He’s Got Rhythm
HE’S
GOT
RHYTHM
The Life and Career of
GENE
KELLY
Cynthia Brideson
& Sara Brideson
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Copyright © 2017 by The University Press of Kentucky
Scholarly publisher for the Commonwealth,
serving Bellarmine University, Berea College, Centre College of Kentucky, Eastern Kentucky University, The Filson Historical Society, Georgetown College, Kentucky Historical Society, Kentucky State University, Morehead State University, Murray State University, Northern Kentucky University, Transylvania University, University of Kentucky, University of Louisville, and Western Kentucky University.
All rights reserved.
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Unless otherwise noted, photos are from the authors’ collection.
Cataloging-in-Publication data available from the Library of Congress
ISBN 978-0-8131-6934-7 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN 978-0-8131-6935-4 (epub)
ISBN 978-0-8131-6936-1 (pdf)
This book is printed on acid-free paper meeting the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence in Paper for Printed Library Materials.
Manufactured in the United States of America.
Member of the Association of
American University Presses
This book is dedicated to our father, Mark Brideson (March 19, 1962–October 14, 2015). Though not typically a fan of musicals, he loved Gene Kelly’s work and would never miss a chance to watch one of Gene’s films with us. Thank you, Daddy, for all the encouragement and love you gave us.
In memory of Sara Brideson, who passed away on January 23, 2017. Sara’s passion for Gene Kelly’s work was the spark behind this book. Her love for and loyalty to her family and friends will never be forgotten.
Contents
Introduction: Ballet Dancer and Swaggering Tough
Part 1. “Who wants a choreographer from Pittsburgh?” 1912–1941
1. The Reluctant Dancer
2. A Depression-Era Kid
3. Kelly Mania
4. “It wasn’t elegant, but it’s me”
5. The Time of His Life
6. Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered
Part 2. Riding on a Rocket: 1941–1957
7. At the MGM University
8. New Heights
9. “I’m asking for the Navy”
10. The American Line
11. A Flaming Trail of Masculinity
12. The Renaissance Man
13. You Can Count on Me
14. Who Could Ask for Anything More?
15. Laughing at Clouds
16. What a Day This Has Been
17. The Unhappy Road
Part 3. Still Going Strong: 1957–1972
18. A Hundred Million Miracles
19. “I wear so many hats”
20. Looking for Enchantment
Part 4. Ambassador of His Art: 1972–Present
21. True Talent Shows Itself in Kindness
22. Contemporary Yet Timeless
Epilogue: Think of Him and Smile
Acknowledgments
Appendix A: Selected Stage Work
Appendix B: Selected Filmography
Appendix C: Selected Television Work
Notes
Selected Bibliography
Index
Photographs follow page 232
Introduction
Ballet Dancer and
Swaggering Tough
“There is about him and his artistry the wonderment of childhood, the sad searching loneliness which seeks companionship in the fairyland of the imagination. It is an abiding, cherished faith in make-believe.”1 This portrait of Gene Kelly, penned in 1946 by a columnist for Photoplay magazine, seems inapplicable to a man who had a “worldly, hard quality,” according to lyricist/playwright/screenwriter Adolph Green, and the propensity to come across as “cocky” and “jaw-jutting.”2 Even more alien to a land of make-believe was the man’s appearance. He bore a small, crescent-shaped scar on his left cheek; his five-foot-nine, 155-pound frame was muscular and compact. His reedy tenor voice bore traces of his urban Pittsburgh roots. He dressed in khakis, T-shirts or sweatshirts, loafers, and a baseball cap pulled over his slick black hair. Even when dressed in top hat and tails, he, in his own words, still looked “like a truck driver.”3 If provoked, his brown eyes could shoot “a lethal glance that packs a wallop.”4
However, columnist Alyce Canfield noted, “There [was] a certain gentleness about him . . . he’s a kind man, a sincere and honorable person. A gentleman.” He was the type who removed his cap when ladies were present in an elevator. The moment he grinned, his lethal glance and worldly hardness vanished. His teeth were perfectly white; his eyes crinkled at the corners. With the appearance of his smile, suddenly, he had about him a “mischievous likeability. . . . His eyes twinkle and you forgive him anything.”5 Pair his smile with the impromptu balletic pirouettes or athletic jigs he was inclined to do at any given moment, and one might be persuaded that this man could indeed cross into the “fairyland of the imagination.”
Equally adept at ballet and straight hoofing, he was also a formidable player of nearly every American sport. In addition, he was a master choreographer and actor, could speak several languages, and might spend hours discussing politics, philosophy, and American history. He called himself an average Joe, but he was anything but ordinary for more reasons than his remarkable intellect: he single-handedly made dance one of America’s favorite pastimes. Melding his athletic prowess with his balletic training, he altered the notion that dancing was only for women or effete males.
Gene himself went so far as to call his brand of dancing “a man’s game.” He explained: “I knew I couldn’t stay with straight classical ballet. I had to create something of my own. . . . I had to express manliness and strength and Cokes and hot dogs and football and basketball and jazz. You can’t do it with a port de bras.”6 Though Gene Kelly did indeed create his own style, he took inspiration from dancers and choreographers before him. He admired the common-man persona, cocky strut, and integration of dance and plot that Irish American dancer/playwright/producer George M. Cohan developed in his productions of the 1900s–1920s. Gene expanded the ideas of Russian-born choreographer George Balanchine, who introduced modernistic balletic expressionism on Broadway in the 1930s. Finally, he adopted choreographer Robert Alton’s thesis that every dance should tell a story and have a purpose for being, a theory Alton put to use throughout the 1930s and 1940s onstage and in film.
Still, Gene Kelly was not a copyist. He perfected his art into a uniquely American style—one that combined rhythms from Harlem to Ireland and the grace of ballet with the earthiness of folk. His style was so broad in scope that he was in his lifetime and remains to new generations of admirers one of the few stars “adored by young people and old, men and women.”7 Gene’s wife of fifteen years, Betsy Blair, concluded that he wanted to “democratize dance. He wanted to bring it to the whole world.”8
From 1942 to 1956, Gene Kelly came to symboli
ze the American Dream and the confidence and optimism of the postwar nation. Through his films, he spread more happiness and hope than any other dancer of his time. In Cover Girl (1944), he urged audiences to “make way for tomorrow” while skipping down a Brooklyn street. In Anchors Aweigh (1945), he banished worry from a somber cartoon kingdom through song and dance. As a sailor on twenty-four-hour leave, he cavorted through Manhattan in On the Town (1949). He tapped through bistros in An American in Paris (1951) and laughed at clouds while splashing through a storm in Singin’ in the Rain (1952). More than anything else, his mass appeal stemmed from his ability to transform the commonplace into the spectacular. A rain puddle, a mop, or a newspaper could reach the status of art when incorporated in his dance. Just as he could dance with anything, Gene could dance with anyone: girl-next-door Judy Garland, femme fatale Cyd Charisse, Jerry the Mouse, a group of French children, and even himself in his double-exposure “Alter Ego” routine in Cover Girl.
Gene was arguably the most winning screen personality of the twentieth century—a man “men wanted to be and women wanted to be with” and whose lack of pretension immediately put children at ease.9 But he was a man of unusual complexity. He shunned Hollywood society, studio politics, and glamour yet fumed at those who scorned the film industry that had made them rich. In spite of the wealth he amassed in Hollywood, he maintained a humble lifestyle and was a devoted family man. Wary of any sort of regimentation, Gene questioned set religious and political beliefs but still called himself a Catholic and a Democrat. Yet, “whatever the subject, [he] supports an open mind without for a moment yielding his own convictions.”10
Gene’s complexity only grows upon further examination. Though willing to hear all viewpoints and believing that prejudice was akin to cowardice, he was exclusive when it came to whom he did and did not accept into his social circle. To gain Gene’s acceptance, one had to possess both talent and intelligence. Gene made his Beverly Hills home a haven for ex–New Yorkers or any creative person who was in but not of Hollywood. At parties he hosted, often he sat back and drank whiskey, performing only if others performed. Contrarily, the “cocky, jaw-jutting” side of his personality often emerged. He would engage in fiercely competitive games of charades or volleyball. Gene, who once said that to him second best was nothing, could not abide losing—and he never hesitated to show his temper when he did. Film historian Rudy Behlmer admitted that “Kelly could be difficult” but argued that “he was not alone, good people, really good people, could be difficult on occasion.”11
Gene rarely became “difficult” unless he was dissatisfied with himself. According to his frequent co-director Stanley Donen, “He was aware that he had a very special gift and that he wanted to show it in the best possible way. He drove himself very hard. He was very nervous about his singing voice though, and would get hoarse from nerves when he had to record.”12 As hard as he was on himself, he was equally hard on his colleagues. He had little patience for amateurs, which earned him the reputation of a taskmaster. MGM musical director/composer/lyricist Johnny Green observed, “Gene is easygoing as long as you know exactly what you are doing when you’re working with him. . . . If you want to play on his team you better love hard work too. He isn’t cruel but he is tough.”13
Though Gene’s screen presence is nearly always ebullient, his intensity particularly comes through in his solo numbers. The dances he choreographed himself possessed a dimension of introspection that numbers by other musical performers of the era lacked. For instance, at the close of his “Alter Ego” number in Cover Girl, he smashes a window to rid himself of his argumentative reflection. Other notably meditative routines include a tap dance in a barn in Summer Stock (1950) and portions of the cinematic ballets he designed for On the Town, An American in Paris, and Singin’ in the Rain. During these sequences, he stands alone in darkness, suddenly separated from a merry crowd or amid people and things he feels are unobtainable. Betsy Blair explained that he “wanted to express the simplest but also the most complex emotions” through dance.14
Gene was similarly subject to introspection offscreen. Friends and family noted that he could sometimes lapse into silence and stare ahead, broodingly. Nevertheless, his eldest daughter, Kerry, claimed Gene was the only adult she ever knew who was never in analysis.15 For Gene, the process of creating was his therapy. Staging dances was essentially a way for him to make sense of both his own personal demons and the greater problems of the world. “Dancing is much more than mere exhibition. It’s a complete art in itself, both visually and emotionally,” Gene asserted.16
Gene succeeded in making dance more than show; indeed, he was a pivotal player in the creation of the integrated film musical. Because he worked at the greatest studio of Hollywood’s golden era, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and was part of the studio’s most prestigious production unit, led by producer Arthur Freed, Gene had ample opportunity to innovate. He combined his talent with those of directors such as Vincente Minnelli, Stanley Donen, and Charles Walters and composers and screenwriters including Alan Jay Lerner, Betty Comden, and Adolph Green. At the height of his success at MGM, he had become, according to musical director Johnny Green, “the Neil Armstrong of MGM. He enjoyed great respect and admiration, and in [producer] Arthur Freed he had a powerful ally. It was almost a father-son relationship with the father having a near-reverence for the son.”17
Freed’s career-long goal was to change the formulaic stories and stage-bound look of musicals. He found in Gene an enthusiastic avenue through which to do it. Interviewer Graham Fuller stated in 1994 that “Kelly’s streetwise, Everyman figure” did most “to liberate the [musical] genre from its ‘putting on a show’ tradition.”18 Gene brought the musical into the real world; the plots of his films took on more weight and the characters had more dimension. It was at his insistence that On the Town became the first musical to be filmed on location. Aside from adding authenticity to the settings of his pictures, Gene changed the look of musicals by creating dances that could not be replicated on the stage—a technique now known as cinedance. Director Busby Berkeley preceded Gene in the creation of musical numbers meant solely for the screen, but Berkeley’s routines are less dance and more brilliant use of camera angles. Gene took Berkeley’s work a step further by employing both dance and innovative camera work.
Today, the remarkable breadth of Gene Kelly’s work is overshadowed by the singular image of a euphoric man “dancin’ and singin’ in the rain.” Similarly, Gene Kelly’s life and achievements, particularly after he left MGM in 1956, are all but forgotten. He was a man who wore as many hats professionally as he did personally. He was a choreographer, director, comedian, dramatist, singer, ballet dancer, and tap dancer. He was a father, husband, devoted son, naval lieutenant, and political activist. His character was complex: he has been variously described as a brutally competitive sportsman and a pensive intellectual, an egotist and a shy, self-deprecating man. No matter what hat he wore, Gene’s overarching goal in whatever endeavor he undertook—personal or professional—was to make the world a place where fascination, idealism, and sincerity were not just for children.
“If you’re making musicals for a mass audience, with few exceptions your goal is to bring joy,” Gene explained. “And if you can lift the audience and make them happy for a few minutes, then the dance has done its work.”19 It is telling that Gene, in spite of his social conscience, quick temper, and occasional dark moods, chose as the ideal musical not one of his own works or a weighty, moralizing picture. The picture to hold that title was Vincente Minnelli’s nostalgic work Meet Me in St. Louis (1944), a story told through the eyes of an impish five-year-old child. “That is a picture that is seamless, touching, marvelous—the wedding of song and story,” Gene told interviewer Michael Singer.20
Gene Kelly’s life, remarkably scandal free, was a highly private one and thus presents an exceptional challenge for biographers. However, by utilizing previously untapped primary sources and hundreds of newspaper and magazine ar
ticles written during and after his lifetime, this book, the first comprehensive biography written since Gene Kelly’s death in 1996, endeavors to give a balanced, in-depth view of one of filmdom’s most enduring icons. The text focuses not only on his most famous work but on his lengthy career before and after his time in Hollywood. Above all, the book ventures to illustrate the many dimensions of Gene Kelly the person. He never stopped believing in the fantasies of boyhood, but at the same time he was grounded in reality by a deep-seated compulsion to push himself and others to achieve a perfection he claimed never to have found. Little wonder it is, then, that his daughter Kerry noted that the resolution of any story in her father’s life and work “always takes place through fantasies and dreams.”21 And yet, what made Gene Kelly a true original was his ability to take the world of imagination and make one believe it was tangible. This is the story of the dreamer, the realist, the “ballet dancer and swaggering tough” who was Gene Kelly.22
Part 1
“Who wants a
choreographer from
Pittsburgh?”
1912–1941
1
The Reluctant Dancer
When one thinks of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, almost inevitably the first image summoned is that of an industrial city built on steel and coal. If the context is entertainment, one’s mind naturally wanders to the Pittsburgh Pirates, two-time World Series champions. Eugene Curran Kelly, an intellectual ballet dancer endowed with equal parts charm and temper, is not a man one would think of as the typical Pittsburgh citizen. However, according to one journalist in 1993, Gene Kelly is one of Pittsburgh’s “favorite sons.”1
In history books and to scholars of American history, the names Andrew Carnegie and J. P. Morgan may spell Pittsburgh, but those men were not native to the city and thus can never hold as cherished a place in its history as Gene Kelly. Among the many reasons Pittsburghers still revere Gene is because he, until the day of his death, never lost his regard for the city. “Pittsburgh’s a swell town,” he said. “I was born there and I love the town and I love the people. And it isn’t so doggone dirty as people make out, either.”2 Gene’s most vivid—and fondest—memories find their source in Pittsburgh. “I don’t think adult experiences can come up to childhood for sheer excitement. Everything is an adventure then, imagination is unfettered.”3
He's Got Rhythm: The Life and Career of Gene Kelly (Screen Classics) Page 1