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image from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_(1929_film)
Date of Release: Nov 7, 1929
Studio: First National Pictures
Director: Clarence Badger
Screenplay: Hope Loring
Music: Al Bryan, Edgar Leslie, Horatio Nicholls, Eddie Ward
Choreographer: Larry Ceballos (dance director)
Leading Actors: Irene Bordini, Jack Buchanan, Louise Closser Hale, Jason Robards, ZaSu Pitts, Margaret Fielding
Based on the Martin Brown Broadway musical of the same name, Paris is the story of an American art student living in Paris who falls in love with a French actress. She agrees to marry him, but only with his mother’s blessing.
The plot initially sounds like An American in Paris, and interestingly, the original Gershwin symphonic poem was composed in the same year as Brown’s play premiered on Broadway, 1928. It seems stories about American artists falling in love in Paris were very much in vogue in the late 1920s!
Unfortunately, we cannot compare the two films as Paris only survives in fragmentary sound reels at the UCLA Film and Television Archive.
Paris was produced by First National Pictures, an independent movie studio that merged with Warner Bros in 1928. The movie was filmed in black and white with two technicolor (and by most accounts, extravagant and unnecessary), revue scenes. Paris received mixed reviews and was considered a moderate success, playing better overseas where its leading lady, French actress Irene Bordini, was more well known.
Like many other stage to screen adaptations of the period, the Broadway score was largely replaced for the film version. A great shame, as the Broadway show featured songs by Cole Porter including “Let’s Fall in Love”.
The Vitaphone Varieties blog has a fascinating, and incredibly detailed, history of Paris. The post includes beautiful stills of the technicolor sequences, and transcripts of the remaining sound reels.
What is fascinating to me about Paris is that it features something I have not yet come across in this project: a female screenwriter. Hope Loring was a prolific screenwriter in Hollywood, often working in partnership with her husband Louis "Buddy" Lighton. You can read more about her here.
Final tidbit, in researching this post I discovered that director Clarence Badger retired to Sydney, Australia (where I grew up), and Hope Loring retired to Mallorca, Spain (where some of my ancestors hail from)! Small world.
Studio: First National Pictures
Director: Clarence Badger
Screenplay: Hope Loring
Music: Al Bryan, Edgar Leslie, Horatio Nicholls, Eddie Ward
Choreographer: Larry Ceballos (dance director)
Leading Actors: Irene Bordini, Jack Buchanan, Louise Closser Hale, Jason Robards, ZaSu Pitts, Margaret Fielding
Based on the Martin Brown Broadway musical of the same name, Paris is the story of an American art student living in Paris who falls in love with a French actress. She agrees to marry him, but only with his mother’s blessing.
The plot initially sounds like An American in Paris, and interestingly, the original Gershwin symphonic poem was composed in the same year as Brown’s play premiered on Broadway, 1928. It seems stories about American artists falling in love in Paris were very much in vogue in the late 1920s!
Unfortunately, we cannot compare the two films as Paris only survives in fragmentary sound reels at the UCLA Film and Television Archive.
Paris was produced by First National Pictures, an independent movie studio that merged with Warner Bros in 1928. The movie was filmed in black and white with two technicolor (and by most accounts, extravagant and unnecessary), revue scenes. Paris received mixed reviews and was considered a moderate success, playing better overseas where its leading lady, French actress Irene Bordini, was more well known.
Like many other stage to screen adaptations of the period, the Broadway score was largely replaced for the film version. A great shame, as the Broadway show featured songs by Cole Porter including “Let’s Fall in Love”.
The Vitaphone Varieties blog has a fascinating, and incredibly detailed, history of Paris. The post includes beautiful stills of the technicolor sequences, and transcripts of the remaining sound reels.
What is fascinating to me about Paris is that it features something I have not yet come across in this project: a female screenwriter. Hope Loring was a prolific screenwriter in Hollywood, often working in partnership with her husband Louis "Buddy" Lighton. You can read more about her here.
Final tidbit, in researching this post I discovered that director Clarence Badger retired to Sydney, Australia (where I grew up), and Hope Loring retired to Mallorca, Spain (where some of my ancestors hail from)! Small world.
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Date of Release: 16 Oct 1929
Studio: Warner Bros.
Director: Lloyd Bacon
Music: Harry Akst, Earl Carroll, Sidney Clare, Grant Clarke, Peter DeRose, Charles Tobias
Writers: Robert Lord, Arthur Caesar, De Leon Anthony
Leading Actors: Charlotte Greenwood, Patsy Ruth Miller, Claude Gillingwater, Grant Withers, Harry Gribbon, Hallam Cooley, Marion Byron, Bert Roach, Helen Foster, Lloyd Ingraham, Jack Grey
I had high hopes for this film. Directed by Lloyd Bacon, director of the watchable The Singing Fool, and starring acclaimed Broadway actress Charlotte Greenwood, So Long Letty promised to be a highlight of early movie musical fare. It was awful. After such clunky films as this, it’s a wonder movie musicals ever took off.
Based on the 1916 Broadway musical of the same name, though with an entirely new score save for the title song, So Long Letty is a musical about wife swapping, a premise that was considered dated even at the time of its release. The New York Times review stated “The picture itself goes almost insane at times, for it possesses so many irrational moments thats it logical points seem strangely out of place.”
Of the film’s five songs, four occur in the last twenty minutes of the film. Each song sits oddly within the plot, and does not advance the story or characters in any way. The songs are used to highlight Greenwood’s gutsy alto voice, but instead of coming across as endearing or fun, her character is painful and annoying. The film comes to a merciful end with a speak-song that wraps up the plot in less than thirty seconds.
Women are portrayed in limited roles, obsessed with fame, cooking, or men. The two lead women, crass beauty shop parlour employee, Letty, played by Charlotte Greenwood, and the “nice little domestic girl” housewife, Grace, played by Patsy Ruth Miller, are both unlikeable. They are not helped by bizarre costuming choices, where Greenwood often looks like she’s dressed in a shiny sack, and Miller is too fashionably dressed for her diminutive housewife character.
The women are not helped by their male co-stars. Bert Roach is amusing as Letty’s husband, but his character is ungrateful and rude. The same can be said of Grant Withers as Harry Miller, who has a quick song at the end of the film featuring an appalling attempt at scat singing. Finally, the grouchy rich old white male of film, Uncle Claude, played by Claude Gillingwater, has no reason to be so awful and judgmental, except for the fact he is grouchy, rich, white, and old.
There is one redeeming, although all-too-short, scene in the film, set at Letty's beauty parlor. Charlotte Greenwood displays her comedic ability, and the visually appealing set makes for a great contrast from the living room and kitchen scenes that take up most of the film.
It’s not much surprise that So Long Letty was a commercial flop. The film’s humor is cheap, dated, and sexist, and with its ridiculous songs and complete absence of dancing, it barely passes as a musical. So Long Letty, and good riddance!
Studio: Warner Bros.
Director: Lloyd Bacon
Music: Harry Akst, Earl Carroll, Sidney Clare, Grant Clarke, Peter DeRose, Charles Tobias
Writers: Robert Lord, Arthur Caesar, De Leon Anthony
Leading Actors: Charlotte Greenwood, Patsy Ruth Miller, Claude Gillingwater, Grant Withers, Harry Gribbon, Hallam Cooley, Marion Byron, Bert Roach, Helen Foster, Lloyd Ingraham, Jack Grey
I had high hopes for this film. Directed by Lloyd Bacon, director of the watchable The Singing Fool, and starring acclaimed Broadway actress Charlotte Greenwood, So Long Letty promised to be a highlight of early movie musical fare. It was awful. After such clunky films as this, it’s a wonder movie musicals ever took off.
Based on the 1916 Broadway musical of the same name, though with an entirely new score save for the title song, So Long Letty is a musical about wife swapping, a premise that was considered dated even at the time of its release. The New York Times review stated “The picture itself goes almost insane at times, for it possesses so many irrational moments thats it logical points seem strangely out of place.”
Of the film’s five songs, four occur in the last twenty minutes of the film. Each song sits oddly within the plot, and does not advance the story or characters in any way. The songs are used to highlight Greenwood’s gutsy alto voice, but instead of coming across as endearing or fun, her character is painful and annoying. The film comes to a merciful end with a speak-song that wraps up the plot in less than thirty seconds.
Women are portrayed in limited roles, obsessed with fame, cooking, or men. The two lead women, crass beauty shop parlour employee, Letty, played by Charlotte Greenwood, and the “nice little domestic girl” housewife, Grace, played by Patsy Ruth Miller, are both unlikeable. They are not helped by bizarre costuming choices, where Greenwood often looks like she’s dressed in a shiny sack, and Miller is too fashionably dressed for her diminutive housewife character.
The women are not helped by their male co-stars. Bert Roach is amusing as Letty’s husband, but his character is ungrateful and rude. The same can be said of Grant Withers as Harry Miller, who has a quick song at the end of the film featuring an appalling attempt at scat singing. Finally, the grouchy rich old white male of film, Uncle Claude, played by Claude Gillingwater, has no reason to be so awful and judgmental, except for the fact he is grouchy, rich, white, and old.
There is one redeeming, although all-too-short, scene in the film, set at Letty's beauty parlor. Charlotte Greenwood displays her comedic ability, and the visually appealing set makes for a great contrast from the living room and kitchen scenes that take up most of the film.
It’s not much surprise that So Long Letty was a commercial flop. The film’s humor is cheap, dated, and sexist, and with its ridiculous songs and complete absence of dancing, it barely passes as a musical. So Long Letty, and good riddance!
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Date of Release: Oct 5, 1929
Director: Roy Del Ruth
Studio: Warner Bros
Leading Actors: Winnie Lightner, Nick Lucas
Music: Joseph Burke and Al Dubin
Choreographer: Larry Ceballos
Gold Diggers of Broadway, based on the Broadway play of the same name, is a largely lost film. Two reels have survived and have been preserved on DVD (and now YouTube) as extras on Gold Diggers of 1937. The clips give a tantalizing glimpse at a slickly choreographed and beautiful film.
Another backstage comedy, the film did exceedingly well at the box office, becoming one of the top grossing films of its day. The film was well received by the critics, described by the NY Times Review as “extraordinarily pleasing entertainment.”
The film featured songs such as "Tiptoe Through the Tulips," which became a signature song for musician-star Nick Lucas, and "Painting the Clouds with Sunshine." Both songs went on to become huge hits, and have been featured in several other films and television shows.
Director Del Ruth went on to become one of the highest paid directors in Hollywood, and the director of many successful films featuring stars such as James Cagney, Bette Davis, and Eleanor Powell.
Watch the lavish finale of the film here.
Director: Roy Del Ruth
Studio: Warner Bros
Leading Actors: Winnie Lightner, Nick Lucas
Music: Joseph Burke and Al Dubin
Choreographer: Larry Ceballos
Gold Diggers of Broadway, based on the Broadway play of the same name, is a largely lost film. Two reels have survived and have been preserved on DVD (and now YouTube) as extras on Gold Diggers of 1937. The clips give a tantalizing glimpse at a slickly choreographed and beautiful film.
Another backstage comedy, the film did exceedingly well at the box office, becoming one of the top grossing films of its day. The film was well received by the critics, described by the NY Times Review as “extraordinarily pleasing entertainment.”
The film featured songs such as "Tiptoe Through the Tulips," which became a signature song for musician-star Nick Lucas, and "Painting the Clouds with Sunshine." Both songs went on to become huge hits, and have been featured in several other films and television shows.
Director Del Ruth went on to become one of the highest paid directors in Hollywood, and the director of many successful films featuring stars such as James Cagney, Bette Davis, and Eleanor Powell.
Watch the lavish finale of the film here.
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Based on the Broadway musical of the same name, Rio Rita has romance, cowboys, pretty chorus girls, outrageous Mexican stereotypes, glorious costumes, color footage, and a sophisticated use of sound that makes this film stand out from the rest by a mile. The Broadway musical, produced by Ziegfeld, ran for just over two years, and the polish of the script and music shows in the film.
In terms of story-telling and characters breaking out into song, the transposition of Broadway-tested material works well in Rio Rita. The camera work is occasionally stilted, and long scenes are filmed from one front-on angle, as if filming a stage, rather than creating dynamic camera angles that movies require, however the solid material makes up for the lack of clever cinematography. The opening shots of tapping chorus girls, complete with synchronized sound, demonstrate the experience of director and screen writer Luther Reed, and the use of sound effects, both on and off the screen, such as footsteps, gunshots, screams, and dialogue make Rio Rita immensely watchable, despite being nearly 83 years old.
Comedy duo Bert Wheeler and Robert Woolsey, the only two cast members from the original Broadway production, just about steal the film with their schtick. They went onto to become Hollywood sensations as a comedy duo, and it is easy to see why. Fast paced dialogue, physical comedy, and a quirky dance routine by Wheeler, make them the unofficial stars of the film. Also attention grabbing are the leading lady's, Rio Rita played by Bebe Daniels, progressively outrageous outfits. From the "simple" Mexican siñorita at the beginning of the film, to a lavish bride at the film's conclusion, her earrings, hats, and dresses are sparkling wonders to behold.
The way in which dance is filmed is interesting to note throughout the film. Women are always filmed with their full bodies in shot, long legs or sumptuous costumes never to be left out of the camera's eye. Woolsey's dance routine meanwhile frames his upper body and the tops of his legs, but cuts off his feet, and the film is edited to include occasional close-ups of his fancy footwork. One scene features an aerial shot of the chorus girls in a geometric shape, a good few years before Mr Berkley was to arrive in Hollywood.
The music is delightful, and it is easy to see how composers lyricists like Harry Tierney and Joseph McCarthy were part of the myriad of creative teams laying the groundwork for the "golden age" of Broadway. The ensemble numbers are so much fun, with separate male and female chorus numbers that have all the jocularity of any Rogers and Hammerstein musical.
Rio Rita was utter fun to watch and, despite some of the material now appearing dated, has stood the test of time well. It is easy to understand why audiences in 1929 enjoyed it so much, and why Broadway musicals became the fodder for Hollywood films. The film is available on DVD through the wonderful, and ever-increasing, Warner Bros Archive collection.
In terms of story-telling and characters breaking out into song, the transposition of Broadway-tested material works well in Rio Rita. The camera work is occasionally stilted, and long scenes are filmed from one front-on angle, as if filming a stage, rather than creating dynamic camera angles that movies require, however the solid material makes up for the lack of clever cinematography. The opening shots of tapping chorus girls, complete with synchronized sound, demonstrate the experience of director and screen writer Luther Reed, and the use of sound effects, both on and off the screen, such as footsteps, gunshots, screams, and dialogue make Rio Rita immensely watchable, despite being nearly 83 years old.
Comedy duo Bert Wheeler and Robert Woolsey, the only two cast members from the original Broadway production, just about steal the film with their schtick. They went onto to become Hollywood sensations as a comedy duo, and it is easy to see why. Fast paced dialogue, physical comedy, and a quirky dance routine by Wheeler, make them the unofficial stars of the film. Also attention grabbing are the leading lady's, Rio Rita played by Bebe Daniels, progressively outrageous outfits. From the "simple" Mexican siñorita at the beginning of the film, to a lavish bride at the film's conclusion, her earrings, hats, and dresses are sparkling wonders to behold.
The way in which dance is filmed is interesting to note throughout the film. Women are always filmed with their full bodies in shot, long legs or sumptuous costumes never to be left out of the camera's eye. Woolsey's dance routine meanwhile frames his upper body and the tops of his legs, but cuts off his feet, and the film is edited to include occasional close-ups of his fancy footwork. One scene features an aerial shot of the chorus girls in a geometric shape, a good few years before Mr Berkley was to arrive in Hollywood.
The music is delightful, and it is easy to see how composers lyricists like Harry Tierney and Joseph McCarthy were part of the myriad of creative teams laying the groundwork for the "golden age" of Broadway. The ensemble numbers are so much fun, with separate male and female chorus numbers that have all the jocularity of any Rogers and Hammerstein musical.
Rio Rita was utter fun to watch and, despite some of the material now appearing dated, has stood the test of time well. It is easy to understand why audiences in 1929 enjoyed it so much, and why Broadway musicals became the fodder for Hollywood films. The film is available on DVD through the wonderful, and ever-increasing, Warner Bros Archive collection.
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"Say it with lengthy-dialogue-and-bizzare-script-writing-that-takes-a-really-long-time-to-get-into-the-swing-of-things-and-ends-really-weirdly" might be a more appropriate title for this 1929 feature film portending to be a musical. Richard Barrios writes that early movie musicals are "strange and amusing and often maddening." Say it With Songs is most definitely all of these things. The script writing is strange, the child is amusing, and the film as a whole is utterly maddening. Another star vehicle for Al Jolson, Say It With Songs follows a rather unlikeable singer, Joe Lane, who lies, gambles, lands himself in jail, kidnaps his paralyzed son, and still ends up with the girl. The dialogue is long and stultifying, Jolson is the only actor that sings, and there is zero dancing.
Watching Say it With Songs I had quite a bit of deja vu... haven't I already seen an Al Jolson film about a devoted dad who is trapped by the demands of show business whose son ends up in hospital? Yep. Say It With Songs was directed by Lloyd Bacon, who also directed The Singing Fool. Even the adorable Davey Lee features again as Joe Lane's tragi-comic son. Unfortunately, Say it With Songs doesn't have nearly half the magic of its predecessor, despite more skill in utilizing this sound gimmick being evident. The entire film is actually spoken, there are no title cards in sight, and there is even a diagetic song moment!
People often tell me they don't like musicals because people just break out into song (well then, don't watch musicals!). It is immensely amusing to me then, that the first integrated song in the film, (where a character sings because he has no other way of expressing himself, and not because he is performing a show within a show), occurs in a prison. Joe Lane, sitting in the mess hall surrounded by a hundred prisoners, suddenly breaks out into a wistful tune, inspiring his cellmates to imagine life being better despite their current situation. It is utterly bizzare, and out of sync with the rest of the film. Yet, as a modern day viewer yearning for something that looks more like a post-Oklahoma musical (i.e. integrated book and score... oh for the days!), it is strangely satisfying. If not hilarious.
Spoiler alert (though I truly wonder how many people reading this blog will actually go and watch the film... still. Important to warn the curious!)! The ending. It's happy, and I don't like it. I've just sat through nearly two torturous hours of Joe Lane making one awful decision after the other, destroying lives around him, and finally he walks desolately across the Brooklyn Bridge, superimposed over images of wife and son, (a rather effective piece of editing) and I thought, "Yay! Here's my cathartic and tragic ending!" But no. Suddenly we cut to smiling Joe with wife and son and a new hit single, "7th Heaven". There is no justice.
Watching Say it With Songs I had quite a bit of deja vu... haven't I already seen an Al Jolson film about a devoted dad who is trapped by the demands of show business whose son ends up in hospital? Yep. Say It With Songs was directed by Lloyd Bacon, who also directed The Singing Fool. Even the adorable Davey Lee features again as Joe Lane's tragi-comic son. Unfortunately, Say it With Songs doesn't have nearly half the magic of its predecessor, despite more skill in utilizing this sound gimmick being evident. The entire film is actually spoken, there are no title cards in sight, and there is even a diagetic song moment!
People often tell me they don't like musicals because people just break out into song (well then, don't watch musicals!). It is immensely amusing to me then, that the first integrated song in the film, (where a character sings because he has no other way of expressing himself, and not because he is performing a show within a show), occurs in a prison. Joe Lane, sitting in the mess hall surrounded by a hundred prisoners, suddenly breaks out into a wistful tune, inspiring his cellmates to imagine life being better despite their current situation. It is utterly bizzare, and out of sync with the rest of the film. Yet, as a modern day viewer yearning for something that looks more like a post-Oklahoma musical (i.e. integrated book and score... oh for the days!), it is strangely satisfying. If not hilarious.
Spoiler alert (though I truly wonder how many people reading this blog will actually go and watch the film... still. Important to warn the curious!)! The ending. It's happy, and I don't like it. I've just sat through nearly two torturous hours of Joe Lane making one awful decision after the other, destroying lives around him, and finally he walks desolately across the Brooklyn Bridge, superimposed over images of wife and son, (a rather effective piece of editing) and I thought, "Yay! Here's my cathartic and tragic ending!" But no. Suddenly we cut to smiling Joe with wife and son and a new hit single, "7th Heaven". There is no justice.
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After nearly a year off from this self-imposed project (of which you can read about the genesis here), what an apt title to be kicking off proceedings with. I actually watched On With the Show nearly a year ago at the UCLA Archives. Interestingly, in the intervening year, this film has now been digitized, and is available from the Warner Bros Archive store. Historic preservation excitement aside, On With the Show isn't an entirely memorable film. Perhaps the effort of walking across the sprawling UCLA campus, the heat, and a long bus ride back to Hollywood erased my memory. Or it just wasn't that brilliant.
The film is described on director Alan Crosland's IMDb biography as "creaky", and a "real flop." My year-old notes tend to agree. As the above clip shows, On With the Show features amazingly elaborate sets, stunning costumes, and wonderfully detailed chorus numbers. It really is a shame that despite being Warner Bros' first film to be released in technicolor, no color plates survive, because other than these wonderfully lavish numbers, On With the Show does not have a lot to commend it. The plot, based on a play, centres around the onstage and backstage trials and tribulations of a Broadway Revue, and while song and dance features quite a lot, the numbers are all about the show within a show, not intended to propel the plot forward or give insight to characters' feelings. The intervening dialogue is stilted, lead actors Arthur Lake and Betty Compson are painful to watch (a feeling generally shared by critics), and with continued use of title cards, it all still has the air of a silent film being converted to a talkie.
In his wonderful book, A Song in the Dark: The Birth of the Musical Film, Richard Barrios states that watching these old films is a long slog with precious little of any interest, and one can sit waiting, waiting. Then, suddenly, there's something unexpected - a performance or song, an exchange of sharp dialogue, some surprising camera work, a fleeting glimmer of improved technique. Then it's possible to gain a sense of why audiences were delighted.That is precisely what sitting through On With the Show is all about. You sit and sit and feel kind of bored. And then you have these deliciously decadent ensemble numbers, or the fabulous Ethel Waters singing "Am I Blue," or some snappy editing showing the juxtaposition of onstage v. backstage antics, and you just feel like it's all going to get better! Richard Barrios believes we need to look at these old films on their own merits. But honestly, as a modern day lass, it is only knowing that these early movie musicals lead to something much more watchable that makes sitting through jumpy footage and patchy writing worthwhile. It is fascinating discovering that the creation of the movie musical genre took time and practise, and it took "creaky" efforts to make movie musical magic happen.
As they say, despite these early painful efforts, the show must go on!
The film is described on director Alan Crosland's IMDb biography as "creaky", and a "real flop." My year-old notes tend to agree. As the above clip shows, On With the Show features amazingly elaborate sets, stunning costumes, and wonderfully detailed chorus numbers. It really is a shame that despite being Warner Bros' first film to be released in technicolor, no color plates survive, because other than these wonderfully lavish numbers, On With the Show does not have a lot to commend it. The plot, based on a play, centres around the onstage and backstage trials and tribulations of a Broadway Revue, and while song and dance features quite a lot, the numbers are all about the show within a show, not intended to propel the plot forward or give insight to characters' feelings. The intervening dialogue is stilted, lead actors Arthur Lake and Betty Compson are painful to watch (a feeling generally shared by critics), and with continued use of title cards, it all still has the air of a silent film being converted to a talkie.
In his wonderful book, A Song in the Dark: The Birth of the Musical Film, Richard Barrios states that watching these old films is a long slog with precious little of any interest, and one can sit waiting, waiting. Then, suddenly, there's something unexpected - a performance or song, an exchange of sharp dialogue, some surprising camera work, a fleeting glimmer of improved technique. Then it's possible to gain a sense of why audiences were delighted.That is precisely what sitting through On With the Show is all about. You sit and sit and feel kind of bored. And then you have these deliciously decadent ensemble numbers, or the fabulous Ethel Waters singing "Am I Blue," or some snappy editing showing the juxtaposition of onstage v. backstage antics, and you just feel like it's all going to get better! Richard Barrios believes we need to look at these old films on their own merits. But honestly, as a modern day lass, it is only knowing that these early movie musicals lead to something much more watchable that makes sitting through jumpy footage and patchy writing worthwhile. It is fascinating discovering that the creation of the movie musical genre took time and practise, and it took "creaky" efforts to make movie musical magic happen.
As they say, despite these early painful efforts, the show must go on!
- Published on
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.
- Published on
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!”