Although Florenz Ziegfeld only ever worked on the stage, his influence over Hollywood in its golden age was considerable. Not only were many of the early talkie stars Ziegfeld veterans, his extravagant musical numbers also left their mark in the work of Busby Berkeley or the "ballet" sequences of 40s and 50s musicals. His shows really epitomised grand style for its own sake. So when MGM wanted to splash out on a lavish burst of post-war indulgence, what better than a modern day re-imagining of a Ziegfeld Follies revue, just as the great man might have envisaged it himself?
Like the original shows after which they are named, Ziegfeld Follies presents a sequence of acts with no linking plot, only a continuous aim to dazzle and entertain in a variety of ways. After a rather twee preamble with William Powell as a heavenly Ziegfeld, interspersed with some nice puppetry, the opening musical number closely follows the style and ethos of the Follies, with row upon row of elegant chorus girls bedecked in over-the-top period costumes. Its call of "Here's to the Girls" is a clear homage to Ziegfeld's own "Glorifying the American Girl". Directed in a somewhat presentational style by George Sidney, it takes us back to the experience of seeing an original Follies from thirty years earlier. The second number however features something Ziegfeld could never have done justice on the stage – Esther Williams doing her mermaid ballet act. From here on the style is consistently cinematic, and it becomes clear this is more than anything else a display of modern MGM talent and the scope of musical cinema.
Nowhere is this more evident than in the five numbers directed by Vincente Minnelli. Minnelli, an incredibly musically sensitive filmmaker, was able probably better than anyone else to make the camera part of the choreography. He will pull backwards so that dancers appear from the foreground, sliding softly into view without moving much themselves. There are moments in the drinking song from La Traviata where branches are whipped on and off the screen to balance out the shot as the dancing couple turns, a move only making sense in the context of the movie frame that would be ineffective on a stage. In the final number, "Beauty", most of the performers do not even move at all, the lens slinking rhythmically over them. However Minnelli is also sensible enough to know when to settle down and simply let a dance play out, but even here the specific angle and composition are delicately precise. Cinematic techniques such as close-ups on jewellery in "This Heart of Mine", or the shots in "Limehouse Blues" from inside the bric-a-brac shop allow a certain intimate storytelling not normally possible in dance, and even make these two numbers rather poignant. I should point out by the way that not too much should be read into Mr Minnelli's association with the excellence of these segments, since it follows that as MGM's best musical director he would be assigned to the best and biggest numbers anyway.
The handful of non-musical comedy sketches are by far the weakest elements of Ziegfeld Follies. They feature some pretty fine comedy actors, with newcomers like Keenan Wynn and Red Skelton alongside old hands like Victor Moore and Fanny Brice, representing one of the few links to the original Follies. But no matter how well played it is, each sketch runs as little more than a handful of feeble jokes stretched to breaking point, plus a lot of face-pulling. I think the main problem is that it's movie humour, the sort that only works as a comic relief subplot when woven into a larger narrative. These film writers weren't used to the sketch format. As an example of the difference, Keenan Wynn was excellent when he turned up for two minutes in The Clock (also 1945), but here he is an embarrassment. By the way, the camp Texan in Wynn's sketch is Grady Dutton. He had bit parts in dozens of pictures over the years, most of them fleeting but always memorable.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the few comedy moments that really do work are those which take place within musical numbers. "The Great Lady has an Interview" is one of the earliest examples of Judy Garland's comedic talents, while "The Babbitt and the Bromide" shows Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly at their most playful (as well as featuring some great sight-gags with that horse statue in the background). Of course part of the secret of these numbers is that they merge the comedy with the glamour and musicality. But they both also happen to be numbers which satirize the movie industry itself. Judy Garland's act is a gentle poke at dramatic actresses (especially Greer Garson) moving to more raunchy roles, and she has great fun playing up the self-absorbed luvvy stereotype. Astaire and Kelly lampoon their own screen images, slyly referencing Kelly's status as an up-and-comer, and even dancing a little waltz together (although, if you look closely, being very careful not to quite hold each other's hands properly). Ziegfeld Follies once again proves itself to be a product of and about the cinema. The title and outline may be Ziegfeld's, but the spirit belongs to MGM.
Like the original shows after which they are named, Ziegfeld Follies presents a sequence of acts with no linking plot, only a continuous aim to dazzle and entertain in a variety of ways. After a rather twee preamble with William Powell as a heavenly Ziegfeld, interspersed with some nice puppetry, the opening musical number closely follows the style and ethos of the Follies, with row upon row of elegant chorus girls bedecked in over-the-top period costumes. Its call of "Here's to the Girls" is a clear homage to Ziegfeld's own "Glorifying the American Girl". Directed in a somewhat presentational style by George Sidney, it takes us back to the experience of seeing an original Follies from thirty years earlier. The second number however features something Ziegfeld could never have done justice on the stage – Esther Williams doing her mermaid ballet act. From here on the style is consistently cinematic, and it becomes clear this is more than anything else a display of modern MGM talent and the scope of musical cinema.
Nowhere is this more evident than in the five numbers directed by Vincente Minnelli. Minnelli, an incredibly musically sensitive filmmaker, was able probably better than anyone else to make the camera part of the choreography. He will pull backwards so that dancers appear from the foreground, sliding softly into view without moving much themselves. There are moments in the drinking song from La Traviata where branches are whipped on and off the screen to balance out the shot as the dancing couple turns, a move only making sense in the context of the movie frame that would be ineffective on a stage. In the final number, "Beauty", most of the performers do not even move at all, the lens slinking rhythmically over them. However Minnelli is also sensible enough to know when to settle down and simply let a dance play out, but even here the specific angle and composition are delicately precise. Cinematic techniques such as close-ups on jewellery in "This Heart of Mine", or the shots in "Limehouse Blues" from inside the bric-a-brac shop allow a certain intimate storytelling not normally possible in dance, and even make these two numbers rather poignant. I should point out by the way that not too much should be read into Mr Minnelli's association with the excellence of these segments, since it follows that as MGM's best musical director he would be assigned to the best and biggest numbers anyway.
The handful of non-musical comedy sketches are by far the weakest elements of Ziegfeld Follies. They feature some pretty fine comedy actors, with newcomers like Keenan Wynn and Red Skelton alongside old hands like Victor Moore and Fanny Brice, representing one of the few links to the original Follies. But no matter how well played it is, each sketch runs as little more than a handful of feeble jokes stretched to breaking point, plus a lot of face-pulling. I think the main problem is that it's movie humour, the sort that only works as a comic relief subplot when woven into a larger narrative. These film writers weren't used to the sketch format. As an example of the difference, Keenan Wynn was excellent when he turned up for two minutes in The Clock (also 1945), but here he is an embarrassment. By the way, the camp Texan in Wynn's sketch is Grady Dutton. He had bit parts in dozens of pictures over the years, most of them fleeting but always memorable.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the few comedy moments that really do work are those which take place within musical numbers. "The Great Lady has an Interview" is one of the earliest examples of Judy Garland's comedic talents, while "The Babbitt and the Bromide" shows Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly at their most playful (as well as featuring some great sight-gags with that horse statue in the background). Of course part of the secret of these numbers is that they merge the comedy with the glamour and musicality. But they both also happen to be numbers which satirize the movie industry itself. Judy Garland's act is a gentle poke at dramatic actresses (especially Greer Garson) moving to more raunchy roles, and she has great fun playing up the self-absorbed luvvy stereotype. Astaire and Kelly lampoon their own screen images, slyly referencing Kelly's status as an up-and-comer, and even dancing a little waltz together (although, if you look closely, being very careful not to quite hold each other's hands properly). Ziegfeld Follies once again proves itself to be a product of and about the cinema. The title and outline may be Ziegfeld's, but the spirit belongs to MGM.