How could it grow old, since all the songs were already vintage when "Lullaby" was filmed (except for "You're Dependable")? Doris Day, only five or so years into her remarkable film career is delightful and utterly natural -- despite the (for her) challenging dance numbers. She was, in fact, a good dancer: her early dreams of a career in dance were cut short by an automobile accident.
Not ten seconds after the film's opening establishing shot of a (miniature) ocean liner at sea, La Day trots out perkily in tuxedo, top hat and cane and launches into a singing / tap-dancing performance of "Just One of Those Things." It would stop the show -- and indeed DOES, on repeated viewings, for all the wrong reasons. Brilliantly choreographed for, essentially, a non-dancer, brilliantly shot and edited, and brilliantly delivered by the radiant Day . . . on closer examination one realizes all is not what it seems, here.
No doubt extensively rehearsed, "Just One of Those Things" seems rather to be "pose," "segue," "pose." The timing and precision of the leg and arm extensions, the turns, the wink, are virtually geometric exercises rather than the true fluidity of a dancer like Eleanor Powell or Ann Miller.
The "tapping" is curiously incongruous to Day's actual movement and energy -- cleverly disguised in many angles by audience members' heads or by distance (so her feet are seldom clearly visible, and then only as she enters one pose or leaves it for another). Yes, tap dancers' "taps" (even Gene Nelson's) were always pre-recorded and dubbed. But note the difference in how "Just One of Those Things" is shot and edited, compared to every other dance number, and wonder, "Why?" Much more convincing is her "Somebody Loves Me" routine in producer Ferndell's studio, with Gene Nelson. Here, the camera shows Day in full body, smoothly and convincingly tapping her way all over the screen.
She's fine in all her other dance numbers too -- particularly the treacherous stair dancing duet with Nelson in the final production number.
There are several unnecessary lapses into slow-motion in two of the production numbers, which only call attention to camera trickery and distract from the dancers. Then again, Fred Astaire occasionally used slo-mo too.
Vocally, of course, Day is superb. If all you know of her vocals is "Que Sera, Sera," go to Google and download her versions of "I Got Lost in His Arms" and "Who Are We to Say" (with Andre Previn) for a distillation of one of the 20th Century's most beautiful voices.
Gene Nelson's dancing, on the other hand, really DOES stop the show -- for all the right reasons -- in "Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart" with the Page Cavanaugh trio. His leap from across the floor to atop Page's piano, where he continues tapping, is heart-stopping, as is his final split-leap over the pianist's head. Amazing! The acting is fine for this sort of 50's Broadway trifle. Day is always believable. Nelson, mostly (except for an annoying tendency to giggle over his lines occasionally, for no discernible reason: "We'll have a wonderful time (giggle) falling all over each other"). Gladys George is terrific in her few scenes -- whether belting "A Shanty in Old Shanty Town" or portraying the alcoholic has-been her character has become. Her final scene meeting her daughter (Day) is economical and heartbreaking, despite the hackneyed lines ("It's tough being a mother. I need a couple more rehearsals.").
Hungarian actor S.Z. Sakall, who fled the Nazis for Hollywood, essentially played the same role in all his films. And did it brilliantly, charmingly mangling the English language to the best of his scriptwriters' abilities.
Second bananas, Billy De Wolfe and Anne Triola mug and ham jarringly -- particularly big-voiced Miss Triola, who apparently thinks she's on a stage, projecting her big eyes and big voice to the back row of a theatre, instead of acting for the cameras. She's not believable for a second.
Yet none of it finally matters. The Technicolor production is glorious to look at; the costumes (Milo Anderson) riotous (how DID Day's "broke" character pack those fabulous clothes, especially the spectacular party gown she wears to the Hubbell's party two nights after she arrives in New York, in one of her two tiny suitcases?), and the musical direction and orchestrations of Ray Heindorf and Howard Jackson sheer joy.
"The young at heart never grow old," Melinda (Day) tells Hubbell (Sakall).
Neither will "Lullaby of Broadway." Endlessly watchable. Endlessly listenable.
Not ten seconds after the film's opening establishing shot of a (miniature) ocean liner at sea, La Day trots out perkily in tuxedo, top hat and cane and launches into a singing / tap-dancing performance of "Just One of Those Things." It would stop the show -- and indeed DOES, on repeated viewings, for all the wrong reasons. Brilliantly choreographed for, essentially, a non-dancer, brilliantly shot and edited, and brilliantly delivered by the radiant Day . . . on closer examination one realizes all is not what it seems, here.
No doubt extensively rehearsed, "Just One of Those Things" seems rather to be "pose," "segue," "pose." The timing and precision of the leg and arm extensions, the turns, the wink, are virtually geometric exercises rather than the true fluidity of a dancer like Eleanor Powell or Ann Miller.
The "tapping" is curiously incongruous to Day's actual movement and energy -- cleverly disguised in many angles by audience members' heads or by distance (so her feet are seldom clearly visible, and then only as she enters one pose or leaves it for another). Yes, tap dancers' "taps" (even Gene Nelson's) were always pre-recorded and dubbed. But note the difference in how "Just One of Those Things" is shot and edited, compared to every other dance number, and wonder, "Why?" Much more convincing is her "Somebody Loves Me" routine in producer Ferndell's studio, with Gene Nelson. Here, the camera shows Day in full body, smoothly and convincingly tapping her way all over the screen.
She's fine in all her other dance numbers too -- particularly the treacherous stair dancing duet with Nelson in the final production number.
There are several unnecessary lapses into slow-motion in two of the production numbers, which only call attention to camera trickery and distract from the dancers. Then again, Fred Astaire occasionally used slo-mo too.
Vocally, of course, Day is superb. If all you know of her vocals is "Que Sera, Sera," go to Google and download her versions of "I Got Lost in His Arms" and "Who Are We to Say" (with Andre Previn) for a distillation of one of the 20th Century's most beautiful voices.
Gene Nelson's dancing, on the other hand, really DOES stop the show -- for all the right reasons -- in "Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart" with the Page Cavanaugh trio. His leap from across the floor to atop Page's piano, where he continues tapping, is heart-stopping, as is his final split-leap over the pianist's head. Amazing! The acting is fine for this sort of 50's Broadway trifle. Day is always believable. Nelson, mostly (except for an annoying tendency to giggle over his lines occasionally, for no discernible reason: "We'll have a wonderful time (giggle) falling all over each other"). Gladys George is terrific in her few scenes -- whether belting "A Shanty in Old Shanty Town" or portraying the alcoholic has-been her character has become. Her final scene meeting her daughter (Day) is economical and heartbreaking, despite the hackneyed lines ("It's tough being a mother. I need a couple more rehearsals.").
Hungarian actor S.Z. Sakall, who fled the Nazis for Hollywood, essentially played the same role in all his films. And did it brilliantly, charmingly mangling the English language to the best of his scriptwriters' abilities.
Second bananas, Billy De Wolfe and Anne Triola mug and ham jarringly -- particularly big-voiced Miss Triola, who apparently thinks she's on a stage, projecting her big eyes and big voice to the back row of a theatre, instead of acting for the cameras. She's not believable for a second.
Yet none of it finally matters. The Technicolor production is glorious to look at; the costumes (Milo Anderson) riotous (how DID Day's "broke" character pack those fabulous clothes, especially the spectacular party gown she wears to the Hubbell's party two nights after she arrives in New York, in one of her two tiny suitcases?), and the musical direction and orchestrations of Ray Heindorf and Howard Jackson sheer joy.
"The young at heart never grow old," Melinda (Day) tells Hubbell (Sakall).
Neither will "Lullaby of Broadway." Endlessly watchable. Endlessly listenable.