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Reviews
Melba (1986)
CBS Didn't Listen
My review is more of a memory than anything else. New to New York, I was employed part-time doing musical accompanying, and I had plenty of roam time for the city's famous sidewalks. Around Sixth Avenue, attractive female pages with clipboards were summoning passersby --querying them about coming into Black Rock (CBS's headquarters) to watch prospective TV shows. Who could resist?
I took up the invitation one day and was ushered into the famous black tower. We rode an elevator to whatever floor the screenings were happening, and I ended up entering a tiny theater with about fifteen to twenty other people. There was a projection screen (as I recall) for us to watch, and we sat in cloth-padded chairs that had consoles attached to them. Buttons corresponded to laugh moments, moments of approval and disapproval. I guess all of this "data" would go into some master view of audience reaction - a mediocrity Rorschach, in a sense.
I did mean mediocrity. "Melba" was pure formula. Even Lou Jacobi's asides, I remember, sounded like Yiddish-English commentary from a laugh barrel. Melba herself seemed a bit lost in her own sitcom. I voted with my buttons - sure that I might make the difference whether this show might air. I remember being incredulous that CBS didn't understand the dross they were offering for review.
After the lights went up, we were able to scribble a bit on our tiny comment cards with the usual dulled half-pencil. I started writing an essay on the foolhardiness of airing this comedy-like piece, so filled with clichés. A CBS page urged me to finish and exit, which I did - offering the card filled with my disapproval.
To my astonishment, CBS did air "Melba". I didn't remember that it was the night of the Challenger explosion, though I do remember that day. Perhaps I watched in astonishment once again, though I was hardly surprised that the show didn't make it any further than the ill- fated shuttle. In both cases, you had ground crews who might have known better, though thankfully no lives were lost at CBS - just jokes.
Upon exiting the floor I was given a ballpoint pen in a box "signed" by Donald T. Grant, thanking me for my time. I cherish it as a memento of 80's New York, and another adventure from much younger years.
Animal Crackers (1930)
Animal Crackers - Do You Mind if I Don't Smoke?
Well, let's face it - this film was made within a year of the stock market crash. Hoover was president. The US military was practically on permanent leave. It was a different time than any we can possibly conceive of at this moment. And yet there was this fabulous entertainment industry still barreling on and barely able to keep up with itself.
The Four Marks Brothers (once five) had been Broadway headliners since the early Twenties. Prior to that, they struggled for years in Vaudeville. This film - Animal Crackers (their second) - capitalizes nicely on existing material from the stage -- the first to really bring out the brilliance in the their great musical collaboration with the songwriting team Kalmar and Ruby, from which most of the famous Marx Brothers songs emerged over the next decade or so.
Technically, yes - the film is relatively primitive -- with mic booms too far away or poorly aimed, rickety camera work {note Chico's awkwardly-filmed entrance as he rockets down the steps of Mrs. Rittenhouse's mansion.}, and somewhat naiive scene editing. Scenes went on and on, possibly because it was known among comedy filmmakers that audiences laughed, and the laughs required slower transitions, so as not to miss dialogue during the screening.
But as a record of what the Marx Brothers were doing on Broadway around that time, this film is a national treasure. Groucho is not, as is the current custom, lip-synching his songs. Live, in the midst of his initial seen with Margaret DuMont, a chime is struck off camera (an "E") and Groucho sings "Hello, I Must Be Going" in the right key ("A"). It's utterly fascinating to note that this was all one continuous take.
So many things in this film are worth abusing again and again - Groucho's priceless opening songs, Harpo blowing smoke rings, Chico and Harpo sharking at cards, Abie the Fishman, Hongadonga, Chico's jazzy tune at the piano (while beaming in obvious joy), and Margaret DuMont holding back the laughs. Groucho was hardly ever younger (already older-looking in Horsefeathers, the next feature), the chorus numbers put you right in the orchestra section of the Alvin Theater, and Harpo's scenes with Chico are perfect. Flesh me no flash!
I love this film. And it's all ours now, since 1974.
J. Steeber NYC
Show Boat (1936)
The Mid 30's wins again
No question that this is the Show Boat with soul. The '51 version has some lovely chorus numbers, including a beautiful opening sequence, but it is entirely safe and a predictable piece of MGM-dom.
On this 1936 version, I found myself thinking "There isn't a dull moment in this thing".
The pacing is fast and most unsentimental. The editing is so curt as to be almost surreal, and songs are suddenly launched out of nowhere, which is curiously satisfying. To be truthful, the film's strongest cohesive stretch is its first third, after which the story-telling becomes a bit rushed (presumably) to keep the film to a tolerable length. Hattie McDaniel and Paul Robeson are magical. McDaniel's first scene is positively electric and Robeson is given to a pleasant, warm demeanor, and both he and McDaniel seem surprisingly modern during a time in which blacks were seldom portrayed as such, especially in a mixed cast.
Charles Winninger shows his Vaudeville roots here, and he does a most riveting take on the Show Boat stage, portraying a melodrama for two. His timing is perfect, and his energy is inspiring throughout the picture.
Magnolia's blackface peregrinations do ring true to the time (more 1870's, than 1930's), but the wince-worthy scenes are more those of the black river boat hands who must constantly be shown bucking and winging their way to the irresistible music, eyes rolling.
The ending has some satisfaction to it, and is lightened considerably by the fact that Gaylord Ravinal is not completely humiliated by story's end. This last scene must have somehow anticipated "A Star Is Born", with undying love and honor being its undercurrent theme.
George Gershwin once stated on network radio that Kern's [Show Boat] score was the finest light opera in American history. It may still be. Just the bridge to "Only Make Believe" is heart stopping stuff.