Mark Griffin (27 page)

Musical supervisor Saul Chaplin, on the other hand, was all too aware of how unique Production #1507 was. “All I can say is that I never worked on any score that I had more respect for, and that I did so carefully,” said Chaplin, who combed through countless compositions in the Gershwin catalog, not only selecting numbers for musical sequences but also themes for the film’s underscoring. All the while, Chaplin was conscious of the specter of George Gershwin hovering over the project, “I must have chosen 50 songs that absolutely
had
to be in the picture. . . . I was careful and I was worried. I was
careful because I wanted to make sure it came out to the best of my ability, to see if I could match the master. And worried that I might be doing something wrong.”
⁷

Chaplin said that he “considered George Gershwin ‘God,’” a reverence shared by Minnelli, Levant, and virtually everyone connected with the film. It almost went without saying that as a cinematic tribute, the climactic
American in Paris
ballet would have to be extraordinary. There had been ambitious, even groundbreaking ballets featured in Metro musicals before—Astaire’s surrealist spin in
Yolanda and the Thief
, Kelly’s memorable “Slaughter on Tenth Avenue” in
Words and Music
—but in retrospect, those efforts would seem like elaborate dress rehearsals for what would ultimately be proclaimed “MGM’s masterpiece.”

“We had no definite plan for the ballet all the while we were shooting the book,” Minnelli told author Donald Knox:

At first, an all-too-literal Parisian ballet was proposed. Kelly would romp through the City of Light’s most enchanting boulevards in a variation on his on-location ramble through Manhattan in
On the Town
. To Freed, this seemed redundant. And to Minnelli and his colleagues, it was clear that something more
psychological
was in order—which is what George Gershwin appeared to have in mind to begin with: “The individual listener can read into the music such as his imagination pictures for him,” Gershwin said of his orchestral tone poem, which had debuted at Carnegie Hall in 1928.
⁹
For Minnelli, reading into the music resulted in plenty of pictures—all of them by the Impressionists. Cued by the varying moods of the music, each section of the ballet would feature settings, costumes, and styles of dance inspired by masterworks by Henri Rousseau, Raoul Dufy, and Vincent van Gogh.

Having settled on the visual look of the ballet, Minnelli and company next turned to the matter of theme. “Gene thought you had to have a story,” Vincente remembered. “I said, ‘You can’t have a story because if it’s a new story, that’s bewildering. . . . I said, ‘It has to be something to do with
emotions
, the time in his mind, the way he feels having just lost his girl, and a whole
thing about Paris.’ Everything had to become a jumble in his mind, a kind of delirium because Leslie’s leaving him hits him so hard.”
¹⁰

Once the production team convinced themselves that their idea for an Impressionistic ballet was sound, they had to turn around and sell it to the powers that be. As Gene Kelly recalled, “Dore Schary had now taken over Mayer’s job as head of production, so we brought all the sketches to him and gulped and cleared our throats and said, ‘You know, we want to do this ballet . . .’ and I described it. He finally said, ‘Wait a minute. Wait a minute! I don’t understand one word that you’re all talking about but, you know something, it looks good and I trust you people. . . . Get out of here and go and do it.’”

For the reunited team of Minnelli and Kelly, the division of duties that existed on
The Pirate
continued through
An American in Paris
. For Kelly, as both star and choreographer, the film—and particularly the ballet—provided an opportunity for the kind of virtuosic tour de force that he’d been building toward since his debut in
For Me and My Gal
nearly a decade earlier.

Whereas other directors would brook no interference from
some actor
, Minnelli was smart enough to know when to let a collaborator do what he or she did best for the benefit of the picture. As Alan Jay Lerner expressed it, “Vincente doesn’t try to do your creating for you. . . . Vincente knows the direction, but he will let you drive.”
¹¹
Relinquishing the reins to Kelly was also a practical necessity, as Minnelli was contractually obligated to direct
Father’s Little Dividend
,
^ae
the pleasant though pedestrian sequel to
Father of the Bride
, at the same time.

Dividing his attention between a routine vehicle that failed to inspire him and a Gershwin-scored ballet that paid homage to his Impressionist idols was the sort of situation that would reemerge later in Minnelli’s career. To some extent, it was also the kind of psychological predicament that Vincente struggled with on a daily basis. Reality, like some colorless, uninspired screenplay, always seemed to be tugging him back from a place he’d much rather be—namely, wandering through his own mind, the ultimate MGM musical.

“MY FIRST DAY ON
An American in Paris
, I looked around and I thought, ‘Wow! This is a really good group,’” says dancer Marian Horosko, who appeared in the ballet:

As the ballet was taking shape, it was easy to forget that there was another world going on beyond the one that had been carefully manufactured on the set, though every now and then reality would intrude. As Horosko recalls:

The ballet would include some of the most indelible imagery in the entire Minnelli canon. The long, slow dissolve from the Dufy-inspired Place de la Concorde to the Renoir-styled flower market (“Marché aux Fleurs”) at dawn is gracefully synched to Gershwin’s music. The shot of Kelly and Caron intertwined on the Greutert fountain as John Alton’s
fumata
cascades over them is undoubtedly one of the most unapologetically erotic moments in all of Minnelli. As Kelly and Caron jump up and down on the fountain during the euphoric climax, their exuberance is not only about finding one another but about willing such a beautiful moment into being. For Vincente, the sequence was both a daunting challenge and the realization of many fantasies—suddenly his cherished art-book images were vibrantly alive, as they had been for so many years in his mind.

As the ballet dominated the second half of the picture and extended its running time, a number of deletions were deemed necessary. Although it was Kelly’s favorite of his own numbers, “I’ve Got a Crush on You” was excised from the release print along with two Guetary solos, “Love Walked In” and “But Not for Me.” However, the most poignant cutting-room floor casualty belonged to Nina Foch.

“I had a wonderful scene at the end of the movie where I sat with Oscar Levant and I was complaining and crying about losing Gene,” Foch recalls. “I think it’s one of the best pieces of acting I’ve ever done. I’m just buzzing, about to be a weepy drunk, half-laughing, and suddenly up comes this truly lonely, lonely little girl whose daddy never loved her.” Milo’s big moment was to have taken place in the midst of the black and white ball and included a brilliant bit of improvisation when a piece of confetti tumbled into Foch’s champagne glass—she retrieved it and knocked it back as though it were a pill. “Everyone who had seen it talked to me about that scene,” remembers Foch. “I got a letter from Arthur Freed afterwards saying, ‘We’re sorry we cut that wonderful scene out. We all loved it, but it made Gene look bad.’”
¹⁴

Though studio insiders were already buzzing about how outstanding the picture was, one of the most important endorsements was phoned in from New York. “I’ve seen your little picture,” Judy told Vincente. “Not bad. Only a masterpiece.” And most of the critics would concur. “Brilliant is the word
for MGM’s
An American in Paris
,” raved the
New York Journal American
. “Here’s a musical that’s out of the very top of the top drawer. . . . Its direction by Vincente Minnelli sets and sustains a sparkling tempo.”
¹⁵
In
Compass
, Seymour Peck quipped, “Who knows, it may even put Paris on the map.”

MARCH 20, 1952. OSCAR NIGHT. Vincente’s “little picture” had been nominated for eight Academy Awards. Despite the fact that Arthur Freed was producing the 24th annual Academy Awards ceremony,
An American in Paris
seemed very much the dark horse in the Best Picture race as it was up against such dramatic heavyweights as
A Streetcar Named Desire
and
A Place in the Sun
. “There is a strange sort of reasoning in Hollywood that musicals are less worthy of Academy consideration than dramas,” Kelly told the press.
¹⁶
His point was underlined by the fact that the last musical to snare the top prize had been Metro’s
The Great Ziegfeld
in 1936.

For the first time in his career, Minnelli was nominated as Best Director, an honor many in the industry felt had been deserved as far back as
Meet Me in St. Louis
. When the envelopes were opened,
An American in Paris
would not only prevail as Best Picture but collect six other Academy Awards. Arthur Freed would be honored with the prestigious Irving Thalberg Award, and Gene Kelly received an honorary Oscar “in appreciation of his versatility as an actor, singer, director and dancer, and specifically for his brilliant achievements in the art of choreography on film.” The film’s director, however, would go home empty-handed. “How could anyone vote for [
An American in Paris
] as Best Picture of the Year and not recognize Vincente’s obvious contribution?”
¹⁷
Saul Chaplin would ask, echoing the feelings of many who had observed how tirelessly Minnelli had worked.