I think about movies a lot. Well, of course I do: I’m a gay
man over fifty. And sometimes I wonder: Is there really such a thing as “the
best movie”?
It would need to be Practically Perfect In Every Way:
acting, direction, cinematography, dialogue. It would need a
cleverly-constructed plot that ends satisfactorily. It would need to leave you
feeling profoundly moved – amused, charmed, thoughtful – so that, a week later,
you’d still be thinking about it.
As it turns out, there are a number of movies like this (for
me, anyway). So: is it “Annie Hall”? “Casablanca”? “Duck Soup”? “The Maltese
Falcon”? “Godfather Part II”? “The Lion in Winter?”
I can’t do more than make a list of ten or fifteen that fit
all the above criteria: dynamite acting, beautiful direction, a crackerjack
plot, sharp dialogue. All of the above fit the bill.
And so does “42nd Street.”
This is a gem from 1933, and it’s easily the best “hey,
let’s put on a show!” movie ever made. In short: it’s the Depression, and two amusingly
morose Broadway producers are putting together a Broadway show. They hire the
mercurially brilliant director Julian Marsh (Warner Baxter), and the charming
leading lady Dorothy Brock (Bebe
Daniels). Dorothy sprains her ankle right before opening night. What will
become of the show? Well, thank goodness there’s a plucky young chorus girl (Ruby Keeler) who can take over
the part . . .
This sounds corny, but you can’t imagine how much fun it is
until you’ve seen it. The dialogue – from eighty years ago – crackles with wit.
(My favorite: the chorus performs an awful musical number, and the director
screams in agony for them to stop. The musical director runs up front. “Didn’t
you like it?” he asks. “Yes!” Warner Baxter screams. “I’ve loved it since
1905!”) The portrayals make me laugh, especially Ginger Rogers and Una Merkel as two sassy chorus
girls, Ned Sparks as Morose
Producer #1, and Guy Kibbee
as a plump millionaire who likes to pat chorus girls on the bum. (The movie was pre-Code.
Follow this link if you don’t know what that means. In short, for the rest of
you: it means that the moviemakes could do pretty much what they felt like
doing without censorship.)
This movie has some of the best musical numbers ever staged.
Some of them are staged, remarkably enough, as practice numbers: you’re seeing
them as if they’re being practiced for the Big Show. Naturally, you don’t see
them in full costume and with full choreography until late in the movie, and
then you see the genius of Busby
Berkeley in full flower: the naughty hilarity of “Shuffle Off to Buffalo,”
and the huge (and strangely moving) New York panorama of the title number.
And at the end, we see Warner Baxter the director on the
sidewalk listening to departing audience members talking about the show. They loved it! But
why does the director get all the credit? It’s the leading lady that makes the
show . . .
It’s a perfect ending.
It’s a perfect movie.
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