An American In Paris (1951)

Growing up, I always preferred Fred Astaire to Gene Kelly.  Thinking about it tonight, I realised the oddness of that.  Kelly is a more obvious choice for a young girl to swoon over, whether the focus be on his looks or his dancing.  And, don't get me wrong, I was healthily obsessed with Kelly.  But I think my father introduced me to Astaire first, so he always took first place.  Plus, Astaire always seemed a bit more of a gentleman.  Apparently Cyd Charisse once said that her husband could always tell which of them she had been working with that day - if she was covered in bruises, it was Kelly, if not, then it was Astaire.

Despite growing up with substantial exposure to the golden age of MGM musicals, I didn't watch An American In Paris as a kid.  I didn't really feel the need to.  I have a VHS of the documentary That's Entertainment (coming up later), which includes an edited version of the final ballet from this film.  I'd heard that it was nearly 20 minutes long, and at that age I wasn't terribly interested in the whole thing.  Plus, from what I saw, Leslie Caron wasn't a patch on Charisse.  So why bother?

Consequently, I've only seen this film a couple of times.  I must admit, I agree with those who say it's a bit of an overrated vanity piece.  That's not to say that it isn't good, it's just not quite the masterpiece it seems to think it is.  Visually it's a work of art, but where's the spirit?

Watching it tonight, it turns out that my favourite part of the whole thing is our introduction to Kelly in his apartment.  His movements around the small space are so casually graceful, an elegant version of a morning routine, and I loved the subtlety of it.  I actually thought to myself that it would be a shame if my favourite dance sequence was in the first 10 minutes, but it turns out that that was the case.

I almost feel that I'm betraying my love for Kelly by saying the above!  He shines in this film, he always does.  There's few things as delightful as Gene Kelly when he's delighted.  He just seems to be taking himself a bit too seriously in this one.  And Caron, to me, lacks the fire that it's fun to see Kelly up against.

Final Thought:  There sure was a lot of vocal vibrato in the 1950s.

Up Next:  Anchorman (2004)