraded, and performed two live shows for amused onlookers. The sign caused traffic chaos, and police attempted to intervene. Sono-Art won the injunction with Supreme Court Justice Cotillo ruling that “Broadway, especially Times Square, is a street of ballyhoo…” Truer words have never been spoken!
The Great Gabbo opened at the Selwyn Theatre on September 12, and later moved to the larger Globe Theatre. Moving to a bigger house kept sales ticking over, and the film continued to play well. It played to sold out houses around the country, occasionally even breaking box office records. The film was later exported to the UK, Korea, and Japan, and a German version was slated in March 1930.
The Great Gabbo opens in silence. We are introduced to Gabbo, who is being helped into his costume by Mary. We immediately see Gabbo’s tyrannical behavior – the coffee is too hot, the coffee is too cold – and Mary can’t do anything right. Gabbo is mercurial, vicious, and mean. Mary is sweet and kind to him, but she’s no pushover. She talks back to Gabbo and threatens to leave.
During the act, we are witness to Gabbo’s skill as a ventriloquist. He smokes and drinks while his puppet, Otto, sings a sweet oom-pa-pah song, "I'm Laughing." Mary drops a tray in the middle of the act and Gabbo is furious. Tired of Gabbo’s fits of rage and abusive behavior, Mary tells Gabbo, “I won’t put up with it anymore… You’re so wrapped up in yourself, it’s always you, you, you.” Gabbo attempts to defend himself, stating that he is focused on the act, and cares only for his career.
Mary genuinely loves Gabbo, but she can no longer cope with his terrible behavior. She finds the courage to leave, and tells Otto as she departs, “I’m sorry to leave you. You’re the only think about him that has a soul, even if you’re made of wood.”
When Mary leaves, Gabbo starts drinking. Otto tells Gabbo, “uh uh uh, you don’t need a drink Gabbo.” Through Otto we witness Gabbo’s split personality. He is outwardly awful and angry, but his tempestuous behavior is just a mask for a tortured artist who longs to be recognized. Later, Gabbo can only express his love for Mary through Otto, using the puppet to shower her with praise and invite her to dinner.
A year later, Gabbo has finally found success and is famous as the “Great Gabbo.” He performs publicity stunts at a large restaurant, where he charms other guests by eating lobster and caviar while Otto sings and cracks jokes. The guests agree that Otto is wonderful, but Gabbo is arrogant and driven by ego. Although Gabbo refers to Otto as his “other half,” the world views them as separate entities.
The Great Gabbo opens in silence. We are introduced to Gabbo, who is being helped into his costume by Mary. We immediately see Gabbo’s tyrannical behavior – the coffee is too hot, the coffee is too cold – and Mary can’t do anything right. Gabbo is mercurial, vicious, and mean. Mary is sweet and kind to him, but she’s no pushover. She talks back to Gabbo and threatens to leave.
During the act, we are witness to Gabbo’s skill as a ventriloquist. He smokes and drinks while his puppet, Otto, sings a sweet oom-pa-pah song, "I'm Laughing." Mary drops a tray in the middle of the act and Gabbo is furious. Tired of Gabbo’s fits of rage and abusive behavior, Mary tells Gabbo, “I won’t put up with it anymore… You’re so wrapped up in yourself, it’s always you, you, you.” Gabbo attempts to defend himself, stating that he is focused on the act, and cares only for his career.
Mary genuinely loves Gabbo, but she can no longer cope with his terrible behavior. She finds the courage to leave, and tells Otto as she departs, “I’m sorry to leave you. You’re the only think about him that has a soul, even if you’re made of wood.”
When Mary leaves, Gabbo starts drinking. Otto tells Gabbo, “uh uh uh, you don’t need a drink Gabbo.” Through Otto we witness Gabbo’s split personality. He is outwardly awful and angry, but his tempestuous behavior is just a mask for a tortured artist who longs to be recognized. Later, Gabbo can only express his love for Mary through Otto, using the puppet to shower her with praise and invite her to dinner.
A year later, Gabbo has finally found success and is famous as the “Great Gabbo.” He performs publicity stunts at a large restaurant, where he charms other guests by eating lobster and caviar while Otto sings and cracks jokes. The guests agree that Otto is wonderful, but Gabbo is arrogant and driven by ego. Although Gabbo refers to Otto as his “other half,” the world views them as separate entities.
At the Manhattan Revue, we are treated to an elaborate stage show. The numbers are filled with large numbers of men and women in gorgeous costumes, singing and dancing on increasingly extravagant sets. The numbers come thick and fast, with wonderful choreography by the innovative Maurice L. Kusell. The dances range from a ballet on point for “I’m in Love With You,” to the fast and flashy tap routine “The New Step,” to the stunning “Web of Love” set on a giant spider web complete with dancers dangling upside down. The revue scenes were originally shot in multicolor, however only the black and white prints have been preserved.
Gabbo finally expresses his love for Mary, without the aid of Otto. It is too late however, as Mary is already married to Frank, her new act partner. Although she will always carry a flame for Gabbo, she loves Frank and is happier with him. The flashy numbers are overlaid onto a close-up of Gabbo having a breakdown. The twirling and grandiose set pieces serve to beautifully illustrate Gabbo’s tormented mind.
Gabbo finally expresses his love for Mary, without the aid of Otto. It is too late however, as Mary is already married to Frank, her new act partner. Although she will always carry a flame for Gabbo, she loves Frank and is happier with him. The flashy numbers are overlaid onto a close-up of Gabbo having a breakdown. The twirling and grandiose set pieces serve to beautifully illustrate Gabbo’s tormented mind.
Mary’s oft-repeated phrase, “We only take out of this life what we put into it,” rings true too late, and Gabbo is doomed to a life of loneliness and misery. Gabbo leaves the theatre, and watches his name being taken down from the marquee. He walks dejected and alone down the street, and the Great Gabbo is no more.
The Great Gabbo received mixed reviews. Photoplay (December 1929) called it a “bitter disappointment” and stated that “lighting and scenario are terrible.” Cine-Mundial (December 1929) thought that although James Cruze and Erich von Stroheim were usually outstanding artists, The Great Gabbo was decidedly a miss. Close Up (January 1930) described the film as “simple” “listless and diffident in construction,” while The Educational Screen (January 1930) felt that the musical scenes “overloaded” the story. Several critics claimed von Stroheim should have directed, and director James Cruze should have played Gabbo.
On the flip side, The Film Daily (Sept 13, 1929) enthusiastically stated that The Great Gabbo “deserves a place right up in the front ranks of the first crop of sophisticated talkers...”and that Cruzes’ “singing and dancing numbers… are the finest we have seen to date.” Motion Picture News (Oct 12, 1929) claimed The Great Gabbo “possesses all the fine points that the average theatregoers look for…”
It is difficult to understand why the critics were so harsh. Although another backstage story, The Great Gabbo has much to commend it. Despite the critics claims to the contrary, the production numbers are an integral part of the story-telling, as well as being visually spectacular and well executed. The performances, particularly by Erich von Stroheim and Betty Compson, are nuanced and affecting. It is also refreshing to see a female character take ownership of her life, putting her own happiness before that of her love interest.
On the flip side, The Film Daily (Sept 13, 1929) enthusiastically stated that The Great Gabbo “deserves a place right up in the front ranks of the first crop of sophisticated talkers...”and that Cruzes’ “singing and dancing numbers… are the finest we have seen to date.” Motion Picture News (Oct 12, 1929) claimed The Great Gabbo “possesses all the fine points that the average theatregoers look for…”
It is difficult to understand why the critics were so harsh. Although another backstage story, The Great Gabbo has much to commend it. Despite the critics claims to the contrary, the production numbers are an integral part of the story-telling, as well as being visually spectacular and well executed. The performances, particularly by Erich von Stroheim and Betty Compson, are nuanced and affecting. It is also refreshing to see a female character take ownership of her life, putting her own happiness before that of her love interest.
Picture Play (Dec 1929)
Erich von Stroheim was an influential director and actor who started out in Hollywood as an extra and set dresser. Like his character, von Stroheim had a reputation for being tyrannical, exacting, and extravagant, often bristling against the Hollywood studio system. His credits include Greed (1924), The Merry Widow (1925), and The Wedding March (1928). As an actor he appeared in over seventy films and was nominated for an Academy Award for his performance in Sunset Boulevard (1950). He won a BAFTA for services to film as a director and actor in 1954.
At the age of 16, Betty Compson was touring as a violin soloist on the vaudeville circuit. She went on to become a talented and popular actress, appearing in over two hundred films including Street Girl, On with the Show, The Time, The Place and the Girl, and The Show of Shows. Despite her successes, including being nominated for an Academy Award for her role in The Barker (1928), Compson was considered “old” by the age of 40, and throughout the 1930s her roles became increasingly smaller.
The music by Lynn Cowan, Paul Titsworth, Donald McNamee, King Zany, and Howard Jackson, is well done. Although the songs were dismissed by the critics, the two theme songs “I’m in Love With You,” and “Web of Love,” were best-sellers.
The strangest aspect of The Great Gabbo is the ventriloquist’s doll, Otto. He may be sweet and funny, but he’s creepy looking. Blogger Elizabeth A. Kingsley writes The Great Gabbo was the “first “deranged ventriloquist” film,” and it’s easy to see why filmmakers later reversed Hecht’s story and made the doll the agent of evil.
At the age of 16, Betty Compson was touring as a violin soloist on the vaudeville circuit. She went on to become a talented and popular actress, appearing in over two hundred films including Street Girl, On with the Show, The Time, The Place and the Girl, and The Show of Shows. Despite her successes, including being nominated for an Academy Award for her role in The Barker (1928), Compson was considered “old” by the age of 40, and throughout the 1930s her roles became increasingly smaller.
The music by Lynn Cowan, Paul Titsworth, Donald McNamee, King Zany, and Howard Jackson, is well done. Although the songs were dismissed by the critics, the two theme songs “I’m in Love With You,” and “Web of Love,” were best-sellers.
The strangest aspect of The Great Gabbo is the ventriloquist’s doll, Otto. He may be sweet and funny, but he’s creepy looking. Blogger Elizabeth A. Kingsley writes The Great Gabbo was the “first “deranged ventriloquist” film,” and it’s easy to see why filmmakers later reversed Hecht’s story and made the doll the agent of evil.
Picture Play (Dec 1929)
The Great Gabbo is undeniably one of the stronger musicals of 1929. The Film Daily (September 13, 1929) rightfully stated that The Great Gabbo
deserves a place right up in the front ranks of the first crop of sophisticated talkers and, in the progressiveness of its treatment, is another manifestation of the fact that the silent drama is gone, forever and forever and a day.”
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The Singing Fool cemented the place of talkies in the entertainment industry. Suddenly all the studios wanted in on talkies. Enter George Jessel. He fits nicely into our history because he was the actor who played the lead in the original Broadway production of The Jazz Singer. Several sources have pointed out that Jessel turned down the film role due to disputes over salary. Upon seeing the successes of his replacement, Al Johnson, Jessel wanted a talkie of his own.
Produced by Tiffany-Stahl Studios, Lucky Boy does not have the same charm or appeal as the earlier films it is trying so desperately to emulate. It is clearly, and sometimes painfully, a star vehicle for Jessel, summed up by the early line, “I bet if he had a chance he’d be the biggest actor in the world”. Whilst Jessel is a focused and charming actor, he does not have Al Johnson’s charisma, and as a result, the film falls flat. As Jeff Cohen writes on the Vitaphone Varieties blog, if Jessel had indeed starred in The Jazz Singer, “it would have been a very different film, and perhaps so would have film history”. This film’s flatness is furthered by a predictable plot that is almost entirely the same as The Jazz Singer, with a few minor differences, forgettable songs, and a drudgingly slow pace.
The score is comprised mostly of ballads, most notably “My Mother’s Eyes”, which is repeated without effect throughout the film. Like The Singing Fool, the songs attempt to show Georgie’s emotions, however they are not successful in capturing the audience’s heart. Dance is utilised only a few times in the film - once in the opening with scenes of children in the Bronx dancing to a gramophone, and again toward the end of film in the stage show of “Lucky Boy”, where we are treated to a kick line of ladies in pretty dresses. In terms of song and dance, there is nothing particularly noteworthy about this film. We do begin to see some innovative use of sound, such as off-screen sounds to enhance the plot or action (mostly the sound of audience cheers and clapping), and some interesting editing choices that move away from the stilted melodrama one shot set ups of silent films, but these devices are used sparingly, and the effects are lost amidst the slow and stilted overall pace of the film.
In stark contrast to The Jazz Singer or The Singing Fool, there is little information readily available onLucky Boy, further suggesting that it was not commercially successful. Furthermore, the film has been classified on IMDB as lost, though I was able to obtain a DVD copy through Reel Classic DVD. According to an interview with Mike Wallace in 1957 (which I highly recommend watching, if only for the hilariously obvious product placement and advertising of some cigarettes...), New York Times reviewer Orville Presott described George Jessel as “a vain man, an egoist who loves flattery and fame and the sound of his own name. A sentimental man whose sentimentality reaches saccharine depths.” For me, this nicely sums upLucky Boy. Overall the film is stilted and sentimental, and lacking in the magic that the earlier talkies managed to capture.
[This film is not actually on the AFI List, however it was from an earlier list I compiled when I was feeling adventurous and wanted to watch every movie musical ever made... from the next movie on, it shall be the AFI List only!]
Produced by Tiffany-Stahl Studios, Lucky Boy does not have the same charm or appeal as the earlier films it is trying so desperately to emulate. It is clearly, and sometimes painfully, a star vehicle for Jessel, summed up by the early line, “I bet if he had a chance he’d be the biggest actor in the world”. Whilst Jessel is a focused and charming actor, he does not have Al Johnson’s charisma, and as a result, the film falls flat. As Jeff Cohen writes on the Vitaphone Varieties blog, if Jessel had indeed starred in The Jazz Singer, “it would have been a very different film, and perhaps so would have film history”. This film’s flatness is furthered by a predictable plot that is almost entirely the same as The Jazz Singer, with a few minor differences, forgettable songs, and a drudgingly slow pace.
The score is comprised mostly of ballads, most notably “My Mother’s Eyes”, which is repeated without effect throughout the film. Like The Singing Fool, the songs attempt to show Georgie’s emotions, however they are not successful in capturing the audience’s heart. Dance is utilised only a few times in the film - once in the opening with scenes of children in the Bronx dancing to a gramophone, and again toward the end of film in the stage show of “Lucky Boy”, where we are treated to a kick line of ladies in pretty dresses. In terms of song and dance, there is nothing particularly noteworthy about this film. We do begin to see some innovative use of sound, such as off-screen sounds to enhance the plot or action (mostly the sound of audience cheers and clapping), and some interesting editing choices that move away from the stilted melodrama one shot set ups of silent films, but these devices are used sparingly, and the effects are lost amidst the slow and stilted overall pace of the film.
In stark contrast to The Jazz Singer or The Singing Fool, there is little information readily available onLucky Boy, further suggesting that it was not commercially successful. Furthermore, the film has been classified on IMDB as lost, though I was able to obtain a DVD copy through Reel Classic DVD. According to an interview with Mike Wallace in 1957 (which I highly recommend watching, if only for the hilariously obvious product placement and advertising of some cigarettes...), New York Times reviewer Orville Presott described George Jessel as “a vain man, an egoist who loves flattery and fame and the sound of his own name. A sentimental man whose sentimentality reaches saccharine depths.” For me, this nicely sums upLucky Boy. Overall the film is stilted and sentimental, and lacking in the magic that the earlier talkies managed to capture.
[This film is not actually on the AFI List, however it was from an earlier list I compiled when I was feeling adventurous and wanted to watch every movie musical ever made... from the next movie on, it shall be the AFI List only!]
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The first film on the AFI’s list is My Man, starring Fanny Brice, Unfortunately, My Man does not seem to be available, and may be one of the treasure trove of early sound films now lost to the world. Our next film does however follow on nicely from The Jazz Singer.
While the first commercially successful talkie, The Jazz Singer, was undoubtedly a hit, it did not eclipse the successes of the silent film, and the skeptics openly wondered if the talking picture business would ever catch on. Within a year, Warner Bros would release their second talking picture. Enter The Singing Fool. The film was written as a star vehicle for the already immensely popular Al Jolson who, to quote Peter Lehman from his book Close Viewings: An Anthology of New Film Criticism, “was more than just a singer or an actor - he was an experience.” Like it’s predecessor, The Singing Fool, provided a medium in which to introduce an eager public to new songs, including “I’m Sitting on top of the World,” “Rainbow on my shoulder,” and “Sonny Boy.” In short, audiences LOVED it. Within a month of opening, the film had broken over 70 box office records across the United States, and it remained Hollywood’s most financially successful film until Gone with the Wind premiered in 1939.
Finances aside, The Singing Fool is a great piece of cinema. From the outset, it feels more sophisticated than its predecessor The Jazz Singer. Although the film still employs silent film devices, the majority of The Singing Fool makes use of Vitaphone synchronised sound. According to Lehman, this combination was a conscious decision to keep regular movie goers happy, as well as to attract new patrons, however I feel this more reflects the growing confidence of the studio, and creatives, in utilising the new sound technology.
The camera becomes the story-teller, using images to showing the story rather than telling it through title cards. The score also helps to tell the story, with less dirge-like filler music. A great example of this occurs in the opening scenes, where the music shifts from traditional swirling orchestral accompaniment to a lively quick-step tune which follows four well-dressed punters climbing the stairs to Blackie Joe’s club, focusing on two female pairs of stockinged legs and shiny shoes. We get a sense of the excitement of going to Blackie Joe’s, and the glamour and fun of the entertainment industry, which is of course shown in all its harsh reality by the end of the film.
Despite the occasional tendency to sentimentality, there is a wonderful sense of comedy throughout The Singing Fool that has not been lost to time. The cheating and womanising characters at Blackie Joe’s, the woman who cries profusely during Al Stone’s first number, and the inebriated couple in the phone booth on New Year’s Eve are just a few examples of light-hearted humour. This comedy does well to contrast the tragedy of the story.
Most of the songs are set as performance pieces, however, they also tell us what the main character, namely Al Stone, (played by Jolson), is thinking. Al sings “It All Depends on You” in an attempt to woo the mean Molly, his long-time heart’s devotion. Through song, Al tells us that it is Molly who will determine his happiness. Without realising, Al’s own lyrics forbode the unhappiness that she will cause him. Moments later, inspired by Molly’s positive reaction to the song, Al sings “I’m Sitting on top of the world”. He is so happy, that only song can truly convey how he is feeling. Cut to a few year’s later, married and with a young child, Al sings “Rainbow Around my shoulder”. The uptempo song demonstrates to the audience that Al is really very happy! The main song of the film, “Sonny Boy” is performed several times. A few times as gentle personal quiet moments between father and son, and in the last instance in an emotional performance to a packed house of eager fans. Al's young son, Sonny Boy, played by the utterly adorable Davey Lee, is a real highlight of the film, with his sweet angelic face, and spot on timing.
The characters are well developed. From the outset we see Al Stone is a good guy. He is funny and likable, and his quirky entrance, framed by a line of chorus girls, reinforces the audience anticipation and satisfaction of seeing their favourite star on the screen. The audience’s appreciation of Al is mirrored in the pretty cigarette girl, kind, softly-spoken, and like her name, full of grace. Molly, Al’s love interest, is vain and superficial. She is only interested in appearances, and moving up in the world, highlighted by our first glimpses of Molly being her legs in the dressing room mirror. We gain further insight into Molly’s aims through the great line, “I’m not interested in waiters, except when they’re serving me”. We instantly dislike Molly, a feeling heightened by her philandering ways behind the back of our spirited Al, and her final moments with Al are touching and vindicating.
As Peter Lehman has written, “song, the star, a gripping story and the attraction of sound, all enveloped within a continuous narrative form so familiar to movie fans made The Singing Fool the biggest attraction of its day”. These elements help to ensure that The Singing Fool remains a brilliant film today.
While the first commercially successful talkie, The Jazz Singer, was undoubtedly a hit, it did not eclipse the successes of the silent film, and the skeptics openly wondered if the talking picture business would ever catch on. Within a year, Warner Bros would release their second talking picture. Enter The Singing Fool. The film was written as a star vehicle for the already immensely popular Al Jolson who, to quote Peter Lehman from his book Close Viewings: An Anthology of New Film Criticism, “was more than just a singer or an actor - he was an experience.” Like it’s predecessor, The Singing Fool, provided a medium in which to introduce an eager public to new songs, including “I’m Sitting on top of the World,” “Rainbow on my shoulder,” and “Sonny Boy.” In short, audiences LOVED it. Within a month of opening, the film had broken over 70 box office records across the United States, and it remained Hollywood’s most financially successful film until Gone with the Wind premiered in 1939.
Finances aside, The Singing Fool is a great piece of cinema. From the outset, it feels more sophisticated than its predecessor The Jazz Singer. Although the film still employs silent film devices, the majority of The Singing Fool makes use of Vitaphone synchronised sound. According to Lehman, this combination was a conscious decision to keep regular movie goers happy, as well as to attract new patrons, however I feel this more reflects the growing confidence of the studio, and creatives, in utilising the new sound technology.
The camera becomes the story-teller, using images to showing the story rather than telling it through title cards. The score also helps to tell the story, with less dirge-like filler music. A great example of this occurs in the opening scenes, where the music shifts from traditional swirling orchestral accompaniment to a lively quick-step tune which follows four well-dressed punters climbing the stairs to Blackie Joe’s club, focusing on two female pairs of stockinged legs and shiny shoes. We get a sense of the excitement of going to Blackie Joe’s, and the glamour and fun of the entertainment industry, which is of course shown in all its harsh reality by the end of the film.
Despite the occasional tendency to sentimentality, there is a wonderful sense of comedy throughout The Singing Fool that has not been lost to time. The cheating and womanising characters at Blackie Joe’s, the woman who cries profusely during Al Stone’s first number, and the inebriated couple in the phone booth on New Year’s Eve are just a few examples of light-hearted humour. This comedy does well to contrast the tragedy of the story.
Most of the songs are set as performance pieces, however, they also tell us what the main character, namely Al Stone, (played by Jolson), is thinking. Al sings “It All Depends on You” in an attempt to woo the mean Molly, his long-time heart’s devotion. Through song, Al tells us that it is Molly who will determine his happiness. Without realising, Al’s own lyrics forbode the unhappiness that she will cause him. Moments later, inspired by Molly’s positive reaction to the song, Al sings “I’m Sitting on top of the world”. He is so happy, that only song can truly convey how he is feeling. Cut to a few year’s later, married and with a young child, Al sings “Rainbow Around my shoulder”. The uptempo song demonstrates to the audience that Al is really very happy! The main song of the film, “Sonny Boy” is performed several times. A few times as gentle personal quiet moments between father and son, and in the last instance in an emotional performance to a packed house of eager fans. Al's young son, Sonny Boy, played by the utterly adorable Davey Lee, is a real highlight of the film, with his sweet angelic face, and spot on timing.
The characters are well developed. From the outset we see Al Stone is a good guy. He is funny and likable, and his quirky entrance, framed by a line of chorus girls, reinforces the audience anticipation and satisfaction of seeing their favourite star on the screen. The audience’s appreciation of Al is mirrored in the pretty cigarette girl, kind, softly-spoken, and like her name, full of grace. Molly, Al’s love interest, is vain and superficial. She is only interested in appearances, and moving up in the world, highlighted by our first glimpses of Molly being her legs in the dressing room mirror. We gain further insight into Molly’s aims through the great line, “I’m not interested in waiters, except when they’re serving me”. We instantly dislike Molly, a feeling heightened by her philandering ways behind the back of our spirited Al, and her final moments with Al are touching and vindicating.
As Peter Lehman has written, “song, the star, a gripping story and the attraction of sound, all enveloped within a continuous narrative form so familiar to movie fans made The Singing Fool the biggest attraction of its day”. These elements help to ensure that The Singing Fool remains a brilliant film today.
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In the immortal words of Julie Andrews (whom we shall come to later on in this project), when one is unsure of how to proceed, you must start at the very beginning. And so, it is interesting to remember that until the advent of the Vitaphone system in the early twentieth century, movies were silent. Sure music may have been playing in the background (or very often, provided by a live pianist in the cinema), but there were no sound effects, no speaking actors let alone singing ones, and no soundtracks that exactly matched the visuals - sound and image were not synchronised. It is entirely bizarre to think of a movie musical without synchronised sound, and so our first film off the rank is not actually on the American Film Institute list of movie musicals, or the Internet Movie Database's list of Earliest Musicals. Our first film is the first commercially successful movie length “talkie”.
In 1927, “talking pictures” were considered a novelty, a gimmick that probably wouldn’t last the world of commercial mass entertainment. The inventors of the talking picture (notably Thomas Edison, Western Electric, and D W Griffiths) had been peddling the notion for almost twenty years, and every single Hollywood studio had rejected the idea as folly. That was until Sam Warner, of the newly formed Warner Brothers Studios, came along. When it came to the concept of talking pictures, Sam Warner liked what he saw, and heard. In an effort to make the “gimmick” work, Warner took a highly successful and popular Broadway play about the son of a Jewish cantor who runs away from home to pursue a life in the theatre, and turned it into a film script, and cast a very popular and widely known Broadway star by the name of Al Jolson in the lead. “The Jazz Singer” went on to become a resounding success.
Despite being famous as the first commercially successful talkie, there is surprisingly little talking throughout the film. The Vitaphone system, where two separate discs are used for sound and image, was by all accounts a “clunky” system, and this is evident in the disjointed use of sound throughout the film. Most scenes are carried out in the traditional style of the silent film, and as a modern day viewer I found these scenes difficult to watch. The film makes use of a wide variety of musical styles, including traditional Jewish religious songs, classical music, and contemporary popular songs, a conscious choice by the film makers to appeal to as wide an audience as possible. Synchronised sound is solely used during the musical numbers, which only appear as performances (on stage or in religious ceremony) within the story. Most of the music is slow and dirge-like, and the synchronised contemporary popular music sung by Al Jolson is a welcome break.
This is particularly true of the infamous number “Blue Skies,” about half-way into the film. Jackie (Al Jolson), sits at the piano and singing for his mother, (Eugenie Besserer). Al Jolson is a lovely performer to watch. He is confident and at ease, and his jazzed up version of Irving Berlin’s “Blue Skies” is as engaging to the viewing audience as it is for his mother in the room. Besserer gives a heart-breakingly beautiful performance, although it is amusing to watch her acting style completely change throughout the scene as she is required to rely on her voice and not just her facial expressions! The number is interrupted by Jackie’s father, the cantor, (Warner Oland) yelling a definitive “Stop!” abruptly ending the intimate and naturalistic scene. This small five minute scene was the talk of the town for critics and audiences alike, and gives us our first proper taste of synchronised dialogue and singing, and in the context of the silent film, it is thrilling.
Throughout the song and dance numbers actors are predominantly filmed from the waist up, and occasionally with legs in view (particularly if they are female), but rarely with full body, head-to-toe, in full view. Jolson's dancing, standing on the spot and swinging his hips, may not seem much today, but according to Ron Hutchison (founder of The Vitaphone Project), this dancing would have been “outrageous” at the time. We are given a glimpse of Broadway-style chorus numbers of the era, plenty of young pretty ladies in short skirts and shorts, standing in lines and kicking vigorously. The dancing is certainly a very tame start to the musical showstoppers that are to come in later films!
In terms of plot, filmic devices, song and dance numbers, “The Jazz Singer” is not the most amazing film ever made. However, when we view it in its original context, as the first film to successfully integrate the use of synchronised sound, it is groundbreaking and revolutionary. In Al Jolson's own words, “We ain’t heard nothin’ yet!”
Despite being famous as the first commercially successful talkie, there is surprisingly little talking throughout the film. The Vitaphone system, where two separate discs are used for sound and image, was by all accounts a “clunky” system, and this is evident in the disjointed use of sound throughout the film. Most scenes are carried out in the traditional style of the silent film, and as a modern day viewer I found these scenes difficult to watch. The film makes use of a wide variety of musical styles, including traditional Jewish religious songs, classical music, and contemporary popular songs, a conscious choice by the film makers to appeal to as wide an audience as possible. Synchronised sound is solely used during the musical numbers, which only appear as performances (on stage or in religious ceremony) within the story. Most of the music is slow and dirge-like, and the synchronised contemporary popular music sung by Al Jolson is a welcome break.
This is particularly true of the infamous number “Blue Skies,” about half-way into the film. Jackie (Al Jolson), sits at the piano and singing for his mother, (Eugenie Besserer). Al Jolson is a lovely performer to watch. He is confident and at ease, and his jazzed up version of Irving Berlin’s “Blue Skies” is as engaging to the viewing audience as it is for his mother in the room. Besserer gives a heart-breakingly beautiful performance, although it is amusing to watch her acting style completely change throughout the scene as she is required to rely on her voice and not just her facial expressions! The number is interrupted by Jackie’s father, the cantor, (Warner Oland) yelling a definitive “Stop!” abruptly ending the intimate and naturalistic scene. This small five minute scene was the talk of the town for critics and audiences alike, and gives us our first proper taste of synchronised dialogue and singing, and in the context of the silent film, it is thrilling.
Throughout the song and dance numbers actors are predominantly filmed from the waist up, and occasionally with legs in view (particularly if they are female), but rarely with full body, head-to-toe, in full view. Jolson's dancing, standing on the spot and swinging his hips, may not seem much today, but according to Ron Hutchison (founder of The Vitaphone Project), this dancing would have been “outrageous” at the time. We are given a glimpse of Broadway-style chorus numbers of the era, plenty of young pretty ladies in short skirts and shorts, standing in lines and kicking vigorously. The dancing is certainly a very tame start to the musical showstoppers that are to come in later films!
In terms of plot, filmic devices, song and dance numbers, “The Jazz Singer” is not the most amazing film ever made. However, when we view it in its original context, as the first film to successfully integrate the use of synchronised sound, it is groundbreaking and revolutionary. In Al Jolson's own words, “We ain’t heard nothin’ yet!”