Forget the plot. It's a kind of re-run of "42nd Street" with Cagney dashing around trying to put a show together in the face of nearly insurmountable obstacles. A couple of women keep insulting each other because they want to marry him, or clean his clock while divorcing him. Every movement is made at the speed of light. He discovers his new star -- Ruby Keeler -- when he spots his devoted and wholly instrumental secretary without her glasses. The numbers were staged by Busby Berkeley. And what numbers! The first, "At the Honeymoon Hotel" is a kind of sketch of Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler checking into a hotel where everyone's name seems to be Smith and trying to consummate their marriage despite numerous interruptions by family, strangers, and a demented midget. The vocals are done in Sprechgesang. I never realized so many words rhymed with "hotel." They even work in "New Rochelle." It's all pretty suggestive.
It was during the second number, "By A Waterfall," that I realized how deeply in love with Ruby Keeler I was. Oh, sure, she can't sing and she can't act, and when she's dancing with those hoof-like feet she seems to be stomping a scurrying horde of roaches -- but she can't sing, can't act, and can't dance, so EARNESTLY. She's so awesomely winsome. Any normal man would want to rush up to her and hug her -- before she gets too sweaty -- and whisper reassuring things to her like, "Don't worry, Darling, talent isn't all it's cracked up to be." About this number. You have to be prepared for it. What I mean is, don't do any psychedelic substances before you watch it. It's performed entirely in the water, sometimes under it, a kind of pro-dromal symptom that would be followed ten years later by a full-blown Esther Williams attack.
Several dozen young ladies are dressed in tight skimpy costumes, diving around, doing synchronized swimming, betimes shot from overhead, sometimes forming a pair of writhing snakes that then morph without a lot of to-do into an ovocyte being penetrated by a snake with a big head before, thrillingly, joyously, all the swimmers coalesce into a blastocyte with a big smile on it. As a finale, they held up coordinated placards that, taken together, became a remarkably nuanced portrait of Cedric the Entertainer. I found the rich use of impasto compelling. Or was it all in my mind? I think that was before the swimming girls formed the chrysanthemum, or maybe it was after. One of the shots is truly memorable in its own filthy way. It's done from underwater with the camera aimed straight up between a dozen spread thighs with Ruby Keeler swimming between them and trying to smile at the lens. She also tries to smile -- and to keep from blinking -- while a Niagara of water cascades onto her tiny head and shoulders. I had to pop my ears after seeing it.
The ultimate number is a patriotic and thoroughly tawdry sketch of Jimmy Cagney as a sailor in a Chinese whorehouse "lookin' for my Shanghai Lil." It violates every code in the book -- prostitution, drunkenness, opium, bar room brawls -- only to pull itself together at the end and allow Cagney to smuggle Keeler aboard a battleship dressed in a sailor suit. Her Siniticized version of English is endearing. "Me love you long time!" No -- wait. Well, I told you I was confused.
It was during the second number, "By A Waterfall," that I realized how deeply in love with Ruby Keeler I was. Oh, sure, she can't sing and she can't act, and when she's dancing with those hoof-like feet she seems to be stomping a scurrying horde of roaches -- but she can't sing, can't act, and can't dance, so EARNESTLY. She's so awesomely winsome. Any normal man would want to rush up to her and hug her -- before she gets too sweaty -- and whisper reassuring things to her like, "Don't worry, Darling, talent isn't all it's cracked up to be." About this number. You have to be prepared for it. What I mean is, don't do any psychedelic substances before you watch it. It's performed entirely in the water, sometimes under it, a kind of pro-dromal symptom that would be followed ten years later by a full-blown Esther Williams attack.
Several dozen young ladies are dressed in tight skimpy costumes, diving around, doing synchronized swimming, betimes shot from overhead, sometimes forming a pair of writhing snakes that then morph without a lot of to-do into an ovocyte being penetrated by a snake with a big head before, thrillingly, joyously, all the swimmers coalesce into a blastocyte with a big smile on it. As a finale, they held up coordinated placards that, taken together, became a remarkably nuanced portrait of Cedric the Entertainer. I found the rich use of impasto compelling. Or was it all in my mind? I think that was before the swimming girls formed the chrysanthemum, or maybe it was after. One of the shots is truly memorable in its own filthy way. It's done from underwater with the camera aimed straight up between a dozen spread thighs with Ruby Keeler swimming between them and trying to smile at the lens. She also tries to smile -- and to keep from blinking -- while a Niagara of water cascades onto her tiny head and shoulders. I had to pop my ears after seeing it.
The ultimate number is a patriotic and thoroughly tawdry sketch of Jimmy Cagney as a sailor in a Chinese whorehouse "lookin' for my Shanghai Lil." It violates every code in the book -- prostitution, drunkenness, opium, bar room brawls -- only to pull itself together at the end and allow Cagney to smuggle Keeler aboard a battleship dressed in a sailor suit. Her Siniticized version of English is endearing. "Me love you long time!" No -- wait. Well, I told you I was confused.