Symphony of Love in Swing Time

Is it crazy to say that I was trilled to do a blog for Valentine's Day on one my favorite romantic films? Well, infinitely thrilled would be more specific. You see, I don't talk about love very often, but I am very fond of it, nevertheless. When I look to this topic in film it becomes complex. On one hand, I understand that the films of the golden age were highly idealized and whatnot. But, as I watched the film about to be discussed, Swing Time, there is a cherishable simplicity in the great films of that era, where enjoyment and wonderment mesh together with such grace. In the case of this 1936 film, such grace is displayed through some of the greatest dance numbers ever displayed on film. And, to connect us with our theme of Valentine's Day, such dances symbolizes the motions of love and, yes, lovemaking. Swing Time is a film that combines such dance with absurd fun.

Now, if you want me to summarize the story, you will be disappointed. The story, I must say, is filled with inconsistencies and such, but the tone of the film and, of course, the dancing, makes up for it and then some. Nonetheless, I don't want to go into such detail unless I have to, the dancing expresses all forms of emotion and interplay. 

Ginger Rogers, who I adore, and Fred Astaire are the quintessential dancing duo of American cinema. The way they act and react towards each other during their dances is intimate, mimicking the stages of love and many other feelings. Consider their first number, 'Pick Yourself Up', which, musically, exhibits much spontaneity. Rogers and Astaire begin to reflect a flirtatious aura among them, with many quick outbursts of speed and versatility in both. Their next number, 'Waltz in Swing Time', is a suave rendition of a celebration of love with the duo essentially rolling over each other, much more fluid than the outbursts in the previous number.

The film is all about courtship, which is usually what all Roger and Astaire films are about. What Swing Time offers over the others is this epic elegance, a sort of tantalizing sensuality displayed through the dance that transcends the conventionality that the film is constructed within. My favorite number of the film, besides the Bill Robinson homage Astaire does by himself, exemplifies this with tenderness and truthfulness. 'Never Gonna Dance', besides being an incredible song, is a dance number with several stages of musical depth and emotional capacity. It begins with the sadness of the realization that Rogers and Astaire can't be together, they glide across the floor in sullenness. They slowly dance closer and look into each other's eyes, but only with the premonition of what's to come. When Rogers begins to walk away, Astaire, jolts at her and they continue to dance; the dancing becomes more intense, a crescendo, if you will. Take note of Rogers eyes, as they become fixed with a passion ready to burst into full color. As they run up the stairs and hit the climax of the number, swiftly spinning in beautiful unity, the dance ends, the nostalgic encounter has ceased. Roger Ebert, in his Great Movies essay, says this number mimics lovemaking. I agree, seeing the complexity of such a number and the emotional content it delivers; it is much more than a lovely waltz. 

I'll end this post as to the main reason why I chose to talk about this film as opposed to others for Valentine's Day. It contains my favorite kissing scene on film. Now here is the kicker: you don't even see the kiss. I won't go into the details on how the kiss actually happens, but I will say the face of Ginger Rogers, who has, dare I say, an irresistibly joyous face. My whole body turns into gelatin and my smile turns into an outburst of happiness. Sometimes, kissing scenes get caught up in the immediate sensation, which, respectively, is a major part of the kiss. But what Swing Time does is emphasize the emotions felt afterwards. There is not much else I can say about the scene because it must be watched, so I'll stop right there. This Valentine's Day, I think about dance as a sort of free-flowing form of expression, a careless beauty that displays an interplay of rhythm and connection with someone else. It is passionate and vibrant,  something that is displayed wonderfully between Rogers and Astaire. If you haven't seen it, Swing Time is a celebration of what love constitutes through humor and dazzling dance.

You Can't Take It With You: To Begin to Act Like a Human

I've seen many Frank Capra films many times; I wouldn't doubt you may have as well. I have seen It Happened One Night, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and It's a Wonderful Life more times than I can remember, the last one can be seen annually during the Holiday season. These films hold a strong sense of belief of one's ideas, pure American ideologies, human and familial sentiment, and amusing interplay between the characters; they are all classics of Hollywood cinema. Yet, I once had the chance to see Capra's 1938 film, You Can't Take it With You, years ago on TCM and was fond of the story and of the wonderful cast of characters that moved within the frame with dazzling strangeness and delightful joviality. It was unfortunate that I had forgotten the emotions I had felt that first time...or maybe it wasn't. When I saw the film for sale at Barnes & Noble there was no way I could avoid it; a certain sensation of happiness rushed into me. I understood the story, and I love Jimmy Stewart and Jean Arthur very much, but I could not pinpoint specific feelings that urged me to buy it; I just knew I wanted this Capra film.

You Can't Take It With You is perhaps my favorite film of his, more so than his seminal classics. This film is kaleidoscopic in structure. It is filled with the usual Capra techniques and philosophies, mentioned in the last paragrpah, along with an unsual notion of eccentricity, an underliying sense of cynicsm, and a plethora of characters to accentuate the dynamism of a remarkable screenplay. I watched it for the second time recently and I was giddy with excitement through every minute of this film; there are so many reasons why it caused this happening, but one of the reasons that stood out was the appropriateness of its content to contemporary times.

So the story is about a man, Tony Kirby (Jimmy Stewart), who has just been named VP at his father's (played by Edward Arnold) banking firm, falling in love with his secretary, Alice Sycamore (Jean Arthur). Kirby's parents are snobbish millionaire who encourage their money and power to numb them of any decency. Alice's family, headed by the wise Martin Vanderhof (Lionel Barrymore), is amusingly eccentric but not afriad of its ambition. Tension arises when Alice wants to win approval of Tony's parents and their families' differences are the source of many conflicts. This description can be decribed as simple, slightly rigid, and conventional. On the contrary, leave it to Capra to develop such wonder and gentleness that reigns supreme in his films and is something no other director has mastered. The esemble creates a colorful array of intricacies and depth. Alice's family consists of a ballerina, a playwrite, a toy and mask maker, a couple of firework moakers, a xylophone and football player, and a Russian dance instructor and wrestler. They all play their parts with such playfulness; we become engaged even with their small roles. Moments of hilarity come well in scenes that are lengthy but become increasingly absurd as the family fills in the living room space with thier own passion.

Of course, the four main characters played by Stewart, Arthur, Arnold, and Barrymore are incredible. Jimmy Stewart's style of acting, his use of humor, specifically, is incomparable. Watch, and listen, of course, the way in which he delivers his jokes. There is a combination of sarcasm, amusement, gentleness, and normality. He inserts his jokes not as a bookend or as an emphasis of satire or bewilderment; he treats the joke calmly and equivalent to all of his other expressions, which makes the content of his amusements so much more endearing. Jean Arthur is lovely, one of my favorite classic screen actresses. She carries with her a certain sass that retains her pride and identity. Her squeaky voice helps to enforce this idea. When she becomes damaged and disoriented, we becomes so absorbed in this struggle since we hardly ever see her in such a position. Edward Arnold does a great job at being the powerful Mr. Kirby, who we can hate and sympathize at the same time; he falls into the same categories as many other Capra antagonists. I personally feel, though, that the great Lionel Barrymore steals the show as the grandpa. His disposition, the sentimental wisdom that he carries, coupled with his primitive physicality which includes the way Barrymore expresses with his faces, the way he uses his wrinkles to accentuate a feeling, whether of anger or unrestrained excitement. In a film with colorful characters, the slightly benign energy of Barrymore  becomes supremely charming, depicting a man who has aged and slowed down but who cherishes moments of pure emotion. I especially love the scene where he discusses love with Jean Arthur, he enjoys the moment of truthful expression, and makes sure he is true to his granddaughter on the notions of love.

I said earlier that this film resonates with contemporary times; now, I shall explain why. The film is deeply rooted in ideal American philosophy, which was, in of itself, deeply rooted in Enlightenment ideals, most notably in individual progress and a democratic society. Capra is keen on providing his narrative conflict with such elements, he does in all of his other great films, save It Happened One Night, which may talk more about Hollywood than anything else. In You Can't Take It With You, the conflict arises between individual progress and the oppression of a corporate machine, which seems to have forgotten the ideologies brought forth by our founding fathers. Mr. Kirby represents a man who has taken advantage of personal freedom and, thus, sacrifices freedoms of others, including his son's, for his own empty benefit. Martin exemplifies the more human and just approach to such ideologies. At a time where the banks failed the country and many people were still under the heavy veil of the Depression, Capra wanted to attack this sort of corporate dehumanization that surrounded him. Since this film is based on a play, much of these thoughts come through within the ordinarily brilliant screenplay. For example, one scene involves a discussion between Martin and Alice's mother involving the world as an arena, or shopping mall, of ideologies:

"Ms. Penny, why don't you write a play about 'ism' mania?"
"'Ism' mania?"
"Yes, sure."
"You know communism, fascism, voodooism, everybody's got an 'ism' these days."
"I thought it was an itch or something."
"Well, it's just as catching. When things go a little bad nowadays, you go out and get yourself an 'ism' and you're in business."

Schools of thought have become almost meaningless in our world today, since they are thrown around with such inaccuracies, disrespect, lack of knowledge, or inconsistencies. Yet, they are still thrown around, and a school of thought, or an 'ism', becomes a false pretense for someone's identity and mindset. Martin later mentions Americanism, but does not compare it to the others he mentioned. In Capra fashion, he becomes nostalgic of pure American ideals and does not treat them as passing fads but, rather, something worth practicing with truthfulness. I think Capra here is commenting on the plethora of ideologies that ran a muck in the country before WWII. Given the rest of the plot, you could probably add corporatism to Martin's list, all forgetting about the national sentiment that was once carried with such pride. Today, the obscurity is just as bad, with the competition between the main political parties as well as the reduction social networking has caused when categorizing oneself. At this moment, I nodded but was weary of its lasting effect.

The most striking piece of dialogue comes from Jean Arthur, who is sitting on a park bench with Jimmy Stewart during their date. She tells him of what Martin has always said about America these days, it is something that directly effects our country but also me, personally:

"...'most people are run by fear, fear of what they eat, fear of what they drink, fear of their jobs, their future, their health. They're scared to save money and scared to spend it,' You know what his pet aversion is? People who commercialize on fear, scare you to death to sell you something you don't need."

Maybe fear can be considered a school of thought these days; I wouldn't doubt it may have occurred to Capra at that time. Nonetheless, the line is scathing because of its lasting truth. The joy of watching this film or any Capra film is his determination to maintain inspiration and true ambition among the austere reality. There are dark undercurrents in this film and Capra is sure to point those out from time to time, sometimes resulting in harsh moments in the film, but he doesn't let it triumph over high-spirited individuality and faith in others. Yes, there are moments of its age, especially when Martin asks an internal revenue worker why the country needs to spend money on battleships. He would shortly find out, anyways, when Japan attacks Pearl Harbor three years later.Once again, though, I consider You Can't Take It With You my favorite Capra film. It has a dynamism that seems more open than his other films. Then there's this charm, brought forth from the broad spectrum of characters that populate Martin's home, that seems eccentrically marvelous in its execution. I feel this film, under all the other Capra greats, is overlooked and needs to be watched, especially in trying times. A smile would certainly result in such an experience, a smile rendered tender, thoughtful, but most of all, human.