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The first joke might be René Clair's, a sign reading "silence" in close-up to launch a musical. The title is part of Fred Astaire's uniform, along with white tie and tails it makes the phantom of Thirties elegance who mows down a chorus of doppelgängers with the rat-tat-tat of his cane. "Fancy free and free for anything fancy," the bachelor's happy philosophy danced in a ritzy London apartment, rousing the model downstairs (Ginger Rogers) in anticipation of The Lady Vanishes. ("An affliction," she diagnoses, so he responds with gentle steps that soothe her like a lullaby.) "May I rescue you?" "No, thank you. I prefer being in distress." A bit of bad weather helps the courtship, the two find marvelous synchronicity while stuck at the park gazebo, "Isn't This a Lovely Day to Be Caught in the Rain." A malentendu muddles their enchantment, with the dithering impresario (Edward Everett Horton) and his snippy wife (Helen Broderick) and the Italian designer "as mad as a drunken toreador" (Erik Rhodes). A virtual remake of The Gay Divorcee to showcase Mark Sandrich's sharpening of technique—the onstage abstraction of Paris (painted backdrops of the Eiffel Tower, clouds and lights) gives way to a studio evocation of Venice, pearly bridges and curving canals and all. "Sic transit gloria mundi, sir." The centerpiece, and arguably the great distillation of Art Deco swoon, is "Cheek to Cheek": Astaire's tuxedo and Rogers' feathered gown on a silver floor, the turns and bends of lovemaking in motion. (Their centrifugal fling at the end of "The Piccolino" concludes with a spin into a table and the clink of champagne glasses.) An unmoored gondola and a bogus wedding sort things out, as easy as turning your collar around, says the pixieish valet (Eric Blore). "All's fair in love and war, and this is revolution!" The magical couple exits, fittingly, in their own private hurricane. Cinematography by David Abel. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |