La ragazza del bacio

This musical comedy near the dawn of the sound era follows the routine formula (boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl) but sports a nice jazz combo, with John Harron playing piano and trumpet (sometimes at the same time), Ned Sparks playing violin, Jack Oakie with a mean clarinet and Guy Buccola on the accordion. I never tired of the one bouncy show-stopper by Oscar Levant and Sidney Claire called "Lovable and Sweet," despite it being played and sung several times. In fact, I was humming it for a day or so. What surprised me was seeing Jack Oakie looking so thin I almost didn't recognize him, and John Harron as the romantic lead, since I was used to seeing him only in bit parts in 30's movies. I'm not sure if the music the boys played was dubbed or not, but the female lead, silent star Betty Compson, was an accomplished violinist and surely did her own playing. I rather enjoyed watching this film despite its triteness.

STREET GIRL (RKO Radio, 1929), directed by Wesley Ruggles, is not a pre-production code movie about prostitution, but actually a breezy early talkie musical about a jazz quartet meeting Frederica Joyzelle, alias "Freddie," a Hungarian violinist (Betty Compson) who has no place to stay. She is given room and board by the leader of the quartet (John Harron), and must share the apartment with three other fellows. Because of their acts of kindness, Freddie puts the quartet to work and success by becoming their manager.

This long forgotten musical of 1929, from the magazine story, "The Viennese Charmer," that formerly played on American Movie Classics prior to 1993, and sporadically on Turner Classic Movies, surprisingly holds up through much of its 88 minutes, especially with Compson's violin solo of "My Dream Melody" (by Oscar Levant), reprized several times throughout the story. Other songs include: "Loveable and Sweet," "King of Othello" and "Broken Up Tune." Aside from John Harron playing Fall, there's Ned Sparks as Winter, Jack Oakie as Spring and Guy Buccola as Summer. With these names, it's easy to see why the band called themselves THE FOUR SEASONS. Ned Sparks is a great grumpy character who at one point forces himself to smile; while Jack Oakie, young and slightly thin, is still an attention grabber with his "comedy relief," especially when Compson, after being offered room and board in an apartment occupied by four men, looking around where she's able to sleep for the night. Oakie, already lying in his bed, with a sneer smile on his face, moves over the sheets and pats on the vacant portion of his bed. Also in support are Joseph Cawthorn as Mr. Keppler, Ivan Lebedeff as Prince Nicholas, and Gus Arnheim and his Cocoanut Grove Ambassadors.

STREET GIRL must have been a success because it was was remade twice by RKO: THAT GIRL IN Paris (1936) with Lily Pons, Gene Raymond and Jack Oakie (again); and as FOUR JACKS AND A JILL (1941) with Ray Bolger, Anne Shirley and Desi Arnaz (in the role originated by Lebedeff). The 1929 original is highly regarded to those who simply enjoy watching hard to find movies such as this. (***)

I watched this on TCM and found it interesting, though in many ways just a showcase for the music. Very '20s, very period-piece stuff, with the usual strange choreography. I thought the title Street Girl was a bit of a tease however, as the "girl" turned out to be a homeless violinist who gets involved with a down-at-heels dance band. What stood out for me however was the noisiness of the sound track, the worst I have ever heard. I realize this is an early talkie and they were probably still struggling with ways to muffle the sound of the camera. But every shot seemed to have its own peculiar frequency, from whirring to humming to grinding to something like a garburator. I wonder now if early-talkie audiences noticed or cared about this, but it seems to me that many must have longed for the sophisticated accompaniment that had evolved by late in the silent era. What also amazes me is the leap in sophistication that took place in only a couple of years: by 1931, people had forgotten all about silent movies and screenwriters/actors had hit their stride. This is great to watch if you're a sound technician/film historian or both.

I'll say quite a few good things about "Street Girl." The overall plot is serviceable, the songs by Oscar Levant and Sidney Clare are nice period pieces (Levant spent much of his life trying to play on the pop-songwriting turf of his good friend George Gershwin, and he wrote one truly great song — "Blame It on My Youth" — but Gershwin he wasn't), the big musical finale "Broken-Up Tune" is suitably spectacular (I suspect this number was originally in two-strip Technicolor even though it only survives in black-and-white, and in the print just shown on TCM there's one shot in the final sequence that is photographically quite inferior to the rest, suggesting that the film as it stands was pieced back together from partial prints), and above all Wesley Ruggles' direction, though hardly at the imaginative level of Mamoulian's, Capra's, Wyler's, Milestone's or Vidor's in their first talkies, is quite fluid. The camera moves around quite a lot, the editing is fast-paced and the actors speak relatively naturally without the seemingly endless pauses between lines (sometimes between words!) that make a lot of early talkies virtually unwatchable today.

That's the good news. The bad news is the writer's dorky decision to change the origin of Betty Compson's character from a real country, Austria, to a fictitious one, "Aregon" (presumably not to be confused with the real Spanish province of Aragon); the awful accent Compson affects to sound suitably "Aregonese"; the casting of Jack Oakie without giving him any laughs (and he's utterly unable at any point to convince us he can actually play the clarinet); and a pretty sluggish pace despite all the camera movement and quick cutting. Also there's the obvious cheapness of using the same pre-recording of the song "Lovable and Sweet" all three times it's performed (you can tell because of the Beiderbecke-esquire "smear" John Harron's trumpet double performs in his solo each time). It ends up an O.K. movie but you get the impression it could have been better made a few years later — indeed it WAS made better on two separate occasions; "The Girl from Paris" isn't that great a movie either (though at least Lily Pons' accent is her real one!) but it's a damned sight better than this.

This bit of fun shows that silent film director Wesley Ruggles was one of the handful of directors who had no problem whatsoever adapting to sound. For 1929 this is remarkably well made - it's hardly one of the greats but considering its age, it's more enjoyable than you'd expect.

This, the first official RKO Radio Picture, stared their silent superstar Betty Compson who despite making nine pictures that year, unlike director Ruggles never quite made a successful transition to talkies. This particular role however is perfect for her because she's doing a made-up foreign accent. That's a marvellous get out of jail card for an actress who can't deliver her lines with any conviction using her own voice. Pretending not to be able to speak English properly makes her sound sweet and naïve.

1929 looked such a happy place - there are so few decently made talkies around from the pre-Depression era that this gives you a rare opportunity to savour the authentic flavour of the roaring twenties jazz age in a sound film. But this IS NOT just a historical artefact, it still works as a piece of entertainment. The reason it still entertains is not because of the story (that's pretty inane although you've got to admit it's quite amusing), it's the production quality and direction.

Although it fizzled out before its contemporaries, RKO was one of the biggest film factories in the world so they had massive budgets to play with. What really stands out here however is Wesley Ruggles directorial skill. The close-ups, the framing, the very fluid camerawork and the imaginative imagery is not something you see in many 1929 productions. You forget that you're watching someone's first go at making a talkie.