Best Picture: #24
Original Release Date: November 11, 1951
Rating: Passed
Runtime: 1 hour, 54 minutes
Director: Vincente Minnelli
Quick Impressions:
I’d never seen An American in Paris before. My mother’s not a huge fan, and now that we’ve seen it, my daughter isn’t either. For her, Gene Kelly’s character’s particular style of being a man is so off-putting that she couldn’t enjoy the story. And I’m pretty much with her there. The love-story element of this film is weak and forced. I was slightly surprised to find the story so hard to embrace. I mean Alan Jay Lerner wrote the story and the screenplay, and I love My Fair Lady.
(Of course, if pressed, I would have to admit that I don’t find it the world’s most charming and ideal love story now that I am an adult woman. The romance (if you even call it that) was never why I liked My Fair Lady, though in that aspect, it improves at least on Shaw’s ending of Eliza announcing she will marry Freddie. I sincerely hope people don’t read Pygmalion looking to be swept away by romance, but if we must include a romance, I’d rather play strange mind games with Henry Higgins for the rest of his life (which will doubtless be cut short when Eliza eventually murders him and steals his identity) than be stuck with Freddie pacing back and forth in front of me singing about how he imagines I am all night and day.)
But I’ll get to write about My Fair Lady when we reach the 1960s in a few weeks. For now, I’ll simply agree with my daughter about one thing–as a leading man, Gene Kelly’s Jerry Mulligan is kind of a jerk. Kelly can’t be overpraised as a dancer, though. He’s not only remarkably gifted physically, but he’s also credited as the film’s choreographer, meaning that he’s come up with some truly innovative moves. What he does with body movement in this movie is genius, as is the way the film tricks average movie goers into watching a feature length dance recital. (This is kind of like the trick Walt Disney tried to pull with Fantasia, though based on what I’ve heard about that film’s original reception, that didn’t really work.)
The Plot:
Former G.I. Jerry Mulligan lives in Post World War II Paris and ekes out a living as a starving artist (even though he’s obviously an enormously talented dancer, and his paintings are nothing to write home about). He pals around with his American friend, an equally impoverished piano player named Adam and sometimes also sees their mutual French friend Henri. Jerry is broke and not getting anywhere with his art when wealthy American widow Milo takes a sudden interest in his career. She offers to help promote his paintings and tries to introduce him socially to people involved in the local art scene. But when taken out in public, Jerry immediately hits on a teenager at a nearby table, then pressures her to dance with him. After that, he stalks her for a while, all the time resenting the widow’s efforts to control him by giving him the supplies, space, and opportunities he needs to create and promote his works.
The Good:
This film introduced Leslie Caron to American audiences, and I for one am glad we got to meet her. Like Kelly, Caron a gifted dancer with tons of screen presence. She’s a good actress, too, though her lines in this film are limited, possibly because she was still learning English. She gets a much more interesting part in Gigi. But here she has fantastic costumes and a role that showcases not only her skill as a dancer, but her ability to emote, as well.
I find it very strange that Gene Kelly supposedly discovered Caron while he was on vacation in France, then campaigned hard for her to be cast in this film. I realize that Kelly is not actually Jerry Mulligan. But I mean, he’s promoting her in exactly the same way Milo in the movie wants to promote Jerry (by facilitating his work, putting him in front of the right people, etc.). Is there that much of an ingrained double standard in the 50s that everyone considers this perfectly natural when the man is the patron of the woman, but almost abhorrent when it’s the other way around?
Now, granted, Milo (brought to life in a very captivating way by Nina Foch) is interested in more than just Jerry’s art. She clearly wants to date him. More than that, she possibly wants to own him. But to be fair, Jerry is a very bad artist. As I watched the movie, I found Milo quite sympathetic. I would never go to Paris and buy up a starving artist to keep me company. But, as a writer, if someone said to me, “Let me introduce you to all the right people in Paris and get your work out there. Also, here are some supplies and a space to work,” I would find that pitch pretty compelling. I’ve been thinking about this all night, though. I’ve been asking myself, “Would you really, though, Sarah? Is it the pitch you find attractive, or is it Milo?” I must admit, if someone I did not find attractive wanted to promote my work but also date and potentially control me, that might seem much more sinister. I would happily have dinner with Nina Foch. I would be much more reluctant about the same proposition from…well, from any man, actually. It would seem more sinister if an older man made that overture to a younger me. So maybe Jerry has a point. (But maybe not. The older man I’m imagining introduces himself as The Count and is secretly a sadist. Honestly, I think anyone who is that interested in (and capable of) helping you promote your work is worth at least respect. He treats her so appallingly.)
She does come on a little strong. But I still think his behavior is unforgivably rude. He treats Milo so inexcusably badly on their first evening out together that I have to think two things about Jerry. 1) He’s either an oblivious jerk or has an extreme empathy defect. 2) He must not care about his art as much as he pretends.
Of course, I’m not sure he pretends all that hard. Clearly what he really wants to be is a starving artist, a failed artist. I think he just wants to dance around Paris making up romantic stories about himself and lamenting his poverty.
It’s frustrating. I find his behavior so…awful. He doesn’t like Milo. Okay. But he still keeps taking all her stuff. So he must not dislike her that much. He seems to resent her more because he needs the help she offers him. I wanted to say to him, “You know, it’s not her fault you’re a failure.” That’s too harsh, though. He’s not a failure as a human being. The neighborhood children love him because he gives them bubblegum (which seems pretty transactional, too, now that I think about it). Jerry seems to resent Milo because is insecure about his own inability to succeed. But how is that her fault? I think he likes having her there to blame. As my daughter put it, in Milo’s voice, “I’m sorry you have to roll your bed into the ceiling, but that’s not my fault, is it?”
So while the movie does not offer believable romance, the character dynamics are fun to think about. I kept wishing the movie were made today. I’d like to understand the dynamic between Jerry and Milo better. Just what exactly does she want? What does she expect? What are his objections? If the movie were rated R, perhaps it could explore the relationship in more honest detail, and that might end up making Jerry to some degree sympathetic. As is, he’s just kind of a jerk. But boy can he dance!
Kelly is listed as the choreographer in the opening credits. I assume that means he did the choreography for the entire film. If so, what a staggering achievement! I don’t like the character he plays, and I don’t like the way he plays him. But his dancing–wow! The man is an amazing athlete, and he does such innovative things with dance.
The musical numbers are where the movie excels. At first, I kept thinking, “Well, I don’t know about the story, but that number was great,” and then the thought would repeat again and again! All of the numbers are great! They’re so creative. What Kelly does with movement is incredible. Not only is he agile and…I don’t know, ridiculously talented as a dancer?…but he incorporates such creative movements. And the way the dancing is used to communicate the story’s themes is just next level.
Part of me wishes this film didn’t have dialogue at all. I’m not sure that it needs it, and perhaps it hinders our ability to connect with the story. We get so many fantasy sequences in the film. I think the entire film would play better as a fantasy sequence. So many of Jerry’s faults would look different if this were a ballet. When he first sees Leslie Caron–if it were a fantasy dance sequence, it would be more palatable. You see her across the room. Your heart skips a beat. You can think of nothing but her. But Jerry behaves that way in a real-life situation. If reality paused for his flight of fancy, he wouldn’t look like such a jerk.
The supporting cast in the film is very good, especially Oscar Levant. And Oscar Levant. And Oscar Levant. And Oscar Levant. Definitely a part of me liked Oscar Levant’s scene with himself better than the entire rest of the movie. Too bad the entire movie couldn’t be one of its many fantasy sequences.
But then again, maybe it is. The ending of this movie–I won’t spoil it–but the final twenty minute sequence is without a doubt the strongest part of the entire film. I would have been happy just seeing that twenty minutes. I actually found it surprisingly meaningful. It reminded me a little of the end of La La Land. (I’m guessing Damien Chazelle is a fan of An American in Paris.) This bit of the movie let’s us know what the whole thing has really been all about. And it conveys meaning and emotion quite effectively, giving us a profound little coda to wrap up the story. Jerry is not a great artist, but Gene Kelly is.
George and Ira Gershwin are pretty great, too. It’s hard to go wrong with their music. At first I found the songs oddly unsuited to the story, but then I started thinking, “Nah, it’s just that I don’t like the story.”
I really do love the following bit:
“In time the Rockies may crumble,
Gibraltar may tumble.
They’re only made of clay.”
“I’ve Got Rhythm” is also in this movie. If I were watching and hearing it for the first time, I would have exclaimed, “What a song!” But the song was written before the movie, so probably few viewers have been in that position.
(Since I’ve criticized the story so much, I will add that I also loved the line, “It’s a pity you don’t have as much charm as you have persistence.” They need to change the pronouns and put that on Jerry’s tombstone.)
Visually, the movie fires on all cylinders all the time. The costuming and set design are fantastic. And I do love the way they’re always dancing. Every bit of blocking seems like it’s part of an elaborate dance.
Best Scene Visually:
Okay, well, as I just said, the end of the movie is conspicuously the best part. But I also particularly love our introduction to Leslie Caron. It’s fun to watch the various versions of Lise dancing for us in Henri’s imagination as he attempts to find a description that does justice to the full person.
Best Action Sequence:
I am equally fond of all of the theatrical jumps from a great height at the costume party and the way Oscar Levant listens in hysterical worry as his friends unknowingly discuss the same girl with each other.
If it counts as an action sequence, Oscar Levant’s daydream about being every member of the orchestra is sublime.
Best Scene:
The last twenty minutes is the best part of the movie. In fact, the movie would be stronger overall if it were only twenty minutes long, and those were the twenty minutes chosen. Well…actually, all the musical numbers are good. “Tra-la-la” is a fantastic number, too. Up to that point, it was my favorite musical number (except for the bit introducing Lise), but then later numbers I’ve already mentioned eclipsed it.
The Negatives:
I’ve already ranted on and on about the way Jerry treats Milo. A character is allowed to be flawed, of course. But it’s pretty hard to get emotionally invested in An American in Paris when you don’t find the main character at all sympathetic. Jerry treats Milo badly, and then he begins a relationship with Lise, whom he also treats badly in a different way. It’s like he says to Milo, “I don’t want you to manipulate and control me,” and then skips away saying, “Now off to find someone to manipulate and control!” At first, it seems that he doesn’t want a power imbalance in a romantic relationship. Then we learn that, oh yes, in fact he does, but he just wants to be the one with the power. (He stirs the sort of feelings in me that usually crop up when I rant about the Pilgrims.)
The romance in the movie totally fails because Jerry is so unsympathetic to begin with. Then he begins his romance with Lise in a vaguely predatory way. My daughter kept calling out ways in which his tactics gave her the creeps, and you know, she was right.
So it’s really hard to get invested in Jerry’s romance with Lise because we go into it not liking Jerry much. And then we don’t really see a romance evolve or develop between them on screen. I personally came away with the idea that Lise wasn’t ready to get married and didn’t feel romantic love for the other guy, not that she was actually in love with Jerry. He’s just the alternative, the romantic notion that there’s freedom and life if she somehow escapes from her intended union and manages to remain in Paris.
The other issue I had, that I just couldn’t seem to shake, is that Jerry is a pretty lousy artist. But he’s such a phenomenal dancer, and he’s constantly singing and dancing. Now, yes, I understand it’s a musical. But because Jerry is played by Gene Kelly, his dancing is so conspicuously good, and he is always doing it all the time with everybody! We hardly ever see him lift a paint brush! What makes this even worse is that he’s often hanging around with his best friend Adam who is constantly playing the piano because Oscar Levant really is a talented musician. If you cast a superb piano player as a superb piano player, why try to convince us that a magnificent dancer is a painter? It shouldn’t matter so much, but I kept wishing that in distancing himself from Milo, Jerry would discover that his actual talent lay in dancing. Then he and Lise could begin a new life being dancers together. And during that journey, they could grow closer and fall in love. But that part of the movie just never happened.
Overall:
For its inventive musical numbers, An American in Paris is a must watch. I’m glad I’ve finally seen it. But if you’re looking for a romantic comedy, you might to watch anything else instead. My daughter hasn’t shown me her updated rankings yet, but midway through the film, she groaned, “Please don’t tell me they’ll fall in love. It will be worse than Cimarron.” I don’t think she liked this one much.