The Bamboo Blonde

Okay, this movie isn't Citizen Kane. But it is an hour of so of zippy well-produced entertainment -- and I think you have to say it is one of the most perfectly typical movies of its time. I mean, it has every stereotypical character, traditional plot device and normal production touch you might expect in a light comedy produced during wartime. We have a fast-talking and slightly corrupt nightclub promoter. We have an adorable torch singer with a heart of gold. And we have a somewhat naive leading man who nevertheless possesses the sterling qualities that will make him a war hero. Oh, and don't let me forget -- we also have a beautiful and manipulative woman, the sort who doesn't like to lose.

The plot is your basic boy-meets-girl stuff. It concerns a man who meets a nightclub singer -- very cutely, of course. They have a nice long chat over dinner and fall deeply in like. The fellow goes to war the very next day. Boy and girl secretly pine for each other, even though each of them knows they really don't have a right to do so. The girl's lovely face gets painted on the nose of our hero's B-29. The plane and crew becomes famous for heroic exploits (which consist mainly of surviving) and then hero and torch singer are reunited for a bond tour. They have to pretend to be lovers. The problem here is that the hero's rich-bitch fiancé intrudes. She doesn't love the guy at all, but now that he's a war hero, she demands that the big lunk go through with the ceremony.

You can kind of guess how this one ends. Can't you? Oh, please. And there's a big twist at the end, when we find out about the fellow's family background -- but if you don't see this one coming a half-hour in advance, you probably haven't seen enough thirties and forties movies.

Naturally the lovely Miss Langford has some elaborate production numbers, with a wonderful big-band soundtrack.

Now, this sort of summary might make this movie sound like the oldest and tritest story ever filmed. But the fact is that every now and then someone produces a movie that so perfectly encapsulates every convention of its genre that you stop seeing a lack of originality as a flaw. Instead you can marvel at its perfection, the way you can admire a perfectly cut diamond. Nothing original about a perfectly cut stone, is there? But it sure looks purty.

So of course the boy and girl fall in love. Of course they conquer all. Of course Frances Langford gets to wear skimpy outfits and sing her lungs out. No wonder Bob Hope took her on so many USO tours.

I gather that Anthony Mann's involvement is one of the reasons this movie works so well. He became a noted director in the years after this film was made, and while I can't count myself as one of those who is obsessed with his work, I know that there are many who are. Suffice it to say that some directors might have made a mess of a movie like this one, but Mann keeps it moving right along, and the level of acting is pretty much what it ought to be.

Okay, so maybe the critics were right when they called this movie clichéd and hackneyed. But there was a reason for those clichés: Sometimes they actually worked. Next time this one shows up on cable, put your feet up, put your mind on hold and let yourself enjoy the darned thing.

Hollywood was turning out these slightly built musicals by the score during the war. Though this one wasn't released until mid-'46, it has all the markings. Hotshot bomber pilot Pat (Wade) meets nightclub singer Louise (Langford) and, guess what, they fall in love. Trouble is he's already engaged to conniving, snooty Eileen (Greer) who won't let him go. So romantic complications ensue. In between these, Langford gets to warble a few tunes, while the fast- talking Edwards gets to act the bigshot promoter. Add the always wise-cracking Iris Adrian as somebody or other named Montana, and you've got an entertaining cast. Sure, it's all forgotten 10-minutes later, but in the meantime, the shenanigans go down like a pleasant little snack.

I would listen to Frances Langford sing the Albanian phone book. Here we have Frances set in a movie that is perfect for her. Looking absolutely beautiful, appealing, sounding like the Golden voiced song bird that she is. Her voice is almost too beautiful, her delicate phrasing along with her melting pianissimo's makes the heart flutter. Of all the great female singers of the 30's and 40's Frances, all five feet of her, stands head and shoulders above the rest. Frances isn't just a 'pleasant little snack,' she's a full course meal. You keep rooting for her and the flier to get together. There is just enough mischief to keep you guessing. The movie is what it is, an entertaining, morale boosting romp, where all ends well. See this movie, by all means, and be transported into a different time and place

Anthony Mann, of all people, shows a very capable hand with the musical form in this RKO B, a very-end-of-the-war mixture of patriotism, class consciousness, and utter nonsense. Among its virtues: Frances Langford, always likable and singing up a storm; Iris Adrian, Pauline Kael's favorite sarcastic sidekick of the '40s; Ralph Edwards, showing surprising pre-"This Is Your Life" comic deftness as a scheming agent; and Jane Greer, as Russell Wade's bitch-girlfriend, as stock-character a villainess as you'll ever see. The songs aren't much, but Frances does nicely by "Good for Nothing' But Love" (twice), and a South Sea Islands production number is hilariously, endearingly tacky, with chorus girls slinking about in godawful choreography. The story has loose ends that aren't tied neatly together, and it ends very abruptly, but it's an enjoyable low- budget programmer that fairly screams 1946.

As a masterclass in what a great auteur can do with trite, uncharacteristic material, 'The Bamboo Blonde' is a must see. With a bizarre mixture of war propaganda, romantic comedy and musical, Mann manages to offer a prototype of the frayed masculinity so familiar from his noirs, Westerns and historical epics (see the final third, the ritual humiliation of the amiable hero); as well as his subversive interest in signs (see especially the musical number where the heroine walks through a landscape of labelled props), and the gaping difference between their value and the reality they hide. All this AND Jane Greer, as duplicitous a nay-sayer here to American masculinity as she would be a year later in the greatest ever noir, 'Out of the Past'.