I've been on the lookout for this film for over 25 years, since it was given the honor of inclusion on the first (and at the time, only) bad movie book, Harry Medved's The Fifty Worst etc. One man's meat can be another man's poison, but a combination of curiosity and masochism has driven me to seek out and view over 30 of the films on Medved's original list. The list doubtless includes films that some do not consider bad (two films on Medved's list are also in Roger Ebert's Great Movies) but I have not disagreed with any of Medved's selections after sitting through them. Individually and collectively they are painful to watch, actually make you either angry or nauseous or some other disagreeable sensation, with a moment here and there of entertainment (taken out of context) not nearly enough to balance the ghastly experience of the remaining bill of fare.
So has Medved's judgment continued to bat 1.000? You bet, the streak continues. This film is chock-a-block with jokes that are not funny, beauty that comes off as ugliness, hopeless misuse of Gershwin material, dancing that comes off as forced, dialog that could have been written by a robot, aesthetic pretension that could provide a textbook definition of inanity. The color photography might look better in black and white (what with the subtle gradations of green clashing all over the costumes and scenery). And yes, there are moments with Charlie McCarthy, and a coloratura Siempre Libre, both done well enough to point up the vivid contrast between truly entertaining and worse than nothing.
Sometimes a kind of negative serendipity is responsible for a bomb of a movie, but there is much premeditation here. George Gershwin was in the process of dying as he worked on this film. Sam Goldwyn, ever understanding, cut him from the payroll when he failed to show up for a couple of days. After George died and there was no original ballet music, Goldwyn passed up on the chance (offered by brother Ira) to film a ballet of American In Paris, instead having hack composer Vernon Duke compose his pale imitation of Ravel's La Valse which became the background for the Water Nymph ballet. So while watching the movie it may appear that Goldwyn had to make do with the likes of Phil Baker and the Ritz Brothers, but in fact he had other available resources which he foolishly chose to employ.
This film is an atrocity. I can only thank Turner Classic Movies for disagreeing long enough to put it on their schedule. And for the scorecard, I've seen one of the two movies that grace both the pages of Medved's 50 Worst and Ebert's Great Movies: "Bring Me The Head Of Alfredo Garcia." While I usually see Ebert's point, I must agree with Medved on that one. Some day I hope to see the other homologous entry, "Last Year In Marienbad". Turner Classic Movies, take note.
So has Medved's judgment continued to bat 1.000? You bet, the streak continues. This film is chock-a-block with jokes that are not funny, beauty that comes off as ugliness, hopeless misuse of Gershwin material, dancing that comes off as forced, dialog that could have been written by a robot, aesthetic pretension that could provide a textbook definition of inanity. The color photography might look better in black and white (what with the subtle gradations of green clashing all over the costumes and scenery). And yes, there are moments with Charlie McCarthy, and a coloratura Siempre Libre, both done well enough to point up the vivid contrast between truly entertaining and worse than nothing.
Sometimes a kind of negative serendipity is responsible for a bomb of a movie, but there is much premeditation here. George Gershwin was in the process of dying as he worked on this film. Sam Goldwyn, ever understanding, cut him from the payroll when he failed to show up for a couple of days. After George died and there was no original ballet music, Goldwyn passed up on the chance (offered by brother Ira) to film a ballet of American In Paris, instead having hack composer Vernon Duke compose his pale imitation of Ravel's La Valse which became the background for the Water Nymph ballet. So while watching the movie it may appear that Goldwyn had to make do with the likes of Phil Baker and the Ritz Brothers, but in fact he had other available resources which he foolishly chose to employ.
This film is an atrocity. I can only thank Turner Classic Movies for disagreeing long enough to put it on their schedule. And for the scorecard, I've seen one of the two movies that grace both the pages of Medved's 50 Worst and Ebert's Great Movies: "Bring Me The Head Of Alfredo Garcia." While I usually see Ebert's point, I must agree with Medved on that one. Some day I hope to see the other homologous entry, "Last Year In Marienbad". Turner Classic Movies, take note.