As Gene plunged into his new assignments, he engaged in a competition with himself like that depicted in the “Alter Ego” dance. In Stanley Donen’s estimation, “When Gene’s on the job there’s no kidding around. . . . Gene has a creative genius that is never satisfied with a first attempt. He is constantly striving for new heights.”69
9
“I’m asking for the Navy”
Louis B. Mayer recognized that his studio was the best producer of musicals in Hollywood and therefore planned to funnel more money into producers and stars of musicals—Gene Kelly and Arthur Freed included. “They [MGM and Americans] wanted more musicals,” Arthur Freed reflected of Hollywood’s climate in 1944. “Musicals were selling.”1
Following the phenomenal success of Meet Me in St. Louis, Mayer appointed Freed as head of all musical productions on the Metro lot. Rival producers Joe Pasternak and Jack Cummings were displeased at the threat Freed’s power posed over their own endeavors. Director Vincente Minnelli later recalled Gene observing that, rather than worry about competing with each other, Freed, Pasternak, and Cummings should have “considered their real threat, those units specializing in dramatic films. A Greer Garson or Katharine Hepburn picture could be made at half the cost of a musical and grossed twice as much.” Minnelli asserted, “The only touchstone of the studio was success at the box office.”2 Because Freed’s track record at MGM had been full of record-breaking hits, he was appointed to head his own official unit, an honor usually given only to producers of high-grossing Hepburn- or Garson-type dramas.
“They [Pasternak and Cummings] weren’t units really in the sense that mine was,” Freed explained. “Every producer is different. . . . A creative producer like Irving Thalberg . . . made the picture.”3 Freed considered himself such a creative producer while Pasternak and Cummings were more passive and did not do a “lot of research” to make a superior end product.4 Freed’s appointment as head of musicals was good news for Gene Kelly; not only was Freed one of Gene’s greatest champions, but the men shared the same picture-making philosophy. Gene was never passive in creative matters. Also, both men were not afraid to fight for untraditional ideas that they believed would elevate a picture.
Gene and Freed meshed for more reasons besides their shared integrity. Like Gene, Freed shunned Hollywood norms when it came to personal appearance. From the flawless visions he put onto film and the romantic lyrics he penned, one would expect Freed to be suave, articulate, and immaculately dressed. However, according to his daughter, Barbara, Freed “was not someone you would have picked out as a writer of romantic lyrics.”5 Freed’s brashness, clumsiness, and untidy eating habits often overshadowed his romanticism. Members of his production unit were all too familiar with his less attractive characteristics. Each time Judy Garland saw him coming into the commissary, she declared: “Here comes the tank!”6 Betsy Blair recalled that the producer’s car was full of old food wrappers.7 Gene could also appear untidy, mostly due to his casual attire and general dislike of shaving. And yet the moment Gene began to dance, he became the embodiment of gracefulness and vigor, just as Freed became the personification of fine taste once he was in the producer’s seat. One way in which the men did differ was that Freed had a wandering eye whereas Gene was faithful to his wife. Freed carried on an affair with actress and dancer Lucille Bremer (who had appeared in Meet Me in St. Louis) and ensured she was conspicuously featured in his next film, Ziegfeld Follies.
Gene and Freed were ideal candidates to bring Ziegfeld Follies to life and make it reflective of MGM’s motto: Ars gratias artis. The film, designed to celebrate MGM’s twentieth anniversary, was studded with even more stars than comparable revues disguised as romantic musicals such as Thousands Cheer and the two 1944 pictures Two Girls and a Sailor (starring June Allyson, Gloria DeHaven, Van Johnson, José Iturbi, Lena Horne, and Jimmy Durante) and Bathing Beauty (starring Esther Williams, Red Skelton, Harry James, and Xavier Cugat). Given an unprecedented $3 million budget, the Follies had every reason to live up to its tagline: “Greatest Production since the Birth of Motion Pictures!” The alleged “greatest production” paid homage to Florenz Ziegfeld Jr., the Broadway producer commonly referred to as Freed’s theatrical predecessor.
“Arthur wasn’t just going to do a revue [with] the Ziegfeld Follies. He was going to go one step further. He was going to try his wings in other directions,” biographer Hugh Fordin commented.8 Ballet, satire, opera, and experimental modern dance—Freed’s revue included them all. The Follies was unique among World War II–era revues in that it made no allusions to the war. The picture was also distinct because, true to the spirit of Ziegfeld’s Follies, it carried no pretense of a plot. Rather, it was simply a progression of beauty and humor utilizing the best talents on the Metro lot. Aside from Gene, Judy Garland, Lena Horne, Lucille Ball, Red Skelton, Keenan Wynn, Kathryn Grayson, Fanny Brice, and Fred Astaire had signed to appear in the picture. Gene’s friends Robert Alton, Charles Walters, and Lennie Hayton were among the talents behind the scenes.
Directing the majority of the film was Vincente Minnelli. Like Gene and Freed, he was obsessive about his work and put research and every available ounce of energy into it. Though Gene and Freed found in him a kindred spirit, not everyone could cope with his work habits or outward appearance. Many whom Minnelli directed claimed they could never work with anyone else again because of his unparalleled artistic talent and ability to bring out actors’ best performances. But others refused to work with him a second time, so infuriating was his compulsive attention to detail. His odd appearance was enough to repel a number of actors and other colleagues as well. Minnelli’s weak chin, large nose, pop eyes, nervous facial tics, and use of makeup were enough to make Kathryn Grayson admit, “To tell the truth, I couldn’t really look at him.” The studio eventually had to request that Minnelli refrain from wearing obvious cosmetics on the set, particularly his favored green eye shadow. Most assumed he was a homosexual, but Judy Garland argued, “It’s just his artistic flair!”9
Minnelli’s fey quality seemed the norm in the Freed Unit. Red Skelton, strolling past a patch of pansies blooming on the MGM lot, pointed and quipped: “Look! It’s the Freed Unit!”10 Not only Minnelli and Roger Edens but also composer Conrad Salinger, Robert Alton, and Charles Walters were known or thought to be gay. Gene, despite his decidedly masculine dance style and personality, felt comfortable working with gay colleagues. Minnelli was no exception. He found in the director a fellow New Yorker who was as driven and intelligent as himself and who shared his goal of giving musicals more dimension. Their collaboration on Ziegfeld Follies was the beginning of a fruitful professional association.11 Though Minnelli and Gene became close friends, the director was seldom present at the Kellys’ open-house parties, preferring instead the quieter gatherings at Ira Gershwin’s home, to which most of his former New York colleagues (and Arthur Freed) gravitated. Minnelli and Judy Garland were not yet married at the time Ziegfeld Follies was in production; Judy was still a regular at Gene’s parties.
When Ziegfeld Follies began shooting in April 1944, Minnelli declared he was “eager to plow into more hard work.”12 His hardest task on the film proved to be directing Gene’s number, and for one extraordinary reason: Gene’s dancing partner was Fred Astaire.
“An urgent call came from my agent,” Fred Astaire recalled in his memoir. “Arthur Freed wanted to talk to me about several films and a term contract. I was soon to be a Metro player and very pleased about it.”13
By 1944, Fred had appeared in only one Metro film, Dancing Lady (1933), which also marked his screen debut. MGM executive Eddie Mannix, who had claimed Gene had no film potential, had felt the same way about Fred Astaire in the 1930s. A decade later, Mannix still held the same opinion of Fred. When Freed announced he was going to star the dancer in his new revue, Mannix demanded: “How can you photograph him? He’s so ugly!”14 Freed ignored him, just as he had ignored the man’s condemnations of Gene. Freed had every reason to be smug and sel
f-assured of his own intuition; indeed, Gene was now a heartthrob and, in Minnelli’s words “the hottest male dancer in town.”15
As different as forty-five-year-old Fred and thirty-two-year-old Gene were in appearance and dance style, critics made constant comparisons between the two. Both were well liked by their coworkers at the studio, even if their personalities contrasted as much as their techniques. Gene had an easily ignitable temper and used his work as a means of sorting out troubles in his private life. Fred Astaire was, according to actor/musician/wit Oscar Levant, not “in the least temperamental and he’s very considerate. . . . [He] would never use profanity. He’s rather prudish—a very cautious fellow about everything.”16 Gene observed that Fred conveyed his personality through his less demonstrative dance style. “Fred’s style is more introverted, close, tight, while mine is wider and more open. . . . My style is more proletarian while Fred’s is aristocratic.”17
Essayist John Updike further explained the men’s differing methods: “One cannot imagine Astaire . . . [doing] the sidewise scuffle on hands and feet that Kelly agilely lowers himself to in several films—and his screen persona was less partnerable. . . . His image left no space around it into which the moviegoing wife could project herself.”18 Gene’s image versus Fred’s was indeed the area in which they differed most. Fred was ethereal and buoyant whereas Gene was tangible and had gravity. Housewives may have been able to imagine themselves in Fred’s celestial onscreen world, but it was offscreen that they could see themselves with Gene. Jeanine Basinger concluded that women gave their hearts to Fred Astaire but saved their bodies for Gene Kelly.19
Neither Gene nor Fred was comfortable with the incessant comparisons between them. They had no desire to compete, but columnists could not help but set up a rivalry. Take, for instance, the following lines from Photoplay in June 1944: “After Cover Girl Gene Kelly is hailed as the greatest dance sensation since Fred Astaire and Mr. Astaire, cold to the press and aloof with the natives where Gene is warm and friendly, is looking slightly worried. He should.”20 Gene and Fred did what they could to defuse the fascination with their supposed competition. Fred claimed that Gene, unlike most dancers, gave him a kick while Gene, in a statement to Modern Screen, explained: “I think [Fred’s] a great artist. There’s a lot of things in his dancing I wish I had.”21
Perhaps columnists so enjoyed pitting Gene and Fred against each other because the men really did not have substantial competition from other male dancers at Metro or any other studio. Other musical stars, such as Bing Crosby, Bob Hope, and Frank Sinatra, won fame more through their singing than their dancing. George Murphy’s career was winding down and up-and-coming tap dancer Dan Dailey Jr. was barely starting to garner notice. Thus, Fred and Gene could easily have become unfriendly rivals for the place as top dancer in Hollywood.
Fred and Gene, in spite of their stylistic differences, shared some similarities. For one, both found that their height raised difficulties beside particularly tall costars. (Fred, at just over five nine, was only half an inch taller than Gene.) Though Fred exuded an air of gentility, he, like Gene, had been brought up in a humble Catholic household. Both also had controlling mothers who had prodded them to attend dancing schools against their wills. Finally, both climbed from performing in small-time settings to working for the crème de la crème of Broadway. Fred could list the Shubert Brothers and Florenz Ziegfeld Jr. among his ex-employers; Gene could name Billy Rose and George Abbott.
As his fame grew, Fred developed a dogged drive for perfectionism on a par with Gene’s. He spent seven to eight weeks perfecting any routine, yet was always convinced his talents left something to be desired.22 Fred also did not think highly of his social skills. He was shy around strangers and embarrassed when acquaintances or fans nodded to him on the street. Like Gene, he seldom frequented nightclubs and preferred to entertain in his own home.
For all Fred’s timidity, he was not hesitant to assert himself with Gene on the set of Ziegfeld Follies. “Fred was the senior partner and if I felt that there was any conflict or any doubt about any step, I would certainly defer to him,” Gene explained.23 His relationship with Fred was a reversal of that between himself and Stanley Donen, requiring Gene to take on a role he rarely filled—follower rather than leader. Fred insisted they do a skit based on a George Gershwin number entitled “The Babbitt and the Bromide.” Originally, he and Adele Astaire had performed it in Funny Face (1927). The routine shows two rather boring people meeting in a park at various stages throughout their lives. In Gene and Fred’s skit, they first meet as clean-shaven young men in white summer suits and straw boater hats. Then they meet as mustachioed middle-aged men in bow ties and derbies. Finally, they meet in heaven, bearded, dressed in evening clothes with carnations in their lapels and harps in their hands. With each meeting, they engage in the same banal conversation (in song, of course):
Hello!
How are you?
How’s the folks?
What’s new . . .24
Gene felt the number lacked vitality. In an attempt to avoid making the skit as boring as the men depicted in it, Minnelli enlivened the piece by changing the demeanor of a horse statue in the park with each meeting. He left the remainder of the scene for the dancers to choreograph. Fred was adamant about executing it in the same way he had in 1927. Arthur Freed later recalled that during filming of the sequence, Fred would come to him and say: “Gene’s so wonderful, but why does he want everything his own way?” Later the same day, Gene would unwittingly echo Fred: “I admire Fred so much, but why does he want everything his way?”25 If Gene had had his way, he and Fred would have abandoned the number altogether, instead dancing to a lively, modern Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane tune, “Pass That Peace Pipe.”
Minnelli declared that the fact Fred and Gene never again did another original feature film together was the “movie-goer’s loss.” Though he and Freed tried to interest them in future projects, “they didn’t work out.”26 One such project was Three Little Words, which was ultimately produced by Jack Cummings in 1947 with Astaire and Red Skelton as the stars. Still, Fred and Gene remained on friendly terms for the rest of their lives. Almost ten years after Ziegfeld Follies, Hedda Hopper quoted Gene as saying, “Fred and I [still] get together to crab a little and talk a little. We chat like two men on a desert island.”27
Gene did not hold it against Fred that he had more screen time and better-quality numbers in Ziegfeld Follies. Besides his skit with Gene, Arthur Freed assigned the elder dancer two more lengthy sequences that utilized the most cutting-edge dance and cinematography techniques in the picture. Both numbers were devoid of dialogue and used solely dance and lyrics to tell a story. One, “Limehouse Blues,” was an abstract, fantastical ballet costarring Freed’s mistress, Lucille Bremer, while the other was a ballroom dance set to Freed’s tune, “This Heart of Mine.” Historian Hugh Fordin commented that in his numbers, Fred “changed from his marvelously unique style of dancing to a more balletic expression.”28 His sequences elevated the film from being a mere “cream puff” to “some kind of Freed Unit nirvana.”29 Fred proved to be far more adaptable to modern times than anyone, most of all himself, could have guessed. His new style took cues from the balletic elements in Gene’s technique, but his methods remained his own because his airy steps lacked Gene’s athletic prowess and sensuality.
After a series of costly setbacks, Ziegfeld Follies was ready for its first preview on November 1, 1944. Freed and Minnelli knew that the film would need much cutting, considering that its running time was 273 minutes. Re-takes and more editing elongated the shooting of the film until February 6, 1945. The picture, meant to be Metro’s twentieth anniversary celebration, ultimately honored its twenty-second anniversary.
Upon its release in March 1946, Ziegfeld Follies lost money. Though it brought in $5,344,000, the costs incurred from advertising left the studio a deficit of $269,000. By the time the film finally premiered, the revue’s temporary resurgence in popularity had b
egun to wane. Nonetheless, reviews were genial. Edwin Schallert of the Los Angeles Times deemed the picture “splendiferous.”30 Bosley Crowther of the New York Times wrote glowingly of Fred Astaire’s ballets and concluded: “A third number, done by Mr. Astaire, with Gene Kelly as his twin, settles one point of contention: Mr. Astaire has the reach.”31
Whatever reach Fred had over Gene proved to be isolated to his work in Ziegfeld Follies. The film was released after another Astaire-Minnelli-Freed picture, Yolanda and the Thief (1945), which proved to be a major flop, leaving Fred again feeling that he was completely out of sync with modern times. Fred complained that Yolanda was “inventing up to the arty”—his term for the approach of those, like Minnelli, who went into a picture with the priority of creating art. Fred was of the opposite mindset; he believed artistry could emerge only as an unplanned result of a relentless pursuit of perfection.32 Gene fell somewhere in the middle. He went into projects with the intention of creating art—but at a level children, housewives, and highbrows alike could appreciate.
Fred had been considering retirement ever since his screen separation from Ginger Rogers in 1939, and now seemed the right time to bow out. He formally announced his retirement after making one more picture, Blue Skies (1946), a pleasant Technicolor musical by Paramount costarring Bing Crosby. Bosley Crowther had written that Astaire had “the lead” in Ziegfeld Follies, but, with Astaire’s retirement, Gene stepped into his place as the number one male dancer in Hollywood. He secured this place largely due to one factor: Anchors Aweigh.
“Gene Kelly, the one male musical comedy dancer who has sex appeal, has the picture all wrapped up for himself,” asserted Wanda Hale of the New York Daily News.33 “Gene Kelly, MGM’s triple-threat man, holds together a mammoth production. . . . This is . . . Gene Kelly’s film. The fun lets down a little when he is not on the screen,” concurred Eileen Creelman of the New York Sun.34
He's Got Rhythm: The Life and Career of Gene Kelly (Screen Classics) Page 19