Movie Review: A Song is Born * Danny Kaye * Benny Goodman * 1948

When I saw that TCM was airing a Danny Kaye movie featuring Benny Goodman, Louis Armstrong, Lionel Hampton, Tommy Dorsey, and Charlie Barnet, and when I read that the plot was based on the premise of a musicologist falling in love with a mobster's fiancee, I thought to myself "This might be the most brilliant and artistically satisfying movie ever made." As readers will soon discover, the operative word was "might."

By the end, I was wondering a) how I'd watched the whole thing, b) why I'd watched the whole thing, and c) how this unfortunate piece of theatre, with such a humiliatingly bad script, was accomplished without muppets.

The plot of 1948's A Song is Born is tantalizingly zany. Danny Kaye is a musicologist at a privately funded institute, consisting of six other scholars, one of whom is played by a mustachioed Benny Goodman. Some window washers, portrayed by black actors who dance across the line between eye-rolling and offensive stereotype of the era, introduce the cloistered bunch of 'long hairs' to jazz. Kaye decides to investigate his own culture that evening, running into red headed chanteuse Honey Swanson, played by Virginia Mayo, who, despite her obvious talent and brave effort, cannot rescue this film.

Because of her involvement with the notorious mobster, Tony Crow, Swanson needs to temporarily seduce Kaye and his musicological cronies, who end up seeming like a bizarre parody of the Seven Dwarfs (we'll call them Danny, Chubby, Benny, Boring, Schnelly, Verdi and Germany) to her slinky Snow White.  Trouble ensues when she actually falls in love with her dupe. Of course, someone should have warned her that this happens to every red head in every Danny Kaye movie. But then again, Mayo also played most of them, so she should have known anyway.

The final scene is either one of the worst ever concocted, or an ingenious, if sinister template for every Muppet Movie ever made. Parents who have suffered through these 'extravaganzas' (and I use the term loosely) will know what I mean.

Now, in the annals of swing-era movies, there are many zany plotlines that obviously serve as mere excuses to feature great musicians. Some of these are so well done that the over-the-top musical scenes come as true spectacle--moments so improbable yet enjoyable that they make us smile and think "wouldn't it be nice if life was a little more like that?" Fred Astaire suddenly breaking out into a dance routine with Paulette Goddard in Second Chorus, Gene Kelly teaching Parisian kids to shim-sham in An American in Paris, and even the Harry James band straying through a parlour to serenade a soldier and his girl with "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen" in the supremely low-production-value war film, Private Buckaroo-- these moments have a bit of magic about them. While they aren't real, they charm us. There are no such moments in A Song is Born.  

Musically speaking, we hear Benny playing rather thin, insipid bits of the Brahms Quintet and Beethoven's opus 11, only to join the "hep cats" for a "jam session." His tone remains weak, his playing 'stiff' in an unfortunate bow to his character in the movie. Chief among the hep cats is Lionel Hampton, who seems to have been just about the only musician in the film to actually attempt real music. The other notable is Mayo, whose opening song, while not the calibre of a true crooner of the era, nevertheless impresses as being actually musical. Dorsey gives us a sweet, predictable snippet of "I'm Gettin' Sentimental Over You", Satchmo sings and plays a bit--solidly professional, as usual--but not inspired, and Charlie Barnet honks his way through 'Cherokee' without ever seeming synchronized with the film. Benny's "jam session" scene likewise seems almost entirely out of sync.    

Some of the humor seemed to have great potential--there is a need for a substantial parody of musical academia and ethnomusicology, for example, which this movie nearly falls into. But as with everything in this film, whenever its falls into anything, the script and acting do a collective face-plant, and the humor becomes fatally injured.   

I'm giving this movie a rating of  Four Broken Reeds. It was spared a fifth broken reed on account of Virginia Mayo's valiant attempt at acting, and Danny Kaye's moment near the end when he seals his legendary status with the template for Ralphie's fight scene in A Christmas Story. In short, any movie whose most convincing supporting actor is Benny Goodman is in deep trouble.



If you're looking for a night to watch "Mystery Jazz Theatre 3000" with your friends, this might be your flick. If not, to spend the evening alone while solemnly contemplating the demise of our culture would be both more constructive and more artistically satisfying.

Movie Review: The Dancing Co-Ed * Lana Turner * Artie Shaw * 1939

Once upon a time, jazz clarinetists were so big they starred in Hollywood movies. Or at least Artie Shaw took a prominent place in a couple of films: 1939's The Dancing Co-Ed, and Second Chorus, a 1941 film featuring the dancing team of Fred Astaire and Paulette Goddard.

The later film is better known to Shaw fans. Fred Astaire's enduring popularity kept it in public view for decades on television, and when the time came, it was released in VHS and DVD format promptly. Featuring a good amount of music, including clips of Shaw's "Concerto for Clarinet", his original tune "Love of My Life" and several other numbers, well spaced throughout the movie, it's an ideal place to find footage of Shaw's physical approach to the clarinet.

By contrast, there isn't as much Shaw in The Dancing Co-Ed. Conceived as vehicle for MGM's newest girl star, Lana Turner (who a year later became Mrs. Artie Shaw), the plot is a gentle romantic comedy in the 1930s screw-ball tradition, interspersed with mild dance numbers.

For fans for Artie Shaw, the highlight will be another take of "Traffic Jam" performed by the famous "Stardust Band" of 1938-39. The rest of the movie will seem more like a tease, throwing out snippets of Nightmare, Non-Stop Flight, I'm Coming Virginia, Double Mellow, Jungle Drums, Back Bay Shuffle, and others. Like Benny Goodman's role in Hollywood Hotel, we jazz aficionados have to wait a long time before our hero takes the limelight, and when he does, it isn't for long. 

Besides "Traffic Jam", the musical highlight for me is an over-the-top-Hollywood moment where the Shaw Band joins a parade, with Artie playing an obbligato solo over "Stars and Stripes Forever." While others might find this a moment of eye-rolling endurance, for me the opportunity to hear Shaw take a casual chorus over Sousa is worth the price of the DVD by itself.

I've watched this movie a few times over the last several weeks. I bought it for Shaw's playing, expecting little more than fluff from the rest of the movie. But I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the rest of the film. Most of these sorts of films feel like extended music videos held together by rushed bits and pieces of plot. Some of the very best performances from swing era musicals (think Harry James's Private Buckaroo or the aforementioned Hollywood Hotel) can sometimes leave a lot to be desired beyond the band numbers.

But in this movie, Lana Turner is great, and so are the rest of the cast. She plays the role of Patty Marlow, a young professional hoofer without a name for herself, who has been planted at a large Mid-Western University for the purpose of winning a major studio's dance competition--all to ratchet up publicity for the coming movie. Trouble ensues when school-newspaper reporter Michael "Pug" Braddock, played by a bright-faced and earnest Richard Carlson, suspects the competition to be rigged. The two main characters fall inevitably in love, and the movie becomes a comedic parable of young love, lies, truth telling, and consequences.

Turner's charisma and charm carry the movie for 84 minutes, and while the clarinetists in the audience might be left wishing for more Shaw, the balance between comedy, plot, and music seems close to being right. For those of us weary of the increasingly cynical, dreary, and immoral nature of our current Hollywood romances, this movie is like a breath of fresh air. There is something charming hearing a dress which would be tame by current network TV standards referred to as a "homewrecker", for instance. There is nothing stodgy about this movie: its moral framework enables the young lovers to be effervescent instead of cynical, free instead of lost. Because of this, it's worth preserving for even non-musical reasons. Yet also because of this, for the jazz musician these films are more than an exercise in nostalgia--they are an aesthetic training ground, providing cultural context for the tunes we call "standards."

 In terms of practical music making, I consider it very important to watch these old films. In my opinion, seeing a great player can be as important as hearing them--watching Artie Shaw and Harry James has probably had as big an impact on my playing (especially my breathing) as the transcribing I've done.

I give this movie a rating of Four Good Reeds on the strength of the script and overall acting, which is charming and withstands repeated viewings quite well. A fifth good reed would have been added, if only Shaw and his band could have played more. Any way you cut it, though, this one is a keeper and a classic.

[ As a footnote, yesterday I was subjected to nearly three hours of orc-slaying inanity under the name of "The Hobbit". In the aftermath of that bizarre experience, I couldn't help reflecting on what the whole film would have been like had Lana Turner showed up at Bilbo's door, dressed as Patty Marlow. My bet is that Gandalf and thirteen dwarves would have blushed, stumbled for words, and left quietly, with Thorin Oakenshield perhaps mugging the camera on his way out to whisper "What's in your wallet?" sheepishly. Then Lana could sit in the parlour, turn on the "wireless" and introduce a deeply embarrassed Bilbo to the music of Artie Shaw. Is it too late to make this revision? Someone please call Peter Jackson.]