Um Romance em Paris

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!

This is one of those obscure musicals that RKO made in the 40's and 50's. But in its day it was a box office winner. The publicity behind this picture was fantastic. Jane Russell was a knock-out in 3D but without this new screen process it was still enjoyable. Wonderful charactor Arthur Hunnicut steals the show as was his custom. Gilbert Roland is good as Jane's romantic interest in a different role for him. The songs are good for the most part. Give "The French Line" a try. If you are a Jane Russell fan, you'll love it.

"The French Line" is a musical comedy about love and romance. It contains no sex scenes and no nudity or even toplessness. There is no violence, no foul language and no drug references. It is so square it even features a heterosexual male fashion designer. It seems like the sort of film that could be enjoyed by all the family without offending anyone.

Wrong. When it was released in 1954 it was condemned as immoral by the Catholic League of Decency who, apparently, took exception to the supposedly revealing costumes worn by its star, Jane Russell. Ironically, Russell, herself a devout Christian, had been unhappy about wearing a bikini in the film and had been allowed to exchange this for a one-piece swimsuit, but even this gesture towards modesty failed to placate the League.

The film is essentially a remake of a comedy from the thirties called "The Richest Girl in the World". In that film the heroine, Dorothy, was the heiress to a large fortune. She was worried that potential suitors would love her for her money and not for herself, and therefore changed places with her attractive secretary Sylvia. If any man showed an interest in the supposed 'Sylvia' (really Dorothy in disguise), she would suggest that the supposed 'Dorothy' (really Sylvia in disguise) had fallen in love with him and would welcome a proposal of marriage. The real Sylvia was happily married and had no interest in any of Dorothy's suitors; the point of this charade was that a man who showed any interest in the fake 'Dorothy' had failed the test and proved himself unworthy of the real Dorothy's hand.

In "The French Line" this situation is given a new twist. The heroine, Mary, is also the heiress to a large fortune (from ranching and oil in Texas), but she has precisely the opposite problem. Whereas Dorothy was worried about attracting unscrupulous fortune-hunters, Mary (somewhat improbably for a girl who combines great wealth with the looks of Jane Russell) is unable to attract men at all, as potential husbands are actually deterred by the thought of all that money. (Well, this is a work of fiction). The film begins with Mary's third fiancé in succession breaking off their engagement.

Mary is travelling to Europe on a luxury French liner, and swaps identities with a young fashion model named Myrtle in order to conduct a romance with a smooth French designer named Pierre. In the fifties models were presumably less well paid than they are today, when supermodels will not wake up for less than $10,000. Today a fashion model would probably have more in her bank account than a Texan oil millionairess. (Actually, that famous quote from Linda Evangelista dates back to the early nineties. Allowing for inflation, it must now cost at least $20,000 to get a supermodel out of bed).

This is one remake that is rather better than its original. "The Richest Girl" is a very short film, and seventy minutes were not sufficient either to develop the characters or to bring out all the comic possibilities of the situation; the conclusion, in particular, is rushed and muddled. "The French Line" is a very light-hearted, frothy confection (in many places seeming to double up as an extended advertisement for the fashion industry), but at just over 100 minutes it does have more developed characters, not just Mary and Pierre, but also Myrtle and Mary's old friend Annie, also working as a fashion designer. The one character I did not like was Mary's guardian Waco Mosby. He was supposed to be a larger-than-life, tough-talking Texan, but because he seemed to be the sort of American who treated the Declaration of Independence as also being a declaration of war on the English language, I found it difficult to understand a word he was saying.

Although the music is nothing special when compared to the likes of, say, Rodgers and Hammerstein, the song and dance numbers do add to the charm of the film, as well as showing off Jane Russell's charms to their best advantage. And any film which annoys America's narrow-minded Puritans cannot be wholly bad. 6/10

"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.