Archive for the '100 Movie Musicals' Category


100 Movie Musicals #27: The King and I (1956)

Terrible songs, wall-to-wall racism, a shapeless nothing of a plot, and a romance that consists of one (1) dance. The costumes are nice, and you get to see Yul Brynner’s abs, I guess, but otherwise this biiiiiites.

two actors who should be ashamed

I mean, what can you even say about The King and I? It’s deeply racist, with all the major Asian characters played by white actors in yellowface (which is not helped by casting actual Asian actors for all the minor roles who stand behind them), and a plot that strips all the interest from two real historical people in pursuit of a paper-thin romance that doesn’t culminate in anything except one dance and a deathbed scene. The songs are a dreary slog, on top of that — I don’t like Rodgers and Hammerstein’s work at all, apparently — and feel decades older than they were; the movie was made just five years after the Broadway show debuted, which would be the equivalent of a Hadestown musical coming out in 2021. It’s relentlessly Orientalist, wallowing in technicolor opulence and bare chests and pidgin English. Special recognition goes out to Yul Brynner, who wasn’t Asian but frequently claimed to be in order to mess with reporters: that sucks, and it sucks that he traded on that lie in order to justify taking roles like this. The historical King Mongkut was a Buddhist monk before becoming king, and spoke multiple European languages fluently, so seeing him reduced to an easily outraged simpleton that Deborah Kerr has to bring up to the modern era is so damn dirty. That’s not even getting into the whole religious aspect—the movie has a runner where Mongkut starts reading the Bible to understand Anna better, and again historically Anna was hired specifically because she wasn’t a missionary and because every other English-speaking teacher they’d hired had been a missionary intent on converting the king’s children. It’s tremendously disrespectful to have the man so completely ignorant of the religion attempting to colonize his kingdom.

Really, more than anything, The King and I is a way for US audiences, deep in the intense anti-feminist backlash of the 50s, to reassure themselves that they’re better than those heathen foreigners, who only see women as servants and who need to be enlightened by the West, which is a trick that still gets used by violent misogynists today. The song “Something Wonderful” really captures how tangled this all gets: a white actress in yellowface sings about how great it is to be subject to a dude, and the audience is expected to… what? displace their criticism of strict gender roles to an exoticized other? elevate western gender roles as enlightened? The song itself is a celebration of those gender roles, but Anna, the audience surrogate, is outraged by the advice in it, so presumably we’re meant to be outraged by it, but she ends up following the advice anyway, so is it the textual celebration of patriarchy it appears to be, a racist condemnation of fictitious Thai norms, or both? Is the advice terrible and the woman giving it trapped in a patriarchal society that should be challenged (by a white British savior), or is the advice sound and Anna’s protestations merely gestural?

look just don’t make a fuss, he’s so very stressed

This all culminates with a grand banquet between the Siamese court and a British delegation on the brink of invading and colonizing the country. The King insists on demonstrating the court’s Europeaness, so Anna makes all the women of the court the same kind of giant dresses she wears. Anna forgets to make underwear for the women, so when they all panic and flee the room at the sight of the British ambassador’s beard (“he has the head of a goat,” ffs) with their dresses pulled up to hide their faces, they expose their vaginas to the British party. “I don’t think the ambassador and I have had such an enticing welcome,” cracks one of the party, snickeringly.

Oh, and I haven’t even gotten to the utterly baffling production of “The Small House of Uncle Thomas” that serves as The King and I‘s dream ballet sequence, an adaptation rather euphemistically calls “a unique blend of ballet and Asian-inspired movement.” This play within a movie is written and narrated by Rita Moreno, a Puerto Rican actor, playing Tiptim, a Thai woman with a thick accent, reading out Harriet Beecher Stowe, a white Connecticut woman, writing in dialect for Black characters portrayed by Asian actors performing a mockery of Thai culture in a movie written and directed by white men. Tiptim is using the performance as a way to plead for her romantic freedom from her marriage to the king, so she can run off with her lover, another Thai character played by a white actor in yellowface. It’s a funhouse mirror maze of racism.

where to even begin

100 Movie Musicals #26: The Court Jester (1955)

Classic, loving sendup of fantasy swashbucklers of the 40s and 50s, with a subversion of gender roles still sadly relevant to modern fantasy. A delightful, silly reprieve stuffed full of quotable bits.

Get it? Got it. Good.

I love this movie, and have for ages. I’ve seen it easily a dozen times, and it’s basically the perfect midcentury musical. It’s clever as hell, the songs are catchy, the jokes are nerdy as heck and mostly all land, and it’s only 101 minutes long. What more could you ask for?

The plot is convoluted, essential, and irrelevant, all at once. Everything that happens grows out of the thick hedge of backstory the movie lays out in a winking introductory credit sequence — royal family murdered, usurper on the throne, baby prince survives, rebels in the forest, shifting alliances, yadda yadda — but it’s all so deeply familiar that you don’t have to get bogged down in the web of relationships. You’ve heard of Robin Hood or Game of Thrones? Fine, great, you’ve got the gist, let’s go. The jokes still land because this is still a stock fantasy plot 67 years later.

Captain Jean, The Black Fox, Hawkins, and the Prince with the Purple Pimpernel

But The Court Jester isn’t a parody of that plot so much as a gently comedic version of it. What if we replaced the dashing hero with a sweet-natured circus entertainer who longs for action but whose skills as a caregiver make him more valuable as a nursemaid? What if we replaced the damsel love interest with a female swashbuckler instead? What if they had to go undercover as their stock characters, and we mine the dramatic irony of them playing against type while playing according to type? What if everyone played this completely straight but we paced things like a medieval screwball comedy?

Hawkins, gently singing the infant prince to sleep

Flipping the genders of the main characters and not playing it for anxiety or resentment is a major key to the movie’s timelessness. There’s still a little of that 50s misogyny, in that the reversal is meant to be funny rather than neutral, but the movie never shames Danny Kaye’s Hawkins for his motherliness or Glynis Johns’ Jean for her swashbuckling; those skills are key to their success, even as they constantly trade gendered tasks back and forth as the plot demands. Hawkins’ skills at childcare are what piques Jean’s romantic interest in him—the closest thing the movie has to a traditional love song is a lullaby Hawkins sings to the baby while Jean watches, suddenly interested. It is still, today, so incredibly rare to see a fantasy hero—hell, a male lead in any genre—singing tenderly and sincerely to a baby so it’ll feel safe and sleepy. It’s also Jean that initiates their relationship, and spawns the plan to take the castle specifically because she’s not comfortable marrying Hawkins until the king is restored. Hawkins is absolutely the main character here, but he’s constantly reactive; it’s Jean who sets things in motion, and Jean who keeps everything on track while Hawkins flails around dramatically, and Jean kicks everything off because she can’t get married to this cute Good Boy until after the war is won. Hawkins ends up the prize in two romances, pursued by Angela Lansbury’s Princess Gwendolin and her witch in his disguise as Giacomo the jester/assassin.

(Look, I told you it was convoluted.)

young, hot angela lansbury

The script is delightful, packed with nerdy jokes about the Francis Bacon-Shakespeare theory, fantasy’s meaningless archaisms, and endlessly quotable rapid fire dialogue, from the repeated “get it/got it/good” exchange as Hawkins bluffs his way through multiple nested assassination and abduction scheme to the world’s most unnecessarily complex poisoning scheme (“the vessel with the pestle has the pellet with the poison; the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true”). Even the names have a pie-eyed High Fantasy melodiousness to them: the ministers Brockhurst, Finsdale, and Pertwee, always mentioned in one breath; the grim and grisly Griswold of the North; Lord Ravenhurst, the conniving prime minister; Griselda the put upon witch. The songs by Sylvia Fine and Sammy Cahn revel in verbal gymnastics, and Kaye sells the hell out of every melodic tongue twister they send his way, with a particular showpiece in “The Maladjusted Jester,” an extended riff on his notional comedic backstory. They’re more tuneful than patter songs, and lord knows Danny Kaye is a better singer than, say, the Marx Brothers, but they have a similar lyrics-first approach.

if your majesty doth ask it, i will tell about the basket

All in all, it’s just a winning, gentle movie where sweetness, quick wits, and an army of patriotic circus tumblers can overthrow a tyrant, and that’s a fantasy as relevant now as it was in 1955.

i did mention the army of circus tumblers, didn’t i?

100 Movie Musicals #25: Guys and Dolls (1955)

Loopy, word-drunk phantasmagoria about one man’s attempt to host a floating craps game. Shenanigans and marriages ensue! An utter delight from soup to nuts.

you will roll blank dice and remember where the spots are?

We watched this the same night that we watched Carmen Jones, and the tonal and aesthetic shift between the two movies was wild. Guys and Dolls operates on a very different theory of what a musical can and should be than Jones’ awkward naturalism that always felt like it thought opera’s opulence and US musical theater’s hokiness was all a bit gauche: Dolls is all candy colored sets and suits, giant shoulders, impossible sewers, a Times Square that’s more than half airless casino. It’s deeply in love with the Runyon dialogue that its various criminals, burlesques, and gamblers all deploy—in love with language as a whole, really, in both formal and informal registers—in a way the really underlines how perfunctory and cliched the cringeworthy dialect was in Jones.

It’s magnificently structured, too, with a series of nested cons and dodges that require every other con and dodge to pay off for anything to resolve, and that set up allows the movie to hop between threads whenever things start to flag; we’re always moving from temporary resolution to the middle of some other crisis, and it gives this utterly no-stakes plot a surprising amount of tension. The ridiculous names (Arvide Abernathy? Big Julie? Nicely-Nicely?), broad personalities, and colorful costuming make it easy to hang on to, regardless of how complicated things get; you always know why people are doing what they’re doing, what the stakes are, and how they’re at odds with each other. Superhero movies and video games operate in a similar model, but few of them pull the trick off anywhere near as neatly as Guys and Dolls.

three silhouettes as instantly distinguishable as anything in Overwatch

There’s a bit of a running theme in all the musicals we’ve watched from this period, both on and off the list, where cops are at best ineffective and at worst outright villainously inept in a way you don’t see in modern films. The carceral logic of the wars on Drugs and Terror hasn’t seeped so thoroughly into every facet of the culture, maybe? For a decade that’s famous for its button-downed conformity, the mass culture is straining at the seams against it.

This is the most textually homoerotic movie we’ve had on this list, with all the dudes desperate to get away from the women they’re notionally in love with so they can get in more male bonding time. It’s similar to Bride of Frankenstein in that way — guys don’t want dolls, they want to run off to the margins of society and do crimes/mad science with their boys! Marlon Brando’s Skye Masterson lays it out early on to Frank Sinatra’s perennially marriage-averse Nathan Detroit: “For a relationship that can last us all our lives, no doll can take the place of aces back to back.” The title song is Nicely-Nicely trying to talk Nathan out of women as a concept! Guys and Dolls will get both its confirmed bachelors safely married off by the end, but that tension never really resolves; both Jean Simmons’ Sister Sarah Brown and Vivian Blaine’s Adelaide want their men to be anything other than what they are, and that tension is never really resolved.

it’s opulent, but it can’t last

For all that, though, the movie likes its heroines just fine, and there’s some real chemistry and affection between both couples, when the men aren’t in their heads about how women as a class spell the end of all fun. Skye and Sarah in particular have a sparky, combative flirtiness that makes the romance in this movie the first one on this list that hasn’t made me want to die. Skye at one point fussily corrects Sister Sarah’s bible quote, and it’s insufferable but also somehow charming because it’s just another salvo in the rhetorical game they’re mutually playing; he’s fighting on her turf in the same way she’ll be fighting on his turf later. Vivian Blaine is phenomenal as Adelaide, tremendously funny and touching, with a stage career in burlesque that is doing just fine and that is refreshingly never questioned by Nathan or any of the other men; for all the battle of the sexes framing tossed around, none of the men are threatened by the women having lives outside of the home. Adelaide is chasing Nathan to settle down and let her support him, not the other way around, and that’s so rare, both in the 50s and today, particularly for a woman doing sex work.


100 Movie Musicals #24: Carmen Jones (1954)

Wildly uneven attempt to split the difference between Bizet’s opera and Hammerstein’s musical that does neither well. Makes the truly baffling decision to dub everyone’s singing voice despite casting Harry Belafonte and Dorothy Dandridge in the lead roles.

damn, the woman who told me she wouldn’t put up with my abuse isn’t putting up with my abuse!

There’s a lot to unpack with Carmen Jones even before you get to the film itself. First and foremost, that it’s an all-Black cast, but the film was written, directed, and produced by white men, and based on a play also written, produced, and directed by white men, again. Most of the singing is dubbed, because the actors Otto Preminger cast weren’t opera singers, and Preminger was insistent on using the opera music, rather than adjusting the range of the songs the way the play had. Dorothy Dandridge—professional singer Dorothy Dandridge—is dubbed by a white opera singer imitating her voice. The two leads are silenced at every key moment by vocal doppelgangers, and it sucks. The play didn’t do this; this was specifically a cinematic decision to kneecap the lead performers. Most of the song titles are in dialect, too, which thankfully neither the actors nor the singers use, with the notable, horrifying exception of the white singer dubbing Dorothy Dandridge, who really leans into it. Because of course she does.

it does have a shirtless, glistening Harry Belafonte, at least

And for what? The film is a muddled, interminable mess. All the air is sucked out of what life the film has when the endless operatic songs start, and all of the musical numbers are noticeably being performed to something entirely different from what’s happening on the audio track. The dance numbers have no pizzazz or visual splendor at all, so whatever joy there is to get out of them is coming entirely from the audio track performed by people you can’t see. The whole movie is shot in CinemaScope, so every frame is wide as hell, but Preminger doesn’t do anything with all that extra space. It’s a format designed for huge vistas, large casts, sprawling sets, or intricate details, and Carmen Jones has none of those.

also this happens, and for a brief instant there’s some actual chemistry on screen

This is gallingly noticeable on Pearl Bailey’s big number, “Beat Out Dat Rhthym On A Drum,” where the visible performance is wildly at odds with the soundtrack—not only all all the dancers dancing to something way more uptempo, there’s no drum in the mix even as the band’s drummer goes hard on the skins. At least Bailey gets to sing her own song!


It’s also a romantic tragedy that turns on the ultimate abuse and murder of its title character, and you could maybe get away with that in the heightened surreality of an opera, but everything is so contrary and intimate here that Joe’s possessiveness and rage aren’t a sweeping tide of emotions but just a regular violent creep poisoned by his own failed masculinity. A special ACAB raspberry to the cops who show up at the end while Joe is strangling Carmen to death and politely wait for him to finish killing her before arresting him.

This isn’t the worst Otto Preminger movie on this list — we’ve still got Porgy and Bess coming up, and that makes this movie look like Singin’ In The Rain — but it’s still pretty damn bad. A huge waste of such a talented cast.


100 Movie Musicals #23: A Star Is Born (1954)

A bravura dramatic and musical performance from Judy Garland and some striking visual compositions, but ultimately dragged down by a soggy, melodramatic plot that runs a solid hour longer than necessary. Watch the first hour and bail.

a solid decade or more ahead of its time

It’s an interesting movie because it doesn’t quite work, but the ways in which it doesn’t work are fascinating. Garland’s delivering a great performance here, but she’s also miscast as the showbiz grinder turned rising Hollywood star married to a charismatic former star skidding down a long alcoholic decline — her own very public battles with addiction and weight loss and the way the studios eventually cast her aside as too difficult to work with when there wasn’t anything more to get out of her is so much closer to Norman Maine’s story than it is to Esther Blodgett’s. That would have been perhaps a little too grim, but as it is you’ve got a clearly struggling Garland delivering a passionate speech about the inscrutability of what drives someone you love to drink and it’s not not about her own issues.

Visually the movie is pulling some tricks that you wouldn’t see more of until the downbeat musicals of the 70s, with a muted, gritty aesthetic that isn’t quite real but evokes a noirish squalor more than anything around it; the shift from the backstage Hollywood cotton candy of Singin’ in the Rain is thunderous. The sound design, too, particularly in the first hour, is similarly muted, with a lot of the same kind of overlapping dialogue and background chatter than Robert Altman used frequently.

a gorgeous use of natural lighting to convey a mood as esther stops to throw up in a construction site

This is yet another backstage musical, where all the songs are happening diagetically, with professional singers and dancers performing for an in-universe audience. There’s definitely some selection bias to this list, but it is wild that we are in the heart of golden age of Hollywood musicals and there’s so little here that follows modern musical conventions or metanarratives. The best song in the musical, the closest thing A Star Is Born has to an I Want song, is Esther rehearsing “The Man That Got Away” with her band in a bar after hours while Norman looks on.

god, can she sing

I’ll admit that my interest in the movie wanes after the first hour, when all that downbeat visual flair mostly drops away. The second act has some bravura moments, including an extended, baffling centerpiece number that’s meant to represent Esther’s breakthrough role, and which sprawls from a non-blackface minstrel number through a stylish fashion fever dream, a non-dancer’s dream ballet sequence. It’s gorgeous, and screenshots incredibly well, but it’s narratively inert and drags on for ages and ages.

striking visual compositions, tho

Though the plot itself is no great shakes, either, an utter slog of a story where you’re just watching Norman grind through a plot that announces itself coming a million miles away. There are no surprises there, despite all the technical craft and innovation the movie is bringing to bear, and not a ton of chemistry between Garland and James Mason; the studio originally wanted to cast Cary Grant as Norman Maine, and he might at least have injected some life into the character, some charm to offset the acres of red flags that Maine waves constantly. As it is, Mason feels like a poor man’s Michael Yorke, but without the vulnerable melancholy that lies behind Yorke’s best performances. The movie also never shows us Maine’s alcoholism affecting his life — we’re told he’s missing work, or that he’s unreliable, physically miserable, dangerous to himself and others, but we never actually see it. It’s a lot of time to spend with the man and know so little directly about the defining characteristic of his life.

maine, after a three day bender, faces a judge in a still immaculate suit; It’s a Wonderful Life got grimier than this!

He eventually walks off into the sea to free Esther from him, in another gorgeous shot, but the movie is so unwilling to show us anything too grim that it all comes across with a pinch-faced primness that’s hard to take seriously. Alcoholism’s a real rough road, but what we’re shown makes all the concern feel like an HOA head angrily trying to shoo a barbecue into the backyard because people can see your husband drinking a beer, Agnes and it robs the drama of any pathos. The last third is such an incredible slog it robs the movie of any joy or interest it had; we were so relieved when Maine died because it meant we could stop watching, and that’s probably not the mood they were going for, no.

it’s a shitty thing to do to your wife, dude

100 Movie Musicals #22: Singin’ In The Rain (1952)

Absolute classic riffing on the previous 20 years of movie musicals. The jokes land, the cast is tremendous, and the musical numbers are genius. Okay, so the plot’s thin, but it doesn’t matter when everything else is this good.

it’s great to stay up late

Singin’ in the Rain is meta as hell, and almost all of its songs are ones that had been popular 20-30 years earlier, making it both a commentary on the history of musicals and a backstage musical and a jukebox musical. What i’m saying is, this is basically the musical equivalent of Scream, or (keeping it in-genre) the 50s version of Enchanted. It picks up a lot of extra juice having waded through a bunch of 20s and 30s musicals to get here, I tell you what.

One thing that’s pointedly absent from Singin’ is the blackface that was rife in the actual musicals of the period, particularly given Don and Cosmo’s start in the sorts of pool halls and vaudeville stages that launched Al Jolson’s character in The Jazz Singer. The closest we come is a reference to “Mammy” in The Jazz Singer—and in 1952 I’m not sure how much of the audience would have even seen that movie—and a very brief scene on the film set where a white actor playing an African talks to Don about the shift to sound, which makes essentially the same joke about blackface that Blazing Saddles made about scifi actors playing aliens: the mismatch between the outlandishness of the costume and the jobber casualness of the person inside the costume is funny. It lands differently when it’s Black people instead of aliens, though; thank god it’s just the one scene. Erasing this garbage from the film’s fictional history is absolutely the right choice, but it paints a rosier picture of early 20th century US culture than we really deserve.

good christ no

(I will be so happy when I don’t have to mention blackface in these reviews anymore, I swear to god. I don’t think we’ll see any more from this point on? We’re at least past the point where a movie is going to drop a minstrel scene in without commentary, low bar though that is.)

Singin’ in the Rain also features maybe the most famous Dream Ballet sequence in musical history, with the extended Broadway Rhythm/Gotta Dance/Broadway Melody sequence starring Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse. These were a staple of every Gene Kelly movie (or at least every Kelly movie I’ve seen) and they’re always pure dance showcases. As pure dance sequences, they’re phenomenal, easily the highlight of whatever film they’re in, but narratively they’re complete dead weight, a bat to the knees of the movie’s pacing.

fifteen minutes of art!

It’s intensely frustrating when you’re steaming ahead toward the ending to be yanked into an entire separate reality untethered from everything that’s come before. The climactic performance was a big feature of the Busby Berkeley movie musicals like Gold Diggers of 1933, but at least there the whole movie had been about rehearsing for those numbers! Here they’re the musical equivalent of the third act Beam Of Light From the Sky superhero setpiece, spectacle for spectacle’s sake.

what, again?

100 Movie Musicals #21: Words and Music (1949)

Looks dire, is dire. An all-star cast, and the songs are killer, but oof magoof the amount of straightwashing they do to Lorenz Hart is unendurable. Listen to the soundtrack instead.

Well, I can’t say we weren’t warned: the trailer for this made it look as dire as it ended up being, and the reviews from the period I read ahead of time actually called out the movie for burying Hart’s queerness, admittedly in coded language, but that’s still more than I would have expected of 1949.

It’s just such a stodgy, mediocre throwback of a movie, with significantly less snap and ambition than the musicals from the period they’re recreating. Technologically, the film’s a yawn, too; color was as much of a technological innovation in the 40s as CGI is in action movies now. Words and Music has dodgy color is a way that On the Town didn’t — On the Town looked three decades ahead of its time, and Words and Music is notably less vibrant than Wizard of Oz, which was ten years old when this came out.

It’s also unbearably creaky after the last several musicals, which felt like they were experimenting with the format and moving toward a more specifically cinematic type of musical untethered from theatrical productions. Words and Music is a throwback to the early thirties, not just because it’s a backstage musical, but also because it’s a stand-and-sing musical. You can do a stand-and-sing musical—Meet Me In St. Louis wasn’t much in the way of dancing—but to be so song-forward at the same time you’re not delivering anything narratively in the song? Musical numbers, like action setpieces, can drag a movie straight down into the mire if you treat them as separate from the story or the emotional arcs of the characters. It’s not the age of the songs that’s the problem—Singin’ in the Rain is next on our list, and that’s almost entirely old songs, most way more mediocre than the Rodgers and Hart songbook—but the staging, story, and cinematography are just nothing here.

The cast really is phenomenal, though, with Lena Horne, Judy Garland, Cyd Charisse, Gene Kelley, Vera-Ellen, Betty Garrett, Janet Leigh, and a very young Mel Tormé, but that’s if anything more infuriating. How do you make such a boring nothing of a movie with that murderer’s row of talent? How do you strip out all the drama and interest from the life of a tiny, depressed, gay alcoholic who dominated musical culture for a decade?


100 Movie Musicals #20: On The Town (1949)

Wall to wall delightful nonsense about three horny sailors and three horny ladies gadding about New York. Fizzy and horny and glamorous, and the location shooting gives it just enough grounding. You could do so much worse!

The logistics of filming a musical on location boggle the mind, but filming on location in New York in the 40s are especially wild to me. Entirely worth it, though — the opening sequence on the docks as the day dawns gives what will end up being the airiest of souffles an immediate grounding in quiet melancholy that never quite dissipates, regardless of how gonzo things get.

The women in this are great, too, a real throwback to the kind of brassy dames that were such a highlight of the pre-code musicals — though notably here they aren’t the viewpoint characters the way they would have been in the 30s. Still, everybody gives as good as they get, and the dancing is phenomenal, as you’d expect from a Gene Kelly/Stanley Donen collaboration.

On the Town had a spiritual sequel with It’s Always Fair Weather, a quietly downbeat musical about the way the optimism of the immediate postwar period curdled into the ennui of the 50s. The cast is entirely different, with the exception of Gene Kelly, and we don’t follow up with the women at all, which is a shame, but then that captures something too of the 1950s backlash that saw women shoved back to the margins. Worth checking out for the rollerskating dance number alone.


100 Movie Musicals #19: On An Island With You (1948)

Backlot musical starring Esther Williams with a ton of Hawaiian brownface and a romantic plot that is pure rape culture from soup to nuts. It *almost* stumbles into a deep critique of both those things, but ultimately doesn’t. Pity.

Vicky put On An Island With You on the list because they wanted an Esther Williams musical, and this one had Ricardo Montalban in it, so that’s the one we went with. I’ll tell you now: we chose poorly. Esther Williams and Cyd Charisse spend a big chunk of the movie in brownface as white actors playing Hawaiian women in the movie within a movie, and the main plot is a love story about a stalker infiltrating the set in order to kidnap Williams and make her love him; the movie is firmly in the camp that this is romantic, rather than horrific, even while multiple characters point out, entirely accurately, how terrible everything is. The sideplots are better, or at least less overtly abusive, but there’s only so much Jimmy Durante and Xavier Cugat flirting over a tiny dog can redeem things. Skip this, watch Million Dollar Mermaid instead.

Here, this is the best scene in the movie, a dance number between Cyd Charisse and a dangerously sexy Ricardo Montalban, and even that’s pretty mediocre by the standards of Charisse numbers. Watch this and rest secure that you’ve seen the only thing half worth seeing from this turkey.


100 Movie Musicals #18: Meet Me In St. Louis (1944)

Sprightly, vivacious and key pivot point in the evolution of musicals from collections of meaningless songs to songs as narrative elements. A real lightning strike in comparison to what came before.

zing zing zing, everybody’s got to ding