Vincente Minnelli: The Matter of Design

The Penn Station in The Clock

"Loving evaluation of texture, the screen being filled as a window is dressed in a swank department store." — Orson Welles

If we accept Raymond Durgnat's theory that in cinema, landscape is the equation of the state of the soul and architecture constitutes an X-ray photograph of the heroes' [1], then Minnelli's films, especially musicals and melodramas, can be described as full-color X-ray photography of the inner universe of his characters, with a particular interest in artists, daydreamers, painters and dancers.

Minnelli's films generally happen in strange places. In his musicals the absence of modern urban life (unlike Stanley Donen, for instance) is noticeable. The real is recreated by studio-manufactured settings, where also the unreal, the fantasy, takes place. Minnelli's films are the encounter of two worlds, two parallel lines, which in reality never happen to cross each other. Although it is true that even the "real world" in a Minnelli film is visually more striking than most of the Hollywood films we know, he manages to go beyond that and create magical moments in which the viewer feels that he or she is watching sheer, untouched beauty. In such scenes (the last sequence of An American in Paris, for instance) one tempts to see the whole film as something to lead the audience to the moment of emotional and audio-visual eruption. As if the whole structure is built to highlight the rareness and transiency of beauty which comes fully to life in a dream.

Film Ads in Iran#17: Vincente Minnelli

Shoeshine

Still: John Gutmann (1905–1998)

Motion: The Band Wagon (1953); Vincente Minnelli (1903-1986)

All Girls Are Called Niña

In 1946 a campy version of the Broken Blossoms (D. W. Griffith, 1919) provided the material for a number in Vincente Minnelli's The Ziegfeld Follies, in which a setting of a London Street, standing on one of the sound stages which had been used in The Picture of Dorian Gray, becomes the set for the new musical. [1]

Up to this point, Minnelli was constantly referring to cinema in his films, but from this particular number on, it seems as if he is taking the liberty in directly quoting other films. His next musical project, The Pirate (1948), is another homage, this time to the Swashbuckler films of silent cinema, or precisely, what Minnelli envisioned of Douglas Fairbanks gymnastics and John Barrymore canned ham.[2]

"Movie" Pantheon

I found this English version of Sarris' Pantheon on the Movie Reader, a book edited by Ian Cameron (London, 1972). Put together to give a taste of magazine's "politics" and strategies in 1962, when it originally appeared, the list contains many surprises:

• John Ford of 1962 is only very talented, meaning The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence is no more than the work of a "very talented" person!
• Hallelujah for inclusion of Argentinean Hugo Fregonese. 
• Richard Breen wrote some average screenplays and directed only one film in 1957. How his name made it to the "talented" list, one has to see Stopover Tokyo.
• Shirley Clarke and John Cassavetes are only competent or ambitious. Movie fails to see the new directions in American cinema.
• Cy Endfield and Terence Fisher belong to "The Rest." No respect for commercial cinema and genre masters.
• Sarris' "Less than Meet the Eyes" and "Strained Seriousness" are Movie's "Very Talented" filmmakers.

Explore the British Pantheon:

Paris Reimagined by Vincente

Paris appears, but all its color has been drained. It's a fickle city that will falsely enchant, then mock you. Suddenly the color is harshly splashed into the image and the spirit of the city is evoked. We [Minnelli and Preston Ames] used two identical  sketches except that one is in black and white and the other in color-placed at an angle so that they're reflected in the center black glass mirror through which we were shooting. The black and white sketch was first lighted, then gradually the color sketch comes into existence - Gene [Kelly] standing in front of it-as each segment of color is splashed onto the image to suggest the spirit of the city.

The Matter of Design

Southbank, London, April 2012. ©Ehsan Khoshbakht

Vincente Minnelli & the matter of design, today on MUBI's Notebook.

The Art of Joe McElhaney

If I want to single out one book, among what's been written so far, on cinema of Vincente Minnelli, my choice, without any doubt, would be Vincente Minnelli: The Art of Entertainment, edited by Joe McElhaney. Jonathan Rosenbaum gives a good set of reasons why this book is important, which can be read here.

Mr. McElhaney, an associate professor in the Film and Media Studies at Hunter College, has brought together every imaginable name in the Minnelli's realm, under one colorful roof to map the critical changes in the reading of Minnelli's cinema since 1960s.

Raymond Durgnat on "Bells Are Ringing"

 

This essay is from March 1973 issue of Film Comment. The current copyright holder is © Raymond Durgnat Estate (Kevin Gough-Yates) and it's been published here with their kind permission. Visit the official website of Raymond Durgnat estate here.

Alongside the generally accepted trio of classic post-war musicals—On the Town, Singing in The Rain, The Band Wagon—l’ve long wanted to range a fourth: Give a girl a break. Between these and honorable third-line material like The Pirate, Summer Holiday, Funny Face and Kiss Me Kate l’d place some which grapple, more or less ruefully, with some post-war disillusionments: It’s Always Fair Weather, maybe The Girl Most Likely (Mitchell Leisen, 1958), Three For The Show (H. C. Potter, 1955) and The Girl Can’t Help It, and Certainly Bells Are Ringing (if one classes it as a musical rather than as a comedy with musical numbers).

My record-sleeve summarizes the plot thus: “Ella Peterson (Judy Holliday) has never met Jeff Moss (Dean Martin) but has fallen in love with him while handling his calls at Susanswerphone, a telephone answering service which she runs with her cousin, Sue.” The partners personify the alternative attitudes which are positive and negative poles of the film’s morality. Ella is always sympathizing with the unseen clients for whom she takes and leaves messages. Sometimes, not content with worrying, she quits her switchboard to do what she can to help. Sue, older and more wearied, reproaches her for worrying, for getting involved.

Yolanda's Dream

Jane Feuer examines the interchangeability of 'reality' and 'dream' in one of the best sequences of Yolanda and the Thief. 

The ultimate synthesis of the musical consists in unifying what initially was imaginary with what initially was real. Musicals may project the dream into the narrative, implying a similar relationship between film and viewer. The dream resolution, the resolution of the film, and leaving the theater tend to occur within a very short time span. For a little while after seeing a musical, the world outside may appear more vivid; one may experience a sudden urge to dance down the street. The feeling of not knowing quite which world one is in may be evoked within the film as well. Peter Wollen says that, in Hollywood films, everything shown belongs to the same world and complex articulations within that world flashbacks are carefully signaled and located.

Art of Entertainment

Humphrey Bogart and Ira Gershwin entertaining the very little Liza Minnelli at Minnelli's.

From Sketch to the Screen#1 [repost]

From Sketch to the Screen
Vincente Minnelli's Bells Are Ringing
on MUBI

Minnelli Loves...

In Mr. Richard Dyer’s introduction to the season of Minnelli which took place at National Film Theatre, someone asked about the influences on Minnelli’s cinema. It was near the end of the Q&A session, and memories couldn’t sever us well to point out that most of the directors who made an impact on Minnelli, were, as a matter of fact, European ones. If we want to bring up just one name, whose style and ideas can predict a great part of Minnelli’s career, that would be the painter, poet, designer, filmmaker Jean Cocteau. It’s tempting to see most of Minnelli’s film as variations of Blood of a Poet, made by Cocteau in 1930.

Vincente Minnelli Books

A Pictorial Bibliography of Vincente Minnelli (1959-2010)

If you want to enlarge or save any of these pictures, just click on the slideshow.

Undercurrect#2

Second part of Minnelli's reminiscing of how he worked with Katherine Hepburn, Robert Mitchum and Robert Talylor in his only film noir, Undercurrent (1946). Part one can be reached here.

Yet, as Kate and I were becoming good friends, I discovered that my cordial relations with Bob Taylor were in danger of deteriorating. He'd taken my chronic vagueness as disinterest, I suppose, and though he never voiced any complaints, I was aware of his dissatisfaction. Bob's wariness, that I was throwing scenes to Kate, ended when he discovered how effective he was being in the picture.

His performance helped us prolong the denouement. Though Bob had gotten over his pretty boy reputation, you still couldn't disguise his charm. The audience simply wouldn't take him for a murderer...until that climactic scene with his brother. The mask was stripped, and his psychopathic character was finally revealed. I started mulling over the scene, to see if I could supply it with a new approach.

Undercurrent#1

Undercurrent was one of the few Minnelli's films, outside his familiar territory of musical, melodrama and comedy. Surprisingly, it was a film noir. Probably one of the oddest films in Minnelli's career, it still bears some of key themes of Minnelli's world, especially those related to the darker side of him. Last night's screening of Under the Clock [US: Clock] at NFT, showed how ready was Minnelli for noir genre in the 1940s. In Under the Clock, there is a scene when newly married couple enter a run-down bar, where a mad woman and a loquacious drunk, in a low-key photography, talk about un-Americans, madness, corruption and "dogs" which is a disturbing scene, almost like a mistake, in a sweet melodrama. I thought that scene can be approached as an equivalent of Halloween sequence of Meet Me in St. Louis, made one year earlier, where a sudden destruction of the dream world shocks the Minnelli's characters. Here, from his autobiography, I Remember It Well, Minnelli, charmingly, tells the story of how he worked with three major stars in Undercurrent. This is part one of his memoirs about Undercurrent. Film will be shown tomorrow (8 April, 18:30) at NFT, and the second screening is 18 April, 20:40.

Bob Mitchum feels it was fiscal collusion between the studio and David Selznick, to whom he was under contract that brought him the part. For he admits he was never comfortable in the role of the sensitive Michael.

But Bob didn't need the later-developed Mitchum swagger to convey his innate strength. He's always underestimated his ability.

I can't deny that Selznick was being paid $25,000 a week to loan out Bob for my picture, and getting the same amount for a second Metro picture, Desire Me, which Bob was shooting in the afternoon. On top of this, Bob was working at night on The Locket at RKO. "I worked the three pictures for twenty-six straight days," Bob remembers. "We'd shoot all night at RKO, then I'd report for Undercurrent from seven in the morning until noon, when I'd be flown to Monterey to work all afternoon on the picture with Greer Garson." No wonder he became famous for his sleepy eyes.

On An American In Paris [repost]

مقاله زير واكنش من به يادداشت ديويد تامسون درباره يك آمريكايي در پاريس در كتاب Have you seen? است كه پيش‌تر در شماره 401 ماهنامه فيلم چاپ شده است.

يـك آمـريـكـايـي در پـاريــس: شـور عـشـق و خـلسـۀ هـنـر

آقای دیوید تامسون در کتاب مستطاب «اونو دیدی؟...پیش درآمدی شخصی بر هزار فیلم» که به تازگی منتشر شده و به شهادت مقدمه‌اش حاصل سال‌ها تلاش، دو دلی و از این ناشر به آن ناشر رفتن مولف است در یادداشتی بر یک آمریکایی در پاریس (وینسنت/وینچنته مینلی،1951) و ضمن مقایسۀ آن با کفش‌های قرمز (مایکل پاول و امریک پرسبرگر،1948) به این نتیجه می‌رسند که با یکی از فراموش شدنی‌ترین موزیکال‌های عصر طلایی روبروییم. تامسون در همان خط اول، فرضیۀ "هنر برای هنر" فیلم را به پرسش می گیرد (تلفیق نیش و کنایۀ انگلیسی با نقد مارکسیستی!)، اگر اصولاً چنین فرضی درباره یک آمریکایی در پاریس قابل طرح باشد.

آن چه در یک آمریکایی در پاریس – لااقل از نگاه ما – به عنوان هستۀ مرکزی فیلم دیده می‌شود، تفسیر هنر از هنر (یا هنر دربارۀ هنر و نه برای هنر) است. موضوع آن دشواری آفرینش هنری از خلال تلاطم زندگی، تضاد میان آرمان‌ها و ایده‌آل‌های هنر با تنگناها و مرزهای زندگی حقیقی است که به طور مساوی بین دو شخصیت ایده آلیست فیلم تقسیم شده است، یکی خوش بین و سرزنده که موسیقی در سرشت اوست (جین کلی) و دیگری شخصیتی بدبین (اسکار لِیونت) که به عنوان یک آهنگساز و رهبر، تصویری آکادمیک از هنر را به نمایش می گذارد؛ در حالی که هر دوی آن‌ها به شدت وابسته به یکدیگرند. تامسون فیلم را کپی شده از ایده و میزانسن کفش‌های قرمز می‌داند، از یک سو کفش‌های قرمز را منازعه میان شور عشق و خلسۀ هنر می‌داند و از سوی دیگر یک آمریکایی در پاریس را دربارۀ رابطۀ هنر و جلوۀ دکوراتیو و نمایشی آن می خواند و تبلور این ذهنیت را در سکانس بالۀ هر دو فیلم جستجو می کند. در یکی درامی پرشور را تشخیص داده و در دیگری لحن سرد کارگردانی شیفتۀ جلوۀ موزه‌ای امپرسیونیست‌ها.

Minnelli's Jazz Portraits

Recently attended a screening of Vincente Minnelli's I Dood It (1942) at National Film Theatre, I was amazed by its dedication to jazz music of the early 1940s. I felt one of the subtexts of the film is the transition from popular big band music to a more personal, wilder and challenging jazz which is soon about to happen in Minton's club. Though there is no reference to revolutionary bop music in I Dood It, the sharp contrast between early scenes in Jimmy Dorsey's MGM style club with its white sets, and overdecorated space with the last numbers played by Hazel Scott and Lena Horne alludes a change in life-style and art in which main characters with their social differences can reunite.

In the "segregated" concept of placing the musical numbers, when the it comes to the "black" numbers, sets are minimalist, or even empty, hence the emphasis has been put on music. The walls of Jericho in a number near the end of the film is a painted paperboard, but the manner in which the musicians are shown, the sound, choreography and dazzling camera movements create the complete space, as if Charlie Parker is rising from the ashes of big bands to give birth to a new sound and a new black identity.

The Pirate Isn't Just Decor [repost]

"In what kind of setting is the little image of the great Pirate (1948) lodged, with the signature luxury of its MGM sets that dazzled when their reds glowed, unrivaled, within the huge images being projected in a darkened theater?

And here comes the answer: What difference does it make, since The Pirate and its sets hold up splendidly? Because what they've lost in store-window impact they’ve gained in pure logic. Because, quite simply, this is not a “decorative” film. That’s the decisive point. For if there is a type of film that loses its aura by being deported to the small screen, it’s the decorative film, one that risks being less accomplished in matters of decor than the “interior” is seen. That confrontation, while unconscious, can be quite cruel.