Serenata

Serenade is far and away Lanza's most interesting movie. True, The Great Caruso is a more accessible film (and the best introduction to Lanza), but Serenade packs a far greater punch. This is melodrama to the nth degree, and fittingly it contains some of the finest dramatic singing ever recorded.

Let's get the quibbles out of the way first. Injudicious editing has made some of the scenes appear silly and illogical. The speed with which Lanza becomes obsessed with Joan Fontaine seems absurd, and the ending could have been so much better. Would that the scenarists had had the courage to follow more closely the James Cain novel on which this movie is based, but then again, this was Hollywood, 1955. Had the movie been made without the censorship constraints of, say, a mere ten years later, it could have been a masterpiece. All I can say is, read the novel and you'll see what I mean!

I would also criticize Anthony Mann's direction at times. Re-takes of some of Lanza's hammier moments should definitely have been made, and the film lacks (at times) the full dramatic treatment that its subject deserves. Re-takes of Lanza's Nessun Dorma and Di Quella Pira should also have been made. In both arias he sounds uncharacteristically strained, and in each case a second take would have sorted out the problem.

Quibbles aside, Lanza's acting is often outstanding (the Ave Maria scene, for instance, is a revelation). Vincent Price, Lanza's acid-tongued and hilarious manager in the movie, later remarked off-screen how impressed he was with the tenor's dedicated approach to his acting. Sarita Montiel is also outstanding in her role as a fiery Mexican bullfighter's daughter, providing Lanza with his best-ever leading lady.

But what makes this film a vocal masterpiece is Lanza's singing. La Danza, Torna a Surriento, Amor Ti Vieta, O Paradiso, the Otello Monologue (Dio! Mi potevi scagliar...) and the heart-rending Lamento Di Federico are all astonishing feats of singing. By 1955 Lanza's voice had darkened into a lirico spinto tenor that often borders on the dramatic. It is rare indeed to hear a tenor with such baritonal fullness AND a ringing tenorial top. (Eat your heart out, Placido Domingo!) Lanza For my money, the Otello Monologue is the pinnacle of Lanza's operatic legacy, and the finest recording of this aria. The scene in which it appears is also brilliantly acted by Lanza. As the critic John Cargher would later remark, Lanza's rendition of the Otello Monologue alone "would assure him of immortality."

All criticism aside, Serenade remains a source of immense pleasure to me, and it is richly deserving of far wider appreciation.

I cannot condone the fact that Mario was substandard in this film. He had been under the restrictions of an MGM ban, before Warners offered him a chance to return to the filmworld. He was naturally nervous (it shows in some of the scenes) as he had not worked for about three years and his voice was taking on a darker hue. Yes, he was a little overweight, but his singing was superb. He could sing anything and did, with complete conviction. His operatic arias in this film are superb and those of us who are lucky enough to have heard the outtakes from the soundtrack will agree that he was coming to terms with the fact that he had to adjust to his voice getting bigger. It was a really awesome instrument. The power was immense, but he could also sing falsetto when required. His "Ave Maria" in this film is one of the most moving I have ever heard. A good effort by him to re-establish himself and his fans will bear me out. To hell with the plot - listen to the voice of the century.

Apart from Mario Lanza's singing, which is, as always, wonderful, and Vincent Price's performance as a somewhat less than ethical music critic, there is really very little to recommend about "Serenade." Lanza had been a big fan of the original James M. Cain ("Double Indemnity," et. al.) novel for years, and was always pushing to make it while he was at MGM. After he was fired from MGM, he signed with Warners as part of a three-picture deal, with the provision that "Serenade" be filmed first. Jack Warner, who'd been trying to snag Lanza for years, readily agreed.

The script, by the otherwise excellent Ivan Goff and Ben Roberts, is a highly bowdlerized version of the book, retaining not much more than the title and character names. The film almost relentlessly exposes Lanza's considerable weaknesses as an actor in a way MGM never did. His singing, by contrast, is some of his best, especially in the scenes from Verdi's "Otello" with Metropolitan Opera great Licia Albanese as his Desdemona, a role she sang often at the Met.

As was his wont, Lanza's increasingly irresponsible, unpredictable behavior cost him the other two pictures in his Warners contract, even though "Serenade" was a box-office success. Apparently, Jack Warner was no more patient with him than Dore Schary had been. How ironic, then, that his last two films, made independently in Italy, were released in America by none other than MGM!

The story is pretty ridiculous but its all presented lushly with all the big studio trimmings. Gorgeous locations in sumptuous Technicolor and a top flight cast all doing good work. Mario is in fine voice even if he doesn't look his best and sings many beautiful songs full of vigor. The script requires more acting than usually asked of him and he pulls it off well enough although no one would ever mistake him for Olivier. Joan Fontaine checks in with the silky brand of villainy that became her stock in trade once her sweet ingénue phase came abruptly to an end sometime after Letter from an Unknown Woman. Did any actress have a more dramatic change of persona than she from dewy vulnerability to brittle hard edged sophistication in so short a time? Anyway she looks incredible and is a fine balance to the breathtaking beauty of Sarita Montiel. The other standout in the cast is Vincent Price in a part that had anybody else with less flair played it would have been nothing. With the sly humor in his voice he makes his lines memorable and walks off with any scene he's in. If you're a fan of any of the stars well worth the time.

When this one was released I was still dazzled by the sleek beauty of the line of 1956 Lincoln automobiles. So, in the opening sequence, when Joan Fontaine, with her protege, Vince Edwards (playing a hot-headed boxer), in a "long, low, luxurious Lincoln" convertible (top down, of course), stop by the side of a vineyard where Mario Lanza is laboring (quite without any sign of perspiration, by the way...must have been an unseasonably cool day, despite the blazing sunshine!), to ask directions, I was hooked. The fire-engine red Premiere convertible is as lovingly photographed as the stars and it wasn't until Sarita Montiel, playing Mario's true love, Juana, makes her entrance, that I ceased wishing that resplendent automobile would again appear to do justice to the use of Technicolor (oops!), I mean, Warnercolor, in this soap-with-music.

Sarita, though her list of Spanish language films is quite awesome, never enjoyed much of a career in Hollywood films. (We weren't nearly as accepting of non-Anglo leading ladies back then.) She is just gorgeous in this one and her playing as the fiery and passionate (what else?!?) Juana helped Mario convince us that he was a man who could be snatched from the diabolical and devastating ensnarements of Joan Fontaine's spoiled heiress, Kendall Hale. The introduction of her character, when Mario flees in disgrace to Mexico, permits a scenic and worth-the-price-of-admission tour of Mexican locales.

The music is fairly well presented in this one. Not being an opera connoisseur, I am not qualified to comment knowledgeably on Mr. Lanza's renditions of operatic excerpts, but I have always found his tenor voice to be among the most listenable (So many of them just bleat!), and his constant reprising of the title song throughout this movie did not grow tiresome, at least to these ears.

A side note: Mario's father, quite a dear old gentleman, who had remarried, lived down the street in the Huntington Palisades section of Pacific Palisades, in southern California, where my family owned a home. I frequently saw Mario's Cadillac parked in his father's driveway, but, alas!, never caught a glimpse of the golden-voiced Mario himself, who was, you may be sure, his father's pride and joy.