He's Got Rhythm: The Life and Career of Gene Kelly (Screen Classics)

by Cynthia Brideson

  To end his tumultuous stint in Europe on a pleasant note, Gene took a boat trip up the River Thames, truly relaxing for the first time in over a year. With Betsy, Kerry, Lois, and assorted friends, he stopped for tea at intriguing old towns along the river. At the end of each day’s excursion, Gene and Kerry cooked, camping style (often in the rain), at a riverside inn. Betsy was immune to the appeal of such rusticity and chose to drive back to London during these adventures. She met Gene and Kerry at the end of each of their day trips to drive them back to London.

  In spring 1953, Gene and his family returned to Hollywood, $370,000 richer, tax-free.34 After nearly two years away from America, Gene could not help but worry if his name held the same draw at the box office. Arthur Freed had no such fears that Gene had lost popular appeal. He had two projects lined up for him, the long-postponed Huckleberry Finn and Brigadoon. For the latter film, Gene would be choreographer as well as star.

  “It is . . . fascinating to see how Freed continued to push his team to produce new material even in the face of the imminent collapse of the movie musical as a commercial genre,” historian Dominic McHugh commented.35 The Freed Unit—and Gene—had reached the apex of their careers at the moment musicals began to slip as foolproof moneymakers. Film studios had to face the fact that television had become more exciting to Americans than virtually anything on a movie screen. On the night of January 19, 1953, two-thirds of the country’s population tuned in to watch the birth of little Ricky on I Love Lucy.

  The other third watched President Dwight Eisenhower’s inauguration. Eisenhower ushered in a conservative era marked by prosperity for manufacturers and corporations but not for filmmakers. Studio executives wrung their hands when Congress repealed the tax exemption law that made income earned overseas untaxable. Now, any money overseas films had made was retroactively taxed—and so was the income of the actors, including Gene. For the average American, however, the Eisenhower era was generally one of relative peace and comfort. One writer called the 1950s an age of “the bland leading the bland.”36

  If those in the movie industry hoped to triumph over television, they had to produce films that were anything but bland. The industry’s most conspicuous effort was the creation of CinemaScope, a new technology that used three projectors and a wraparound screen to create a 3D effect. Especially effective for epics with lush landscapes, CinemaScope dazzled audiences upon its debut in the biblical story The Robe (1953). However, cameramen and directors of the old guard were displeased with the way the new camera lens forced them to shorten and widen the sets and reevaluate how to zoom in and out without causing distortion. CinemaScope may have given audiences a spectacle they could not get from their televisions, but it also made the intimate shots and settings of the 1930s and 1940s obsolete. How it would change choreography for musical numbers remained to be seen.

  Gene was not immediately confronted with filmdom’s many changes upon his return to America. Gene and his family arrived quietly in New York, where Harriet Kelly met them and drove them to Gene’s boyhood home in Pittsburgh. “We didn’t want people to know [we had arrived] because Gene needed a little rest,” Betsy told a writer for the Pittsburgh Press.37 Gene was still in a state of melancholy after his unsuccessful efforts in Europe and would often slip “blackly out of a conversation to stare unhearing at his shoes and chew on some obscure worry.”38

  Betsy was in a state of crisis as well. In her memoir, she recalled that after settling back into her and Gene’s Rodeo Drive home, she “woke up,” literally and figuratively. “I was all alone. I wandered downstairs . . . went into the backyard, [and] looked at the avocado trees and Kerry’s playhouse. . . . This was my house, this is where I live, this is where I belong. But I suddenly couldn’t hide the truth. That ‘I,’ the good little girl who lived there, was no longer me.” Betsy tearfully told Gene her feelings of desperation. “He was indulgent and concerned as always—whatever I needed, he just wanted me to be happy.” She began seeing a “Marxist Freudian psychoanalyst” weekly. Gene did not believe in analysis and was not pleased by her decision. “He probably felt threatened,” Betsy said, “but again, he didn’t interfere.” The first words she uttered to her analyst were, “I think I should get a divorce.”39 However, she kept divorce solely in the realm of thought—for the time being.

  In addition to worries in his home life, Gene looked to Brigadoon with increasing frustration. With the repeal of the tax exemption law, MGM was scrimping in every way possible, rendering location shoots out of the question. “We had the vision of shooting Brigadoon as you’d shoot a western—out on the moors of Scotland,” Gene said. “But the studio didn’t have the money. . . . Vincente and I . . . were very disappointed.”40 The project presented more challenges for Gene; as choreographer, he had to find a way of effectively designing dances for CinemaScope.

  According to Minnelli, “I remember him [Gene] telling me that he hadn’t liked the Broadway show [Brigadoon] at all, and I loved it. I think he only took on this assignment because we all asked him to, because we felt we needed him badly.”41 Minnelli’s statement conflicts with an observation made by his biographer, Emanuel Levy, that “early on, Minnelli made a mistake and confessed to Kelly that he hadn’t really liked the Broadway show.” To further complicate matters, Gene and Minnelli were not “in sync . . . in terms of their musical conception.” Nevertheless, the two colleagues worked closely together to “improvise” and “touch up” the Lerner script—with little success.42 Minnelli’s and Gene’s lack of passion for the project could not help but infuse every aspect of the picture. Yet, Gene needed to make a “comeback” in Hollywood, and so continued toiling on Brigadoon. “Show business is all I know,” Gene stated. “Take it away from me and you’ve taken everything.”43

  Throughout his career, Gene had utilized dream ballets to resolve conflicts in his films. As fantasies, they were clearly separated from the real story. Brigadoon, then, was an atypical project for the man who brought the musical film into the real world. The story was pure whimsy. In Gene’s words: “It’s a moody fantasy . . . and that is the most difficult type of show to stage.”44

  Brigadoon tells the story of two New York businessmen, Tommy Albright (Gene) and Jeff Douglas, on a hunting vacation in Scotland. They discover a quaint and remote village, Brigadoon, that does not appear on any map. In time, Tommy and Jeff discover why from a wise village elder, Mr. Lundie: Brigadoon is enchanted; it appears only once every hundred years, and only for one day. Then it vanishes back into the mists, waiting another century to awaken again. When Tommy falls in love with Fiona, a village girl, he is shattered that she can never be part of his world. He must choose, then, whether he wants to be a part of hers. He ultimately returns to New York but remains haunted by memories of Fiona. Four months later, he breaks off his engagement to his fiancée, Jane, and returns with Jeff to the site of Brigadoon. As Tommy mourns the loss of Fiona, the village suddenly emerges. Mr. Lundie explains to Tommy that when one loves deeply enough, miracles are possible.

  One promising aspect of the film was its cast. Gene’s old friend Van Johnson was to play Jeff and Cyd Charisse, who had made such a hit with him in Singin’ in the Rain’s “Broadway Ballet,” was to portray Fiona. “I was excited about being in it [Brigadoon], but it started off badly,” Cyd remarked.45 From the start, tension and melancholia plagued the set. Gene was accustomed to having the time and resources to experiment. But Dore Schary, cutting expenses, had ordered musical producers not to shoot extravagant numbers unless they were certain they would be included in the final picture. Schary’s new rule was like a physical blow to Gene. He could spend weeks working on a number that was not used, yet such numbers often served as springboards for masterpieces. “The studio betrayed us,” Gene stated years later. A musical that “could have been magical” became a victim of tight finances.46

  It was unfortunate also that the picture couldn’t be shot on location. Instead, the film’s art directors painted backgrounds and built
mounds and elevations with realistic-looking heather and vegetation as well as full reproductions of thatched-roof Scottish cottages. Cyd Charisse asserted that “from the lavishness of the sets, it would have been cheaper to send the whole company to Scotland. . . . But with Scotland’s weather, we could’ve been there a year and a half.”47 Gene’s hope to give the film “great movement and the look and feel of fresh air” was virtually impossible to reproduce on a soundstage.48

  Unlike the vital and emotive dance collaborations Gene and Vincente Minnelli had created in The Pirate and An American in Paris, the choreography in Brigadoon was as uninspired as the simulated sets. Minnelli was continually changing Gene’s choreography to conform to the picture’s wide-screen format, adding dozens of dancers to fill the sides of the elongated screen. Gene, who had pioneered intimate production numbers that used only one or two dancers as their focal point, bristled at the alterations. Brigadoon was a thoroughly stage-bound musical, negating the strides Gene had made in the art of cinedance. Minnelli remembered that “Gene . . . seemed remote and slightly down. . . . I had many talks with him, trying to impress on him the need . . . to light up the sky. . . . Gene delivered as much as he could.”49 Gene’s best show of vivacity in the picture occurs when Tommy sings to Jeff of his newfound love. He prances from hill to heather-laden hill, crooning:

  What a day this has been

  What a rare mood I’m in

  Why, it’s almost like being in love.

  The tune is now a standard in the American songbook and has been revived by many artists over the decades, but Gene’s rendition of the song is perhaps the most arresting.

  Though his delivery of “It’s Almost Like Being in Love” was convincing, Gene’s spirits offscreen were still dejected. His depression made him less affable on the set, even toward costars he considered valued friends and colleagues. Cyd Charisse was especially taken aback by his moodiness. She claimed that the only time she became truly angry at Gene was one day when he instructed her and Carol Haney (she and Jeanne Coyne were again acting as his assistants) to stand on a mound of dirt for a number. But then he simply muttered, “You two work something out,” and left. The mound of dirt was supposed to be covered in heather, but the studio landscaping department hadn’t installed it yet. “So we were dancing in plain old dirt and we would get dirtier and dirtier. For several days, Carol and I worked on that dirt, trying to create something pretty. . . . Kelly had apparently abandoned us.” When Gene appeared several days later, his lips were drawn tightly together and his eyes blazed. “He was in what I call his Irish mood. Something had gone wrong. . . . And he was about to explode,” Cyd recalled. He told Carol and Cyd that what they had created was “no good.”50

  As he stood criticizing the women, he heard the clicking heels of two secretaries on their way to lunch. “He was at that point where anything would set him off.” Gene turned to the two secretaries. “I don’t come to your office when you’re working so don’t come here when I’m working!” he shouted. Frightened, the girls fled from the soundstage. Gene then turned back to Carol and Cyd and “really told us off.” Cyd, exhausted and covered with dirt, began weeping and ran to her dressing room. She promptly packed her bags. “Then Kelly came in, all contrite and apologetic. He didn’t mean it, he said, he was tired himself, he said, and overworked and it was a hard time for all of us. ‘Please excuse me,’ he said. When he turned on the charm, nobody could refuse him anything. I realized that his apology had been a genuine one and that we were all tense from the work. . . . I accepted his apology and the whole incident was forgotten.”51

  That Gene had left part of the choreography in Brigadoon to Carol Haney and Cyd Charisse was in direct opposition to his usual hands-on approach to his work. According to Minnelli, Jeanne Coyne took over many duties and was the “perfect intermediary with the crew. . . . Her patience was superhuman.”52 Carol Haney, on the other hand, had lost her patience. Her spotlight number had been cut from Invitation to the Dance, and she was dispirited and discontented with remaining behind the scenes for the rest of her career. Unbeknownst to Gene, she had already begun looking for a different job.

  Carol discovered during shooting that she had landed the job for which she had auditioned—a supporting but important role in a new Broadway show, The Pajama Game. “I remember the afternoon when I was on a stage and Carol came around to talk to me because she had been offered the part,” Lela Simone recalled. “And she said, ‘I can’t do it. I can’t leave Gene. It’s impossible.’”53 However, after many tears and some cajoling from Simone, Carol took the part. At MGM, everyone began greeting her as “The Star.”

  Gene, in Simone’s memory, did not share the sense of celebration over Carol’s good fortune. “There was a big blow up [when Gene found out]. Gene said, ‘You are not grateful to me and to what I did for you, because without me you would never have gotten or been offered a part like this.’ . . . And finally Gene said, ‘Well, okay, why don’t you go and do it. Try it.’ He thought she could never make it. . . . There was nothing gracious” about their farewell. Carol left for New York immediately. The Pajama Game premiered on May 12, 1954, and ran for an astounding 1,063 performances through 1956. Gene recovered from losing the invaluable Carol and eventually saw that her decision had been the right one. “It [Carol’s leaving] did not ruin their friendship. It sort of slowly repaired itself and Gene got used to the fact that his little assistant became a star and it all went all right,” Simone concluded.54 The ever-loyal Jeanne Coyne remained to aid Gene in his choreographic work.

  On March 9, 1954, filming for Brigadoon, mercifully, came to a close. Throughout shooting, Freed, Minnelli, and Lerner had never ceased planning for Huckleberry Finn as their next project with Gene, hoping it would prove better than Brigadoon. “From my experience with you and Vincente, it’s only when the three of us are working together for immediate production that a really final script can be prepared,” Lerner wrote to Freed.55 Lerner and Minnelli were determined to create another film on a par with An American in Paris. Both men, as well as Gene, realized that Brigadoon had not been up to their usual standards.

  Despite Lerner’s enthusiasm, Huckleberry Finn died in November 1954, shortly after the release of Brigadoon. Gene explained the reasons behind its cancellation: “Danny [Kaye] quit the picture because he wasn’t very enthusiastic about it. . . . I couldn’t quit. But I wouldn’t have anyway, because I loved what was being done with it. . . . This is the only time in my career I got sick from overwork. . . . Kaye wouldn’t come back. The studio shied away from it. They couldn’t see it without Kaye. It’s a crime, because this was probably the best score [by Lerner and Burton Lane] ever written for films.” In spite of the work he’d put into the project, Lerner was ultimately relieved to see it end. He flew to New York, where he proceeded to “have the most fun I’ve had writing in a long time” as he collaborated with Frederick Loewe on what became the sensational My Fair Lady.56

  Although musicals still boomed on Broadway, the year 1954 marked the veritable end of the great film musical. But the genre did not leave without a bang. The top-grossing picture of the year was the tuneful Irving Berlin film, White Christmas. At number ten was the first CinemaScope musical to hit Hollywood. Warner Bros., partnered with Transcona Enterprises, had produced the biggest, most expensive musical to date—A Star Is Born. The picture starred Gene’s first champion in Hollywood, Judy Garland. Like a Freed Unit film, it boasted a score by MGM alums Harold Arlen and Ira Gershwin, special material by Roger Edens, costumes by Irene Sharaff, and an eighteen-minute musical sequence that, like the ballet in Singin’ in the Rain, acted as a film within a film. Because of the movie’s running time (over three hours), film exhibitors sliced a half hour from it, robbing it of many effective scenes that could have won Judy Garland her first Best Actress Oscar. A Star Is Born was for Judy what Singin’ in the Rain was for Gene. While representative of her best work, it became like an obituary to her screen career.

  One mus
ical film of 1954 did not spell death for those involved in it. Stanley Donen, Gene’s protégé and frequent collaborator, had truly arrived as a director with the Jack Cummings production Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. The sleeper hit of the year, the film utilized CinemaScope to advantage and included lively choreography by Michael Kidd. Released in July 1954 shortly before Brigadoon, it grossed over $9 million. Brigadoon, which premiered on October 22, 1954, grossed just over $2 million, resulting in a loss of $1,555,000. Jane Powell, star of Seven Brides, concluded: “[It] was a big hit and Brigadoon seemed to disappear.”57

  Reviewers were as disenchanted with Brigadoon as Gene, Lerner, and Minnelli had been. Bosley Crowther of the New York Times called it “curiously flat and out of joint.” He commented on the sets’ artificial appearance and criticized the star and the director. “Mr. Kelly’s [performance] is as thin and metallic as a nail. . . . Vincente Minnelli’s direction lacks his usual vitality and flow. . . . ‘Brigadoon’ on the screen, we must say, is pretty weak synthetic Scotch.”58 A critic for Newsweek had similar insults to hurl at the picture, declaring that it was an example of Hollywood putting its worst foot forward.59

  Gene’s next project showed little promise of reinvigorating his career. Rather, it seemed, according to his biographers Sheridan Morley and Ruth Leon, more a way to “retrieve some kind of [the] family life” he felt slipping away.60

  Gene’s forthcoming assignment called for him to play himself in a skit for the musical biopic of composer Sigmund Romberg, Deep in My Heart. The picture, old-fashioned in its construction, harkened back to revue-style biopics of the previous decade. In a reversal of roles, Gene found himself under Stanley Donen’s direction. It could not have been easy for him to relinquish his role as mentor, but no record exists that he voiced any complaints over it. However, in 1988, he intimated that Donen had never wished to be a solo director, which was untrue. “We finally got Stanley to do his own pictures,” Gene explained. He followed with sincerer words: “a blessing, I think, for the cinema in general.”61