When summer 1952 came and the starting date for the picture edged closer, Gene realized at least one wish as he embarked on an international search for dancers. He hoped to show the world—everywhere from Senegal to Hackensack, New Jersey—that dance in film was not defined only by himself and Fred Astaire. Despite Arthur Freed’s wariness over the picture, he had enough faith in it to finally give it a title: Invitation to the Dance. Still, the producer stated in no uncertain terms: “I am not for making this film.”9 Gene was unfazed. In fact, Freed’s doubts about the film’s potential only spurred him to work harder. Betsy observed that he “worried and fumed a bit because he felt responsible for every detail of the film. This film was his baby.”10
Betsy was experiencing creative stimulation of her own; Orson Welles had made her the tantalizing offer to come to Rome and play Desdemona in his cinematic production of Othello. She accepted Welles’s proposal, brimming with excitement. To her supreme disappointment, Welles ultimately lost funding for the picture, and she flew back to Gene and Kerry in London. (Almost two years later, Welles completed Othello with a different actress, Suzanne Cloutier, in Betsy’s part.)
Betsy still had plenty to keep her occupied. She and Gene were busy finding lodgings in London. Until they could find a more permanent home, they were living at the Savoy Hotel. Kerry came down with the flu, but she did not seem to mind being ill. Every night until she was well, Gene’s friend Danny Kaye came to tell her comical stories, complete with his crazy vocal intonations and facial contortions. As soon as she was well, Gene enrolled Kerry at the Royal Ballet School. But the lessons did not last long. Kerry’s ballet instructor informed Gene that the low arch of the child’s foot would prevent her from ever being a ballerina. Gene proceeded to remove his shoes and peel off his socks. He held his foot beside his daughter’s. “They’re identical!” he declared. He took Kerry by the hand and exited, proud that neither of their feet conformed to stereotype. Kerry, who had no real interest in dance, was unmarked by the incident. Gene was far more affected by it, taking the ballet teacher’s criticism as a personal affront. Such judgment reinforced his “distaste for conventional rules where dancing was concerned.”11
The Kellys soon found a homey abode on Chapel Street. They hired a married couple to look after the home and see to errands, including the ordering of their food from Harrods. Soon after they settled in, Betsy’s mother came from New Jersey to enjoy a lengthy stay with the Kellys. Mrs. Boger’s arrival could not have come at a more opportune time, for Betsy had landed a job that would take her to Paris. Director Anatole Litvak asked Gene if he and Kerry could spare Betsy for two weeks so she could coach the French leading lady of the Kirk Douglas picture, Act of Love (1953), he was making in Paris. Sydney Chaplin was performing the same service for the actor playing the second male lead. In Paris, Betsy could be part of Litvak’s crew, part of something in which she could immerse herself. “I think I was playing at being someone else—or maybe just me if I hadn’t gone to Hollywood with Gene,” Betsy later reflected.12
In Paris, Betsy engaged in the first of what became a series of extramarital affairs, despite the fact that she claimed she and Gene were still “happy in bed.” Her first affair was with a young French man who, she claimed, was a hero of the French Resistance affiliated with the Communists. “None of it was secret. I always said where I’d been,” Betsy said. “Gene seemed busy and amused by my adventures.”13
True, Gene always knew where Betsy had been—but he did not know whom she had been with—or what she had been doing.
With Invitation to the Dance at the serious planning stage, Gene became engulfed in the project. He returned to France with Kerry and his assistants Lois, Carol, and Jeanne. There, he rented a small, converted mill in a quaint village six miles from Chartres. The quiet getaway proved the ideal locale for creative inspiration. Betsy did not live with Gene and Kerry at the mill, having taken another job in Paris. Kerry and her father took a train each morning to Paris, where Betsy would then take the girl to a progressive day school. “It was all fascinating,” Kerry said of her time living abroad.14
Gene and Betsy, though apart for much of the time, still enjoyed a convivial and stimulating social nightlife together. Directors Anatole Litvak, Alexandre Trauner, Jules Dassin, photographer Robert Capa, and screenwriter Paul Jarrico were just a few of their friends. “We had a great time,” Betsy recalled. “I have to say we were a pretty flashy couple on the dance floor. . . . They [the clubs] were like ‘raves’ but without the drugs. Come to think of it, we were incredibly wholesome.” Wholesome the clubs may have been, but Betsy’s life away from the family continued to diverge from the clean-cut image Gene had of her. In her memoir, she confessed to having another affair with a man she did not name; she referred to him only as an “uncle” figure.15
After several weeks in Chartres, Gene and his assistants had drafted several ideas for sequences in Invitation to the Dance. By August 1952, the Kellys all returned to their Chapel Street home. Gene was finally ready to begin shooting the project at London’s Elstree Studios. Although they were now living together, Gene and Betsy saw less of each other. Gene’s work consumed him; technical problems that would have taken no time to remedy at MGM took days to fix at the modest London studio. Betsy commented that “he tackled the problems with determination—even joy.”16
Gene’s sense of joy in the picture diminished after it became virtually a one-man show. “I . . . didn’t want to appear in the film as much as I did, but this was at MGM’s insistence. They were investing a million dollars and wanted some protection for their money. My name was about all they could gamble on,” Gene explained.17 He expressed his concerns to Arthur Freed in a six-page letter, declaring that he feared he would glut “the public with the sight of Kelly slowing it up like a dancing Orson Welles.”18 But Gene heeded MGM’s request and worked himself into more sequences in the picture.
More difficulties arose due to the fact that Gene’s selected dancers came from several different continents and had other commitments that limited the flexibility of their schedules. As a consequence, Gene had to film their routines in bits and pieces. Among the cast were the gamin Claire Sombert and Tamara Toumanova, the latter the only freelance ballerina Gene knew of who did not belong to a company. He also persuaded Russian-Ukrainian dancer Igor Youskevitch, who had become an American citizen in 1944, to come to London. Gene had originally planned for Youskevitch to perform a completely balletic number, but when the artist who was to perform with him dropped out, Gene had to step in to complete the scene with the great dancer himself. “That meant I had to invent something that I could do,” Gene explained, noting he could not match Youskevitch’s balletic finesse. “The only thing I could think of was to play the clown who’s tragically in love with a young woman.”19 Thus, the film’s first sequence, set at a circus, was born.
Even after his and his assistants’ intensive work at the Chartres house, Gene still had no concrete plans for the rest of the film. A reporter from Screenland who asked him how a script would be written for a film composed entirely of dance, received the answer: “It’s all in there.” Gene pointed to his head. “And I work from day to day. . . . It’s an awful strain, directing the picture as well as dancing in it. It means no parties, no shows—I haven’t had a chance to read a book in weeks. There’s a constant strain. [But] it isn’t as if I had to do this,” he added with a rueful smile.20
Gene ultimately decided to construct the film into four separate sequences. He already had the circus dance planned. The second number he envisioned as a modern dance accompanied by popular songs of the past decade. Gene’s solo would use “Sunny Side of the Street”; Carol Haney, in her first film spotlight, would dance to “St. Louis Blues.” Gene planned for another segment, “Ring around the Rosy,” to be set to original music by frequent Freed Unit contributor André Previn. It tells a series of romantic stories woven together by the exchange of a gold bracelet. Gene plays a Marine in the sequence. Th
e fourth segment, “Sinbad the Sailor,” is a fantasy that, like Gene’s acclaimed routine in Anchors Aweigh with Jerry the Mouse, mixes live action with cartoons. This time Gene dances with a genie in a scene set in a casbah. Gene, playing a sailor for the fourth time in his career, buys a magic lantern, which sets into motion conflicts with animated sword-carrying villains. Also part of the story is the sailor’s love for a harem girl, who is also animated. Carol Haney acted as a live-action reference for the girl, to help the animators better simulate her movements. As well as Previn, other regular Freed Unit members, including Roger Edens, Johnny Green, Conrad Salinger, and Lela Simone, worked on the musical arrangements.
Despite the contributions of these talents, Gene soon realized the film lacked something: passion. Gene put every ounce of energy into the creation of the picture, but the other dancers did not share his enthusiasm. Without Freed’s encouragement and a spirit of teamwork behind the picture, Gene’s customary exuberance failed to translate onscreen. He realized that the film could never live up to what he envisioned in his mind. He constantly drilled the dancers, as if by working them hard enough his vision would somehow materialize. Youskevitch later said: “There were times, I think, when [Kelly] overdid things. He rehearsed us all so rigidly—and on cement floors!—that it required superhuman energy not to collapse. . . . He worked . . . until finally I injured my knee, and he realized he was wrong.”21 Overall, the performers simply did not take the film to heart as Gene did. In the death scene at the end of the circus sequence, for instance, dancer Claire Sombert and Youskevitch “were suddenly struck by the phoniness of the situation in the studio” and burst into laughter. Gene, “to his eternal credit,” did not lose his temper, although the entire scene had to be reshot.22
By winter 1952, Invitation to the Dance had already been in production for four months but seemed far from completion. Gene became more depressed and not a little discouraged when Metro executives informed him that the popular songs number, which had promised to be the most accessible and lively of the picture, would have to be dropped due to production costs. The bulk of the expenses were related to the lengthy “Sinbad” sequence. The number was the weakest in the film: overly long and devoid of charm. Gene decided he could not finish the intricate animation needed for the sequence in London; the MGM animation department took over the job and spent a year completing it.
A dejected Gene temporarily brightened during the holidays. First, he took his brood on a short jaunt to his ancestral stomping ground. According to one reporter, “All the Kellys headed for Dublin. From the moment they started, Gene and Kerry were like nine-year-olds. . . . The mere name of the place thrills them. They prowled the countryside for hours. They haunted ancient castles.”23 After leaving the Emerald Isle, Gene took the family to his favorite resort, Klosters, where they were joined by Lois McClelland, Jeanne Coyne, and Carol Haney. “It was a storybook Christmas with snow and sleigh bells and hot chocolate,” Betsy recalled.24
But even during Gene’s break from Invitation to the Dance, he did not leave work completely behind. Arthur Freed traveled to the United Kingdom, and he and Gene went to Scotland to scout out locations for Brigadoon, a film based on the 1947 Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe Broadway musical. Freed had already assigned Vincente Minnelli as director and Lerner as screenwriter. Given that Gene had worked so well with the two men on An American in Paris, Freed instantly thought of giving the lead role to Gene once the actor returned to Hollywood.
Freed would have to wait quite a while. Gene’s work on Invitation to the Dance as well as filming on the second low-budget drama he was required to complete kept him in England for ten more months. Upon returning to London, Gene and his family found yet another new lodging. Their rented abode, located off Hyde Park corner, happened to be the townhouse of British film star Robert Donat. A columnist for Screen Stars magazine described the scene thus: “Like something out of an historical novel, it is a cobbled street, with old-fashioned attached houses on both sides, and an arched exit at the far end that leads into a regular street.” Gene saw the quaint lodging as an especially stimulating “storybook” locale for Kerry. Exciting though London was for Kerry, the girl could not help feeling homesick. However, Gene’s ongoing support and love had made the transition from Beverly Hills to Europe far easier than it might have been. Time spent with Kerry seldom failed to buoy Gene’s spirits. “Gene and Kerry have found a meeting of minds, as it were, an understanding and pleasure in each other’s company. Together they enjoy the same simple things—steeple rides in the park, a visit to London’s Zoo, or quiet evening walks down narrow winding streets,” the Screen Stars reporter observed.25 Gene occasionally brought Kerry to the set of Invitation to the Dance as well. In the studio commissary, they would enjoy ice cream between Nabisco wafers. Gene, ignoring the English tradition of delicately using a spoon and fork to eat dessert sandwiches, picked his up with his fingers. “It’s the American way,” he said. A visiting reporter noted, “At home or abroad it’s . . . the Kelly way, to be simple and simply American. To love his work, his family and above all—his home.”26
With Kerry, Gene’s happiness was genuine. But the moment he left his family each morning, his confidence flagged. He despaired over the degree to which his dance film was being cut, edited, and cleansed—robbing it of the originality and excitement he had tried to instill. In the “Ring around the Rosy” sequence, for instance, Gene explained: “I’m walking down the street and a prostitute comes up to me. The censors got real up in arms about it. . . . I don’t believe in letting children see things that aren’t good for them. There are certain pictures I wouldn’t let my daughter see. It’s okay to show scenes of murder and guys getting beaten to a pulp. The censors approve that, but they worry about how close the girl stands to me in the street scene.”27
Despite his misgivings about how his picture was taking shape, Gene still felt it was an important contribution to the art of cinedance. MGM did not share his view, and Gene now harbored well-founded fears that the studio would either shelve the project or fail to properly promote the finished film. Inadequate advertising would spell certain box office failure for such an avant-garde film. “I don’t think I want to direct another picture; not unless it’s something very special,” an exhausted Gene confided to a reporter in October 1952.28
Gene began to spend much time after hours at his favorite haunts in London. In the relaxing atmosphere of the Star Tavern in Belgravia, one of the most exclusive areas of the city, Gene was hidden away from autograph seekers and reporters. In the elegant pub, adorned with mahogany walls, blood-red leather seats, gold mirrors, and a chandelier, Gene enjoyed a pint with actor-friends including Robert Taylor, Errol Flynn, Humphrey Bogart, and Lauren Bacall. Les Ambassadeurs Club, the chief hangout for expatriate Americans, became his and Betsy’s place to meet any night they could. After closing time, the owner of the club would drive the stars to “an illegitimate watering hole on the outskirts of London,” where they would continue their discussions early into the morning.29
By summer 1953, Invitation to the Dance at last reached completion, its final cost an astounding $2,822,000. Gene admitted that the picture was not great, but wanly told reporters: “I think they’ll [the public] like it. . . . So it’s an experiment, so somebody’s got to experiment. You can’t leave an art form static.”30 MGM executives’ feet grew colder and colder regarding the film, and they continually postponed its release. A year later, a writer for Picturegoer observed: “So far as MGM is concerned . . . it has been dropped from the list of past, present and future productions of the company.”31 Nonetheless, the film underwent endless cuts and recuts, dubs and redubs, until MGM decided whether or not to release it.
Almost immediately after completing principal photography on Invitation to the Dance, Gene went into shooting for his second B picture. Entitled Crest of the Wave (aka Seagulls over Sorrento), the film was based on a West End show that had run for five years in London but only twelve n
ights on Broadway. The fact that it had not appealed to American theater audiences made its failure as a picture seem predestined. The film tells the story of a US Navy lieutenant who works for the British to supervise torpedo experiments after an English scientist is killed. Gene, with deadpan humor, remarked that Crest was “torpedoed and sank with all hands.”32 The film was not released until November 10, 1954. A critic for the New York Times called “Gene Kelly’s portrayal . . . smooth if not exciting” and concluded that the movie was “largely a tempest in a teapot.”33 Like The Devil Makes Three, Crest of the Wave failed to make a profit. It lost $58,000 upon its release.
The encouragement—and recognition—Gene needed to lift his spirits came at a most unlikely venue: Queen Elizabeth’s coronation parade. The great event took place on June 2, 1953, in the midst of the shooting of Crest of the Wave. Gene’s agents at MCA gave him and his family the opportunity to gain a better view of the parade. It was before seven in the morning, and Gene carried his umbrella up, with Kerry and Betsy huddled beneath it. They eventually went down to the street and stood on Hyde Park Corner. Onlookers spotted Gene and began to serenade him with “Singin’ in the Rain.” The dancer was moved to tears. The crowd then cleared a path for the Kellys, who ran and skipped to the door of their building. Then Gene grinned at his fans and did an impromptu pirouette.
Just as Betsy had harbored ill will toward the Germans, Gene confessed that when he had first visited England several years before, he had, “for no particular reason, felt hostile towards the ‘limeys.’” After his eighteen months working and living among the English, he had completely changed his mind. Decades later, Gene still had nothing but praise for England and its people, claiming that taxi drivers in London especially were the friendliest in the world.
He's Got Rhythm: The Life and Career of Gene Kelly (Screen Classics) Page 38