So they’re calling it ‘The Great Recession’, which is catchy, and a handy way to capture the economical malaise we’re in without imagining that we have it as hard as those Grapes of Wrath folks.
One of the wild statistics that has Hollywood all in a flurry is that DVD sales are evaporating while box office sales remain strong. In other words, we don’t want to invest in DVDs, but we’re all hankering to take a break from our troubles in the movie theater. It won’t save Hollywood – DVD sales are what led to the movie industry’s own bubble economy – but it does help support the old saw that the entertainment industry is recession-proof.
Back in the 30’s, it was just the same. Even out of work and hungry, Americans flocked to the movie theater, and while they didn’t have Avatar to take them into another world, they did have their fair share of escapist entertainment. And if you think the movies of yore can’t provide just as much of an escape as the current technological wackness, you haven’t met Busby Berkeley.
Case in point: 1933’s 42nd Street.
The movie’s basically a backstage comedy about an attempt to put on a musical in the middle of the depression. We’re introduced rather quickly to the fact that these Broadway dancers are hired as much for the shapeliness of their legs as for whatever other talent they might have, and everybody knows it. As a seasoned stage manager says of a chorus girl regular: “Anytime Annie? Who could forget her? She only said ‘No’ once and even then she didn’t hear the question!”
Anytime Annie, incidentally, is played by Ginger Rogers, before she rose to greatness in her partnership with Fred Astaire. She’s joined by Oscar-winning Warner Baxter as the obsessive director, and Ruby Keeler as the ingénue. But the real star of the movie is Busby Berkeley.
The Coen Brothers tried their own “Busby Berkeley number” in The Big Lebowski and Stephen Spielberg tried it at the top of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, but neither of them came anywhere near the creativity, brilliance, and sheer extravagance of Busby Berkeley at his height. Only Matthew Barney’s Cremaster 1 has come close to matching Berkeley at his height.
Producer Mervyn LeRoy brought Berkeley on to punch up the musical numbers, but what he did with them is really difficult to describe. It’s like this: you’re going along, watching a normal musical number called “Shuffle Off to Buffalo,” in which Ruby Keeler and her man are singing onstage on a kind of prop train. A play within a movie, so to speak. So they’re singing along, and it all seems pretty normal…until the train splits in half. So then you can see inside the train and everyone’s singing along, and it’s okay until you’re pretty sure you just saw Ruby Keeler go behind a curtain and have an orgasm.
While you’re recovering from that, “Young and Healthy” starts. And somewhere around the part where the camera leaps above the dancers to capture the morphing geometric shapes they’re making with their legs as they spin and iris in rhythm to the music, you’re thinking to yourself: “Whoever made this was on drugs. Lots and lots of drugs.” Right when you get used to that notion, the camera drops down to the floor and begins to slide towards the open legs of a chorus girl.
I’m not even going to tell you what happens in the big number at the end. I’m still recovering.
For the trio of movies Busy Berkeley choreographed in 1933 – 42nd St, Footlight Parade (with James Cagney!), and Gold Diggers of 1933 – I absolutely grant you permission to skip to the big dance numbers. If you think “Young and Healthy” pushes the boundaries, wait till you’ve seen the “By a Waterfall” number in Footlight Parade. Beyond words.
So if the Great Recession’s got you down, go watch a bunch of Busby Berkeley dance numbers. I promise they’ll transport you into another world as sure as wearing funny glasses at the local IMAX.
Next week I’ll introduce you to the woman I want to marry. If I can find a time machine.
Check out last week’s Movies that Changed My Life
