Um Romance em Paris

"The French Line" was a Howard Hughes-produced opus in 3-D, designed to showcase star Jane Russell (you can make your own guesses what the purpose of putting this innocuous musical in 3-D was...I'll give you two!). To be kind, its no "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes", to which it has some similarities.

Jane plays a Texas girl who is a reluctant millionairess - she has inherited her late father's ranch, which happens to be sitting on copious oil fields. But poor Jane only wants a man who will love her for who she is, not her money. She bewails her lot to her friend and guardian, ranch hand Arthur Hunnicutt, when her latest beau, Craig Stevens, jilts her before heading to the altar because he, like all the others, can't handle having a rich wife. Hunnicutt talks her into not canceling her planned wedding cruise to Paris on the French line, the Liberte (as pronounced by Jane, the Li-burr-tay), only she decides to go incognito so she can catch a man who knows nothing about her money.

Well, first of all, do you really think a millionairess who happens to look like Jane Russell would have such problems? This is purely a confection of a film and not worth worrying about plot lines, but its all just pretty damn silly. And unfortunately, someone decided it should be a musical except all the blah numbers are staged very awkwardly. Jane is beautiful, but hasn't much to work with here and leading man Gilbert Roland seems both a bit too mature as a match for her and definitely too Spanish to play a Frenchman (they try to pawn it off by giving him a Spanish mother). It all ends with a fashion show which just may be the most ludicrous of many far-fetched Hollywood fashion shows. And by now, all the naughtiness which got this opus condemned by the League of Decency and denied a Production seal (Jane's skimpy costumes and bumps & grinds) seem fit for a toddler to watch.

Before Howard Hughes managed to destroy his play toy, RKO Radio Pictures, with one production after another that fared rather dismally at the box office and, certainly, with the critics, his sexual preoccupations were on full view in "The French Line"

The Roman Catholic censorship body, the Legion of Decency, did a great deal more to boost receipts than the first-run 3-D presentations ever could when they "Condemned" this one, for all the usual sex-related reasons, since even then the depiction of excessive violence was given a pass. Once a year those of us who attended Sunday Mass regularly found ourselves trapped into taking the L. of D. Pledge (Very few dared remain seated, lemmetellya!), which required us to promise that we would not patronize theaters which made a practice of booking "Condemned" films. Since only foreign films, usually those originating in France, managed to get the "Condemned" accolade and they rarely made it beyond the few New York theaters willing to book them, the stricture about avoiding those lascivious pleasure palaces that dared book a "Condemned" film was interpreted to mean that just one disgraceful example of cinematic lechery could get them placed on the list of verboten venues.

When the Picwood Theater in West Los Angeles (which had a massive auditorium with a huge screen), not far from where we lived in Pacific Palisades at the time, was selected to show "The French Line" in 3-D, I was darned if I was going to have to wait until a neighborhood theater showed M-G-M's "The Swan", Grace Kelly's Hollywood curtain call, on a much smaller screen than when it was booked onto the Picwood's CinemaScope eye-stretcher, only a couple of years after management had dared book Jane Russell's eye-popping embarrassment. Eventually I managed to see "The French Line" on television, by which time our standards of taste had slipped somewhat, and I was sure hard put to understand what that big stink had all been about.

I bought a copy of The French Line before I'd even seen so much as a trailer for it. I knew right away it was going to be a sentimental favorite, because of the Cameron Crowe flick Singles in 1992. Bridget Fonda isn't happy with her body, and when she watches an old musical on tv with the big-busted Jane Russell and Mary McCarty, she decides to get breast implants. It's a very funny scene, and I'd always wanted to watch the full version of the 10-second clip featured in Singles.

If you don't already have a heart attachment to this movie, you might think it's silly and that I need to get my head examined. However, since it's my review, and since I do have a heart attachment to it, I'm going to praise it. Jane Russell stars as a Texas gal who goes on an ocean liner to France. She's literally on "The French Line" and has to dodge playboys who give her "the French line"; get it? Gilbert Roland is the suave Frenchman who tries to win Jane's affection. Jane sings in very revealing clothes to show off her beautiful figure, and in one number she's even in the bathtub! But perhaps even better known than the "Any Gal from Texas" number is Jane's striptease-the dance was so risqué they had to film her standing behind a plant to get the number past the censors!

Oil heiress from Texas, tired of being a one-woman corporation and falling for men who are allergic to her millions, takes a cruise to France posing as a fashion model. Tatty romantic comedy with musical interludes does have some smart lines, Gilbert Roland trying his best as a lovestruck playboy (of French descent!), and Jane Russell in the lead, alternately beaming and scowling, her tall frame self-consciously hunched to make up for everyone else's shortcomings. Russell is very natural and appealing on screen, yet she has a bad habit of filling in the blanks by making silly, exaggerated faces--some of which are funny intentionally as well as unintentionally! A blowsy piece of fluff, the movie does have its pleasures, particularly in the writing department, which is a notch above the fashion show norm. ** from ****

It is difficult getting past the terrible condition of the RKO Technicolor print for The French Line. It is even more difficult believing that nobody has wanted to do something about it. Someone: please clean it up, restore it, do whatever needs to be done.

Jane Russell is superb as a sassy southern belle on a cruise to Europe. Adding to the fun is character actor Arthur Hunnicutt and leading man Gilbert Roland. The musical numbers are indeed risqué but the lyrics and choreography are not to be missed. Neither is Miss Russell's costuming which one must see to believe.

Aside from a better print, the only way this film could have possibly been better: if Robert Mitchum had been in it.