Singh’s in the Rain at 70: Hollywood’s Show-Stopping Musical Winner | Sing in the rain

S.Engine in Rain is not exactly considered a masterpiece. Arthur Freid, head of MGM’s band, wrote a list of songs for the studio between 1929 and 1939 – all of which were not classics – and intended to combine them. As a song for a new musical. Screenwriters Betty Camden and Adolf Green were hired to create a story around different tunes; Howard Kiel, who liberated himself in honor of Annie Get Your Eye, was penciled in the lead, a stolit bass-baridone in the MGM barn.

As a producer, Freud set out to transform the artistically ambitious and valuable musicals – a week before the screening of Singh’s in the Rain, he was Vincent Minnelli’s glamorous, Kershwin – scored pop ballet on American Paris – which won a bright, bright Oscar. Disposable filler. (Remember the pagan love song? New York’s Belle? No?) Initially, one would have expected that the definitively formed Sing in the Rain B-list would definitely fall.

But it would have been calculated without Jean Kelly and Stanley Tonnon, a dream team for Fried and MGM at the time. Their first film as a director-choreographer duo, Sailors-On-Live Romp on the Town, lifted its feather weight with visual sophistication and restless movement; Separately, the Donn Fred Astaire vehicle brought the Fleet-Food Flash in the direction of the Royal Wedding, while Kelly’s star reached an American peak in Paris. When the production of the latter closed and Kelly made it available, he was given the script for Singh’s in the Rain. Changes were made. The rest, as they say, is history.

History, of course, takes time to take shape. In 1952, Fried would have been surprised to learn that Singh’s in the Rain, rather than an American in Paris, would eventually become the most revered of all Hollywood musicians – often referred to even by non-composers of this genre. One of the best films ever made. (In the last four editions of Sight & Sound’s decade-long poll, it has consistently ranked twice as the highest-grossing music of all time.) However, after its release, it was by no means considered. Milestone. The reviews and box office were excellent though not great; The Academy presented six Oscars to an American in Paris the previous year, and two nominations for Singh’s in the Rain. (The Globes even gave their Best Music Award to the dull Susan Hayward vehicle with the song My Heart.)

Looking at it 70 years later, you can see why it took time to give the film the respect it deserved when a industry was immersed in value and TV-pulsing scenes. Nothing about Singh’s in the Rain declares itself to be an art or a big event: it’s a movie, the entertainment that combines its genre can be deceptively easy. The script mixes hot romantic comedy, breezy Hollywood satire and fictional Broadway Reverie with normal speed, never bothering to punchlines or pathos; Occasionally a jukebox inattentive, song slots that match the general anesthesia of the film. Just look at the screen a little bit, you can give a sweet, fun, thrown P-musical, dull acting and a little less directorial attention.

But when you settle into the sunny, trouble-free abyss of the film – in the midst of your delight, you wonder if it’s less than a notch masterpiece than you can remember or say – Tonnie and Kelly struck you with a shot of pure lightning – a bottle of magic. Starting out as a musical is surprisingly slow: the film’s first full-length album comes in almost half an hour, with Donald O’Connor’s goofy physique, foaming Mac ’em Laugh – one of two. New songs composed for the film and Shameless Knockoff by Cole Porter’s BA Clown. Music does not need to be refreshed with that agility in childbirth.

Photo: Mgm / Allstar

It just likes to warm up. The Romantic Overture you considered for me is given on a platform of heart-stopping Romanticism, which is in the midst of all the awkward parody of the film. An empty soundstage bathed in synthetic cotton-candy twilight, fitted only with a ladder – a small playground for the mesmerizing effects of Kelly’s dance art. Yet this too is obscured by the film’s true iconic centerpiece, without which the same number, for all its other marshmallow delights, would be almost unremembered by Singh’s in the Rain. (What’s the name for the start?) A studio street scene soaked in artificial rain; A lamppost became a dance companion; Kelly has never been in a tweed outfit that weighs more than any other man.

It’s not the film’s the hardest set: high manpower, hoofs and product design went into the film’s extended Broadway melody pitch line, with its transition sets, rotating banners and steam, and the sit-chart cameo with legs. Yet that long number is not the first, second or tenth thing you remember about singing in the rain; Its spontaneous purpose and placement in action served as a brilliant meta-commentary on the confusing storytelling of a standard Hollywood musical instrument, somewhat deliberately self-defeating its concept of luxury.

It’s definitely not appropriate for a dancer to murmur a tune and splash childhood in the pool, and that’s probably the point. The film, set in the late 1920s, is a Hollywood dynamic, throwing everything off the screen as it leads to quieter talk. Meanwhile, in 1952, it was time for its dispatch of panic-driven overproduction. In an effort to combat the threat of the small screen, the determination of studios with exaggerated widescreen epics began to bleed into humble music, changing the form of the genre. Eventually it became the epitome of 1960s blockbusters such as My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music. (Fried, in the 1950s, also won an Oscar for Best Picture for Gigi’s over-decorated Froo-Froo surplus.)

However, Singh’s in the Rain, in its unconnected, invites Hollywood to cool their jets, breathe, and admire the simple scenery: a little dance, a little laughter, a little romance, a little harsh weather. At the time it didn’t seem like a big deal. But reached 70 with a contraction.

Leave a Comment