Gold Diggers of 1937

Busby Berkeley musicals are always great fun to watch regardless of the storyline because of the outstanding musical sequences. Berkeley's Gold Diggers series contains some of the most exciting. Gold Diggers of 1937 is possibly the worst of the lot, but it still isn't bad. With a great cast and an interesting finale, this film is a must for fans of early musicals.

Dick Powell stars as an insurance salesman with a terrible record. He bumps into Joan Blondell on a train one day and finds his luck steadily increasing from there. Soon, he gets a client (Victor Moore) to open a million dollar insurance policy, which makes him begin to hear wedding bells. However, his client is not very young, nor is he very healthy. His business partners are counting on this. They've gambled his fortune away and now have no other way to cover their backs. With plotting from both sides, poor old Mr. Hobart is in for a heck of a ride.

Unfortunately, this film reads much more like the b-pictures that Powell and Blondell made during the slump in their careers than like the instant classics they were teamed up in at the beginning of their careers.

There are only a few songs used throughout this film, and none of them are as catchy as the ones from past installments. Still, they're created quite well visually. "Speaking of the Weather" features two stagings, the first in an office as a tet a tet between Powell and Blondell and the second at a big party. This version features an excellent tap routine. The big finale is "All is Fair in Love and War" which features a bevy of beautiful girls rocking in rocking chairs and bombing their beaus from across a largely black screen.

...from Warner Brothers/First National, director Lloyd Bacon, and dance choreographer/director Busby Berkeley. A group of showgirls, including Norma (Joan Blondell) and Genevieve (Glenda Farrell), grow tired of struggling with poverty, so they set out to change their circumstances. Norma meets insurance salesman Rosmer Peak (Dick Powell), and he gets her a job at his firm. Genevieve falls in with shady theatrical bookkeeper Morty (Osgood Perkins) who's trying to get out from under the debt of theater owner J.J. Hobart (Victor Moore), and who concocts a plan that brings them into contact with Rosmer and Norma.

The musical format had started to change in cinema by this point. Whereas previous films had largely kept musical numbers confined to the stage on which they were ostensibly being shown to the "audience" within the film's narrative, now more and more songs were being performed out "in the world", with characters breaking out into song while walking down the street or sitting in a park. Berkeley's only major number comes at the very end, an elaborate fantasia that is supposedly being viewed by a theater audience but actual defies all physics of reality. It's interesting to look at, but isn't terribly inspired. Dixon, who I'm unfamiliar with, gets a couple of tap-dancing showcases, including one on a giant rocking chair seat. I enjoyed Moore, and I always welcome Blondell and Farrell, but the movie is only passable. Berkeley earned an Oscar nomination for Best Dance Direction. Look out for Carole Landis and Jane Wyman among the chorus girls.

The snappy dialogue and pace of Berkeley's previous films are not to be found here--GD of '37 feels more like a Republic musical than a Warners one. The bankroll went to the one big Berkeley number at the end--"All Is Fair In Love and War." It's a simple piece, lines of chorus girls dressed in white against a shiny black floor, but it is simply astonishing (the song is pretty catchy too). There is also a nice little number with Powell and Blondell called "Speaking of The Weather"--an interesting attempt to seamlessly integrate a musical number into the plot. Among the mistakes (besides the script) is the short-shrift given to the best, most popular song in the film--"With Plenty of Money and You."

A nostalgic look at the old-fashioned (and very corny) musicals of the '30s produced by WB is the only reason for viewing this oldie with Dick Powell and Joan Blondell. Not even the veteran scene-stealer Victor Moore is able to salvage the silly plot nor the shenanigans of the scheming Glenda Farrell.

The weak excuse for a story is all about being able to put on a Broadway show--namely, getting the money to fund it. When the show finally does get staged, it's done in Busby Berkeley style with camera effects that couldn't possibly be duplicated in a real stage show--including trick special effects. But of course, all logic disappeared when watching musicals such as this in the '30s and depression weary audiences probably couldn't have cared less.

One of the crafty villains Morty Wethered (Osgood Perkins) is played by Anthony Perkins' father. And if you look real fast, you can spot Jane Wyman who has one line to speak as a chorus girl.

The tunes are nothing to shout about but "Speaking of the Weather" is done in charming style with Powell and Blondell in a rainy day office scene and later reprised during the poolside sequence. "All's Fair In Love and War" is the big finale--but ultimately the viewer is left with the feeling that this has all been done before and with better results in previous "Gold Digger" films. Most earnest emoting in the film is done by Dick Powell who breezed through his Warner musicals with confidence and charm.

Busby Berkeley's films are the most concentrated tease in the history of movies. it is over an hour into 'Gold Diggers of 1937' before we get any real meat - an astonishing, gossamer-erotic Gatsby-orgy filmed in the manner of Riefenstahl, all glowing Aryan bodies with their glistening mammillae, and idealised framing; with the kind of multi-character cutting of a song Paul Thomas Anderson would borrow for 'Magnolia'; and a magnificent extended tap-dance leading to an agreeable Berkeley fancy, the huge male dancer hand-standing over a bridge of female arms like a fly evading a web - after two tantalising duets featuring Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler that threaten to explode into full-blown imaginative hysteria, but are cut short.

Of course, this is the Berkeley method - coitus interruptus - and our deferred gratification is mirrored in a plot where the hero must prove himself worthy of the heroine before he can have her; the final extravaganza thus functions as a sexual/marriage rite, concluding in a consummating kiss. And what an extravaganza it is - less overt than '1935', but full of fetishised phallic implements, swirling clitoral circles and rocking chairs. Against a sharp black background, our phosphorescent heroes play out their immemorial rites, the heterosexual struggle linked to war (and not to the men's advantage). This idea leads to some striking sequences, including a priapic cannon with a pair of adjacent ball-piles, and a scene of 'trench' warfare, where the skirted female soldiers in 'No Man's Land' triumph through a blitzkrieg of firearms and perfume. There is no way actual sex could ever be better than this.

It is traditional in celebrating Busby Berkeley movies to denigrate the plots as amiable, necessary time-passers before the visual disruption. I always find them highly entertaining, and '1937' has one of the best: an excellently plotted farce combining gold-diggers, an inept salesman, a hypochondriac theatre impressario and his corrupt sidekicks.

This fun plot is noticeable for two things - the extraordinary sexual honesty that persists in spite of Messrs. Hays' and Breen's best efforts: this is a Depression where a woman must prostitute herself for a meal, never mind a marriage; as Glenda Farrell says 'It is so hard to be good under the capitalistic system' (!). The film opens with Powell insisting on the link between financial security and marriage, and the glistening sea of gold moistening the opening credits certainly have a sexual force.

More enjoyable is the portrait of the two heels who try to kill their boss having lost all his money in a Stock Exchange scam, hoping to cash in on his insurance. this kind of plot is quite shocking in such a genre, and we are expected to laugh at various unsuccessful murder attempts (and we do: the whispers for help when they hurl JJ into the pool are hilarious). These are not cartoon villains but the kind of middle-aged, middle class men we might meet in film noir or the novels of Simenon, men whose souls have been made hard by routine, and the American insistence on success. They would have made good collaborators.

In 1933, the 'Gold Diggers' poignantly recorded the effects of the Depression: things haven't really improved four years later, but, significantly, the idea is emerging that if you throw enough razzmatazz, noise, bands and empty phrases at a problem it will go away. it's not for nothing that the two leads are an insurance man and an actress. Powell is amiable in a silly moustache, sillier name and a cheerful pessimism; Blondell is bubbly and serious and lovely as ever; the revelation, however, are Glenda Farrell, convincingly transforming from cynical modern woman to accomplice of scoundrels to loving wife; and Victor Moore, as the inimitable, whining, lonely JJ.