En scène

Colorless musical that appears to strap flamboyant director Busby Berkeley into a musical strait- jacket. Surprisingly, there's no big dance numbers, overhead crane, flowering "O"s or other hallmarks of the Freudian obsessed filmmaker. Instead, there're only forgettable tunes and colorless backstage rehearsals. The multi-talented Powell sports a mustache but is otherwise wasted, while villainous Warren William gets a friendlier role, a Broadway impresario.

But what about everyone's favorite sassy dame, Blondell, whose role unfortunately sort of comes and goes. Looks to me like her part was an add-on to inject some badly needed pizazz into the feminine side. That's because poor Jeanne Madden looks lost in the aspiring ingénue role. At times, she seems almost achingly self-conscious of the camera, which I think carries over to the audience. Since her career ended soon after, I hope she found a more fitting line of work. Then there's the Yacht Club Boys, surely one of the worst novelty acts of any period to rant and somersault on the same screen.

Anyway, the plot couldn't be more familiar—the problems of putting on a big-time musical. Weirdly, we never get to see the actual show, which ordinarily would be the boffo climax. Considering the many eye-catching musicals from Warner Bros., this one looks like the least of the litter. Too bad.

Stagestruck's biggest asset is the performance of Joan Blondell as the Paris Hilton heiress of the day. Blondell plays Peggy Revere which is a takeoff on Peggy Hopkins Joyce whose antics back in the 30s kept the tabloids buzzing the way the Hilton twins do today. Blondell overacts outrageously, but it's all to the good.

Warren William plays ego-maniacal producer Fred Harris which is also a takeoff of producer Jed Harris. Legend has it that Jed Harris was as full of tricks and deviltry that Warren William's character in Stagestruck is. It's very similar to the John Barrymore character in 20th Century. In fact looking at William's profile it's like looking at a poor man's Barrymore. But that is unfair because Warren William did a lot of good work on screen.

Dick Powell is the director here and he gets a couple of good songs to sing. Mostly he has to act annoyed at Blondell and falling for newcomer Jeanie Madden. Since Powell and Blondell got married right after this film, that may have been the biggest performance in the movie.

Jeanie Madden was the love interest. Ruby Keeler had departed Warner Brothers so Powell got a new Ruby, a singing Ruby. Ruby Keeler's singing voice was as flat as her dramatic delivery. Madden couldn't dance, but she sang beautifully especially in the duet with Powell, Fancy Meeting You. But her acting was as bad as Ruby's and she was gone after two more films.

There was a quartet in the film called the Yacht Club Boys and they had a couple of funny bits, especially one in Warren William's office where William plays a straight man for them (and looks like he's having a ball doing it). I suppose they were too similar in style to the Ritz Brothers over at 20th Century Fox so they were gone after this film.

It's a funny film on its own merits, but unless you know who Peggy Hopkins Joyce and Jed Harris were, a lot of the lines will be lost on you.

Weak musical comedy kept afloat by a great cast. Joan Blondell is amazing as usual. In addition to being a great comedienne, she was a curvy beauty. Joan is one of my favorites from the 30's and here she outshines everybody else by a mile. Mustachioed Dick Powell tries to get away from the boyish roles he had been playing up to this point. He's OK here but this isn't one of his better roles. Warren William is lots of fun as a producer with probably the only good lines that didn't go to Blondell. Solid support from Frank McHugh playing a character type he's played many times over and always to perfection. Carol Hughes is a hidden gem in a tiny part as Powell's sister, pretty and funny. Unknown Jeanne Madden plays Powell's love interest. Madden had a brief three picture career. It's easy to see why. She's not bad just unexceptional. Also look for Jane Wyman in a cameo.

Forgotten comedy and singing quartet Yacht Club Boys provide a couple of weird songs. The first is about taxes. It's really more of a rant than a song. A real oddity. The second song is "The Body Beautiful," a bizarre number about having muscles. It's the highlight of the film. Lackluster direction from Busby Berkeley. Even the aforementioned "Body Beautiful" number was poorly staged by his usual standards. Add to this a predictable script and tepid songs from Powell and Madden. However, I would still say it's watchable for fans of the period and genre. That recommendation is solely because of the personalities of the cast, particularly Blondell, and the odd musical numbers of the Yacht Club Boys.

I doubt if any of the principals were happy to include Stage Struck on their CVs--the songs are drab, and the screenplay seems to have been cut and pasted from those of several other very familiar movies, with its narcissistic, temperamental leading lady; cute, virtuous Midwestern newbie; nervous, devious producer; trampy chorus girls; dictatorial backer; and opening-night crisis when the understudy becomes a star.

It's very hard, however, to believe that this one ever got any raves--and, indeed, Jeanne Madden in real life made two more pictures, then dropped from sight. With her pinched voice, crinkly-faced wholesome looks, and complete lack of sex appeal, she's another Janet Gaynor--of whom one was more than enough. Joan Blondell, usually a reason to cheer up, mugs and clowns to a degree that would be over the top in a revue sketch--she's supposed to be a Park Avenue socialite but makes the role into that of a common, vulgar girl pretending to be one.

Dick Powell, tricked out with an imitation Don Ameche look, seems to be pretending to be somewhere else.

The above is an E.Y. Harburg couplet in a nimble ballad called "Fancy Meeting You," and it distills as well as any other lyric Harburg's huge gift for hyperbolizing hoary sentiments into fresh ones. The movie could use a little more of his wit and whimsy.

It's a slightly off-key Warner Brothers musical that wants to be a screwball comedy, with director Powell fending off wacky relatives and the advances of untalented diva Blondell, while producer William employs Freudian psychology to unite the mismatched pair, while Powell pursues an on-again-off-again-on-again romance with maddeningly fresh-faced ingenue Madden. (Her flat line readings make Ruby Keeler sound like Bette Davis.) Oh, the Yacht Club Boys are in it, too, with two endless specialty numbers that may have had resonance in 1936 -- one's about income taxes, the other about physical culture -- but their forced goofiness has dated badly.

Most surprisingly, despite the Berkeley imprimatur, there are no production numbers here; Warners, one has to assume, was on a budget binge. So the saving graces are the nice Arlen/Harburg songs, and Blondell, in an uncharacteristically broad and unsympathetic role. You don't believe her for a moment, yet she's terrific, batting her eyes and flashing her teeth and cavorting like an over-the-top Carole Lombard. This lady could do anything, but she doesn't really save this all-too-middling musical.