Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933, Mervyn LeRoy) (Patreon)

78/100

Somehow mentally confused this "franchise" (if that's applicable) with the Broadway Melody films—I guess because both used "of [year]" in lieu of a numeral. In any case, I sat down expecting a nearly plotless musical revue (all I was aware of going in were Busby Berkeley and "We're in the Money") and was instead treated to a superb pre-Code farce, as well as another welcome reminder of female actors' predominance in the early '30s. Fascinating to see Ginger Rogers, just pre-Astaire, trying the era's proto-screwball mannerisms on for size; don't think I've ever seen her as blithely motormouthed as she is here, and she pulls it off well even if that persona retroactively seems "out of character" for her. Aline MacMahon, with whom I'm largely unfamiliar, crushes the potentially demeaning role of the "older" (she was all of 34), brutally cynical dame, spitting out acid one-liners as if she were reflux incarnate. ("I'll make 'em laugh at you starvin' to death, honey," the producer assures her. “It'll be the funniest thing you ever did." "You ever see me ride a pony?") It's been too many years since I last saw 42nd Street, but this is the irresistible Ruby Keeler I vaguely remember, making earnestness more appealing than you'd think possible. But the film mostly belongs to Joan Blondell, who expertly walks the exceedingly thin active-Depression line between economic resentment and escapist fantasy. From what I can gather, earlier versions of the story (onstage and on screen), while broadly similar, didn't feature one showgirl allowing herself to be mistaken for another; that's the innovation that generates real sparks, as Carol struggles to reconcile her contempt on Polly's behalf with her own feelings. Kinda suggests that The Women could've used some men after all.

Of course, Gold Diggers of 1933 is also a musical, though I'm not surprised to learn that transforming it into one was probably Jack Warner's belated idea. (I'm not gonna have anything useful to say about LeRoy, a director whose signature, if indeed he has one, has thus far eluded me.) Berkeley does his spectacular thing, from conveyor-belt staging to glow-in-the-dark violins (the bit where they form one giant violin is amazing); with the Hays Code not yet active, he was able to suggest such memorably risqué imagery as apparent silhouetted nudity, in keeping with dialogue that often falls just shy of equating "showgirl" with "sex worker." Could have come across as exploitative, I suppose, but these women (with the possible exception of Rogers' Fay) are too savvy and self-assured for that to register as a real issue. In any case, the four numbers we get are all that's necessary, and each has its uniquely kitschy charms, even if—and here I get to feel super-vindicated, at least in my own mind—they're in the wrong order. Gold Diggers' rushed, unsatisfying conclusion (of the various couples' narratives) is its one glaring flaw; in particular, it's not at all credible that Lawrence would abruptly change his mind simply because the cop he found to annul his brother's marriage turns out to be an actor. And before anything can get even start to get ironed out, we're suddenly in "Remember My Forgotten Man," a song that accurately reflects the national mood but has zilch to do with anything that just happened to the characters. Such a bizarre decision, I thought...and guess what, it wasn't supposed to be there. More money-man meddling. "Forgotten Man" had originally been placed roughly mid-film (not long after we initially hear Brad composing it), with "Pettin' in the Park" intended as the finale. That makes far more sense, even if swapping the two would still leave some crucial dialogue unspoken. (I assume something got cut when the switch was made.) Can't imagine that this problem got fixed in 1935 or 1937, given that 1933 proved to be Warner's biggest hit that year. And it's really just a mild annoyance, not unlike, say, Dick Powell. (Shots fired!)