Movies I'm thankful for: Singin' in the Rain
Oh, what a glorious feeling!
Randomly throughout November, I’m hoping to take some time to post about movies I’m thankful for. Some of these may be reposts of pieces I’m proud of that no longer exist on the internet (so I’m doubly thankful for this newsletter for letting giving me the opportunity to resurrect them). This is one of them. I hope you enjoy it.
Is Singin’ in the Rain the most badass movie ever made?
I know what you’re thinking: The Gene Kelly one where he dances on a lightpost? A nearly 70-year-old musical comedy? What could be badass about that?
Well, consider the following:
Kelly was sick when filming the iconic and titular musical number; he shot it, soaked to the bone, with a fever of 103 degrees.
Debbie Reynolds was not known for her dance experience and often had to endure verbal abuse from Kelly. When she filmed the dance number for “Good Morning” with Kelly and Donald O’Connor, they shot from 8 a.m. until 11 p.m. By the end of it, her feet were bleeding.
O’Connor’s manic “Make ‘Em Laugh” routine was filmed over one day. O’ Connor, who was smoking four packs of cigarettes a day at time, was so exhausted that he spent a week in the hospital. When he got out, he found out he had to film the scene again because an accident caused all the material originally shot to be unusable.
Now consider this: In each of those scenes, everything looks effortless. It’s not just that the stars committed to every grueling routine; it’s that they do it with smiles. Never once do you see them sweat. Despite — or maybe because of — all this arduous work, Singin’ in the Rain drips with joy, and is one of the most purely pleasurable movies ever made.
What a glorious feeling
Singin’ in the Rain is the story of Don Lockwood (Kelly), one of silent cinema’s brightest stars, who headlines a series of formulaic but popular romances with co-star Lina Lamont (Jean Hagen) and has made his fame alongside musician Cosmo Brown (O’Connor). Their superstardom is challenged when The Jazz Singer brings sound to motion pictures, especially since Lamont’s voice sounds like a dog’s chew toy. On top of that, Lockwood’s also falling for aspiring actress Kathy Selden (Reynolds), who rattled his confidence after helping him escape from some adoring fans.
I hadn’t seen Singin’ in the Rain since childhood, and while I remember enjoying it, I always had a memory of it as a fluffy and kind of naïve celebration of the Hollywood dream factory. That’s a testament to the movie’s charms, but it also colored my perception of it as something childish and silly. But “Singin’ in the Rain” is actually very perceptive about the movie industry and punctures the balloon of stardom while still giving us one of the great movie star performances of all time.
Many silent film stars did, in fact, find their careers challenged when movies started talking, and directors often struggled with placing microphones or getting their actors to stand still long enough for the sound to be caught. The movie plays these scenes for effective comedy, such as the long sequence where the crew struggles to place the microphone in the right place — and then to get Lina to talk into the mic. A disastrous screening where the sound goes off-sync in Lamont and Lockwood’s big romantic moment is still very funny. Singin’ in the Rain might indulge in fantasy — the thought of revamping a florid melodrama into a full-blown musical in six weeks must give real-life producers ulcers — but it all works because the film is grounded in Hollywood reality.
It’s also not naïve about the way Hollywood manufactures narratives about its stars to keep the public invested. The film opens at the premiere for the latest Lockwood/Lamont romance, and right away the movie winks at the idea of spotless matinee idols. Lockwood spins a yarn about his rise to fame, which is pitched as a regal and dedicated ascension (“Dignity. Always dignity”) that the film, through witty flashbacks, shows to be half-truths. Likewise, the public is dying to know whether Lockwood and Lamont are as in love in real life as they are in their films; in reality, they hate each other. While the gags are fun at the start, they also provide the setup for the film, in which controlling the truth about Lamont’s voice (and keeping Selden’s dubbing under wraps) will propel the plot.
Singin’ in the Rain is one of many movies about the movies, but what makes it one of the best is that it manages to laugh at Hollywood culture without succumbing to cynicism (I love Sunset Boulevard, but that’s a movie where you leave feeling like you need a bath). Its tone is always good-natured, and there’s the feeling that “sure, this might all be fake, but isn’t it fun?” It’s one of the great “putting on a show” movies, where the thrill is in knowing that all this fakery and work can result in something magical. Singin’ in the Rain is joyful not simply because of its story but because we’re watching a celebration of hard work, creativity and genius on display.
If you’re enjoying this newsletter, can I ask a favor? Share it with a movie-loving friend of yours. I want to broaden this conversation and bring more people aboard, and would love to welcome new subscribers.
They don’t make them like this anymore
The movie musical is currently experiencing a resurgence, stemming from the surprise success of The Greatest Showman and exploding this year with In the Heights, Dear Evan Hansen and West Side Story. I enjoy many of these films, but watching Singin’ in the Rain reminds you that when someone says “they don’t make ‘em like they used to,” this is what they’re talking about.
Director Stanley Donen films the hell out of every musical number. The best dance scenes often evoke the same response as a martial arts routine, amazing us at the potential of the human body, and the grace and beauty of the dancers. If modern musicals include any dancing, they are often full of quick edits and tight shots (maybe to disguise the use of stunt doubles). Donen shoots many of the sequences at wide angles, always showing us the dancers’ feet and keeping geography in mind, reminding us that real people are doing this.
Several dance scenes feel almost like action sequences, particularly the madcap “Make ‘em Laugh,” where O’Connor flips, jumps and cartwheels, practically pummeling himself to make us smile. His coordination with Kelly in “Moses Supposes” is another highlight; my jaw was often on the floor watching the two work together. Often, the actors seem to be looking right into the camera as if they’re acknowledging that they’re performing just for us.
There are other scenes where the combination of song and dance is transcendent, evoking a lightness and joy that radiates off the screen. Few movie moments are as carefree as when Kelly saunters about in a downpour, although “Good Morning” is another happy cinematic moment. I don’t know if the story really needed to stop for the extended “Broadway Melody” moment, but I’m so glad it did — this Technicolor ode to the stage, its stars and Cyd Charisse’s legs is pure bliss. It also helps that not only are the actors at the height of their talent, but that the film also contains one of the most memorable songbooks in history.
When the songs stop (which is rare), you still have Kelly and Reynolds’ wonderful chemistry, O’Connor’s manic charisma and Hagen’s on-point comedy (made even better knowing that, in reality, Hagen had a beautiful voice). The film is witty and romantic, every scene bathed in beautiful colors, and every moment containing a pithy line, eye-popping dance routine or hummable melody. Is it deep? Who cares? It’s one of the most joyful and entertaining things ever put before human eyes. Sometimes, you don’t need anything more.