by Derek Smith 5/24/06
As
my preference for Lubitsch over Capra indicates, to some, a certain
inexplicable and indescribable
insensitivity to the reality of Depression Era America, so might my
newfound respect, admiration and, dare I say, love for Top Hat (and at least for now,
Fred & Ginger) over every musical I've seen starring Gene
Kelly. It might be pertinent to now, rather than later, admit
that I am no great fan of musicals (although there are several handfuls
I do admire quite a bit) and that this was, for no acceptable reason,
my first Astaire/Rogers experience. The duo represent, both
individually and together, something unattainable not just to the
glossy-eyed audiences of the 1930s - many who scrounged up every last
penny to
spend 100 minutes with them - but to anyone else who appears
on-screen. Whereas Astaire's dance exists to separate himself
from everyone else, rising above the wheat and the chaff to claim his
rightful place aside the gorgeous Ginger Rogers, Kelly was the everyman
whose dance celebrated his place in the real world amongst ordinary ole
people like you and me. Kelly is with us and for us and Astaire
is not. He occupies a mythic status, existing in a world that is,
and never was, real...and he owns it. It is a romantic and
seductive world, but one that is surprisingly cold and lonely -
something I certainly didn't expect, although which helps explain why
more people tend to gravitate towards the welcoming warmth of Kelly
than the aloof, ungraspable nature of Astaire.
I
suppose what I really appreciate about Top Hat - something missing in so
many other musicals - is that it requires at least a miniscule amount
of
effort to fully appreciate its gleeful, oh-so-cheery,
cliché-du-musical highs. This is not to suggest that its
inevitable conclusion was ever truly in question or that when Jerry
(Astaire) was
down, he wouldn't bounce back, but rather that it has something to do
precisely with this sense of uniqueness and separateness that define
Fred & Ginger/Jerry & Dale. It is both a gift which
provides them the opportunity to love one another and an ailiment which
assures that they will remain separate in this love. Their
transcendence is beautiful, but it's also lonely. From the
opening scene, it is clear that Jerry doesn't belong, although not
due to class status but because while the rest of the world is some
combination of quiet, effeminate and uncoordinated, he can (and must!)
flat out
dance. In other words, because he's freaking Fred Astaire.
Whether mocking snobby businessmen by loudly tapping on his way out of
their smoking lounge or "shooting" down the other dancers at the end of
his stage performance (not surprisingly, he plays a dancer in the
film), he is always
elite and separate. And it is here where we find the necessity of
what could be described as an atmosphere of wealth and high-living
completely indifferent to the mass suffering that was the reality for
so many American's at the time.
Top Hat does
not glorify wealth or upper class status - if anything it continually
pokes fun at it. Hardwick's bumbling attempt to fill in for
Jerry's tapping as he leaves to visit Dale (Rogers), Beddini's
effeminate and condescending presence leave him so open that he
occasionally mocks himself ("No woman will wear my dresses anymore!")
and the stuffy businessmen at the beginning all represent an upper
class that is selfish and worthy of contempt. Astaire transcends
such classification and Sandrich uses the space to
convey the isolation of both Jerry and Dale within such a grandiose
atmosphere. Early on, Jerry and Dale are separated within this
space but
are eventually united through sound. They meet because of his
incessant tapping in the room above hers, become closer as he sneaks
onto her carriage (but again remain spatially separated and linked only
through dialogue) and unite via dance when he finds her stranded in a
veranda in the rain. From this intimate encounter, the settings
become more expansive not only to account for the grander musical
numbers but to create a sense of just how large Fred and Ginger
are. Admittedly the banal plot - the classic perpetual
misunderstanding - does not add much to the proceedings, but this is
not a film where the story matters much. Its glory remains in the
sense of ease with which the lovers surpass all those around them and
reach a state of pure bliss. We rejoice in this heartwarming
victory, until the underlying sadness of such estrangement from society
sets in. It is only a minor afterthought to their triumphant
union, but enough to remind us that the Ivory Tower to which they
retreat
may not be all its made out
to be.
Cinematic
Reflections
