First in the Talkies

The four Warner brothers (Bette Davis not pictured).

The more films I watch from the early sound era, the more it seems that Warner Bros. had the superior track record in comparison to MGM. Metro may have had the prestige, the star power and the production values, but Warners' comparably modest pictures seem to have aged much better. Much of this, I suspect, has to do with the material the two studios chose to adapt to the screen.

In its glory days, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer gave every indication that it thought of itself as a purveyor of high-minded and respectable material. This approach, if nothing else, was certainly profitable -- it played quite well to the American social mores of the day. To be sure, MGM did make quite a few good films at the onset of the talkies, but as the years have gone by many MGM productions of the time have begun to feel stodgy and antiquated. Many Metro pictures of the day were society dramas, adapted from the stage -- at their core, episodes in the lives of attractive, well-to-do Anglo-Americans with problems,  typically of the marital variety. There are several such films that remain quite watchable to this day, but most feel a bit highfalutin and tedious.

Although Warner Bros. did try its hand at several such pictures, that studio demonstrated a much greater willingness to probe uncharted territories (indeed, it was Warner Bros. who began the talking pictures revolution with The Jazz Singer in 1927). Where MGM stuck with glamor, Warners' took a decidedly grittier angle -- the studio came to be specialize in pictures seemingly torn from the real world of the depression, in the process virtually inventing the gangster film as we know it today. The studio also imported from the theater the right kind of talent for these pictures -- James Cagney, Edward G. Robinson, Joan Blondell and Paul Muni, to name just a few (a bit later, the studio brought in a guy named Humphrey Bogart; you might have heard of him).

The pre-code crime drama was not the only area where Warner Bros. proved willing to blaze a trail. In 1932, the studio gambled on revitalizing the then-stagnant genre of the musical, beginning production of 42nd Street. The picture was a major success when it premiered in February of the next year, and  Warner Bros. followed up with a series of successful musical pictures.

In both categories, MGM had to play catch-up. Although Metro had cornered the market on musicals by the 1950s, it never did achieve what Warner Bros. in the field of the crime drama. Fortunately for them, Metro's prestige pictures remained wildly popular, and in flux of new talent -- both on-screen and behind the scenes -- allowed the studio to be the only consistently profitable studio throughout the depression. Yet even if its pictures were not as immediately lucrative, the willingness of Warner Bros. to push the envelope has given many of its films a far more lasting appeal.

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Dueling Musicals, Part II: Dancing Lady (1933)

When last we met, Warner Bros. had unleashed a series of highly successful musical films over the course of 1933. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, meanwhile, had not attempted a major musical since 1930; The March of Time (which was scrapped before production was complete) and Lord Byron of Broadway (which bombed at the box office) were both produced that year. With hostilities reopened on the musical front, MGM needed to hit back in a major way. To that end MGM released Dancing Lady in November of 1933. The picture was a hit at the box office, and proved to be just the counter-stroke that MGM needed--the Operation Uranus to Warner Bros. Case Blue, if you will (is that a dense enough metaphor for you?).

Dancing Lady is the story of Janie Barlow (played by Joan Crawford), a burlesque showgirl who decides to have a go at legitimate theater after her previous show is broken up by the police. She is bailed out by Tod Newton (Franchot Tone), one of those Park Avenue types you hear so much about, and who clearly fancies Janie (and who can blame him?). Janie attempts to get the attention of veteran Broadway director Patch Gallagher (Clark Gable), but to no avail. Tod again helps Janie out by agreeing to finance Patch's production on the condition that Janie be given a place in the show. A typical Joan Crawford love triangle ensues (along with a few plot points that I, to be perfectly honest, don't feel like recounting), but after all the sound and fury Janie ultimately winds up as the leading lady. By the way, does that sound familiar?

For a variety of reasons, I enjoyed Dancing Lady, perhaps more than a sane person ought to. The most obvious reason is none other than Joan Crawford herself, who (aside from being stunningly gorgeous) is fantastic throughout the whole picture. Indeed, Dancing Lady is almost a biographical sketch of Joan, who--like her character--rose from the rank of a mere chorus girl to a top-tier starlet. Though her singing voice may leave something to be desired, Joan dances well enough and is quite endearing as a comedienne. If 42nd Street was Ruby Keeler's ticket to stardom, Dancing Lady cemented Joan's position in the Hollywood firmament; so great was her success in the picture that Dancing Lady remained a de facto measuring stick for her subsequent roles at MGM.

Now that I have sufficiently fawned over Joan Crawford, let us consider a few of the other players in the film. Dancing Lady was the fourth film in which Clark Gable played Joan's leading man (they ultimately made eight films together). In this picture, Clark Gable is... well, Clark Gable. He does what he always does, and does it as well as he always does. Franchot Tone makes quite a good Park Avenue chap, perhaps because he was one off the screen as well as on. Ted Healy and his stooges--the Moe, Larry and Curly of legend--also make an appearance as stage hands, still at the beginning of their Hollywood careers at this point. At the same time, this picture was one of the last appearances of Winnie Lightner, who appeared in several early talkies at Warner Bros. before attempting (unsucessfully, sadly) to freelance. Finally--and perhaps most interestingly--Dancing Lady marks the film debut of Fred Astaire, who serves as Joan's dance partner in the picture's musical finale.

Ironically, neither Fred Astaire nor the Stooges would stay with MGM for long after Dancing Lady. The Stooges made a few shorts at MGM before moving on to greater fortunes at Columbia. Fred Astaire, meanwhile, was under contract to RKO Pictures and had been loaned out to MGM for Dancing Lady. Had the studio heads at MGM forseen the kind of success these two short-timers would have down the road, they no doubt would have forked over heaps of money to keep them in the MGM stable of stars. It is quite a twist of fate that Dancing Lady was produced by David O. Selznick, who had signed Fred Astaire to RKO before returning to produce pictures at MGM in the stead of an ailing Irving Thalberg (come on, you think this shit is interesting, too!).

For all the hits MGM and Warner Bros. rolled out that year, the battle for musical supremacy was hardly decided in 1933. Warner Bros. produced a series of Gold Diggers pictures, with installments in 1935, 1936 and 1938*. Not to be outdone, MGM produced the Broadway Melody series, with iterations in 1935, 1937 and 1940*. Picking a winner is largely a subjective matter, but two important factors must be considered. First of all, MGM managed to remain profitable throughout the Depression while Warner Bros. (not to mention the rest of Hollywood) failed to do so. Second, MGM continued to crank out musicals during the 1940s and 1950s, giving rise to the likes of Gene Kelly. Ultimately, it seems that MGM was victorious on the musical front, and Dancing Lady was doubtless a considerable factor in that victory.

*Note that I am going by the year the films were produced, not by the years in the title.

Dueling Musicals, Part I: 42nd Street (1933)

In 1933, Warner Bros. released a trilogy of Busby Berkeley-directed musicals: 42nd Street, Gold Diggers of '33 and Footlight Parade. Aside from having largely identical storylines, all three of the films featured eerily similar casts--Ruby Keeler and Dick Powell as the showstoppers, Guy Kibbee as the plutocrat and Ned Sparks as the same deadpan character he always seems to play. Though each of the three films is notable in its own right--Gold Diggers spawned a trio of follow-ups and Footlight Parade was insturmental in provoking Will Hays and company to bring down the production code hammer--42nd Street is the primary focus here.

The cliff notes version of the plot is this: Broadway Director Julian Marsh (played by Warner Baxter) is placed in charge of Pretty Lady, a forthcoming production that, it is hoped, will be a smashing success. Dorothy Brock (played by Bebe Daniels) is slated to be the leading lady, thanks to the machinations of Abner Dillon (Guy Kibbee), her patron and the financial backer of the production. A hopeful young ingenue named Peggy Sawyer (Ruby Keeler) arrives at the tryouts and manages to make the cut, after befriending a pair of chorines (Una Merkel and Ginger Rogers) and making the acquaintance of Billy Lawler (Dick Powell), an up-and-coming young player. Trouble ensues as word gets out of Dorothy Brock's ongoing tryst with Pat Denning (George Brent), an old vaudeville partner of hers. At the same time, Denning is trying to get into Peggy's panties. One thing leads to another, and Dorothy winds up breaking her ankle in a drunken spat with Peggy and Pat. At the last minute, Peggy is chosen to replace Dorothy as the lead, and the fate of the entire production is in her hands.

42nd Street was an immense success, and made a star of Hollywood newcomer Ruby Keeler. Showbusiness, of course, was hardly anything new for Ruby, who has been onstage since the tender young age of fourteen (being Mrs. Al Jolson probably didn't hurt her either). She was also quite the dancer, although there are times when she does seem a bit stiff as actress. In any event, she would be paired with Dick Powell in several more pictures. 42nd Street was also an important early success for Ginger Rogers, who (as we all well know) would go on to achieve considerable fame as the dancing partner of Fred Astaire (more on him in Part II).

On the other hand, 42nd Street was one of the last major roles for Bebe Daniels. Bebe's portrayal of Dorothy Brock is one of my favorite aspects of 42nd Street (not that that should come as a surprise to anyone). By the time 42nd Street was released in 1933, Bebe had been in pictures for 23 years and was a true veteran. Her excellent singing voice allowed her to weather the transition to talking pictures, and is featured here in the song "You're Getting to be a Habit with Me." It seems somehow very poignant that Bebe, as Dorothy Brock, gracefully steps aside and lets the younger actress capture the limelight.

Aside from being a resounding hit in its own right, 42nd Street also revitalized the market for movie musicals, thanks in no small part to the mad genius of Busby Berkeley. The coming of sound saw the film industry inundated with musicals, many of which were rather forgettable (anyone who has had the fortitude to sit through the Hollywood Revue of 1929 can attest to this). With 42nd Street and its successors, Warner Bros. Studios had struck gold. It remained to be seen how Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer would respond.