The Hollywood Revue of 1929 is, like The Broadway Melody, one of those films that challenges us to set aside our preconceptions about what makes a good film and to place ourselves in the moment. Both films seem to crawl along at a funereal pace. Technically, they can seem only semi-competent when placed alongside the late achievements of silent cinema. And the performances sometimes border on the amateurish. It can seem baffling that these films were, at the time, hugely popular and admired.
But, of course, Hollywood was struggling with an entirely new approach to film-making, while audiences were being presented with something which, to them, seemed shiny and new. If we do not attempt to place ourselves in the moment, we can never understand why these films were successful then and remain important now. And we run the risk of overlooking what still remains admirable.
When Sam Warner was promoting sound to his brothers, one of its potential benefits was to enable even the remotest communities to experience the kind of musical and variety performances previously only available live in theatres in the major cities, and sometimes never progressing beyond Broadway. But it was Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, not Warner Bros, that was first off the mark in offering such an experience to the public.
In just a few years MGM had established itself as the leading Hollywood studio and was in the process of building the roster of actors that would eventually enable it to lay claim to “more stars than there are in heaven”. It was appropriate, therefore, that MGM was first in presenting this type of all-star extravaganza. Many others followed–some better, most vastly inferior, but Hollywood Revue was the first of its kind. Only three of its major stars are absent: Ramon Navarro, who was abroad at the time; Garbo, who simply refused; and Lon Chaney, who forcefully refused, but is there in spirit in one of the numbers.
Given the investment of talent, it is difficult to understand why a journeyman like Christy Cabanne was chosen to direct the picture. And when his material, which constitutes about half of the final picture, proved less than overwhelming, he was replaced by Charles F Reisner, another minor director, if a safer pair of hands.
While Hollywood Revue is remembered for launching Freed-Brown’s ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ (previously used in a long-forgotten short called The Hollywood Music Box Revue), most of its songs were the work of Gus Edwards and Joe Goodwin. None has become a standard, though some are very effective in their setting. Especially notable is ‘For I’m the Queen,’ written by Andy Rice and Martin Broones and performed by Marie Dressler, with help from Polly Moran. Dressler’s performance is one of the picture’s comic highlights.
Hollywood Revue’s major comedy talents are Buster Keaton and Laurel & Hardy, but they are not seen at their best. Stan and Ollie’s skit was added fairly late on and seems hastily assembled. Keaton was at least allowed to give a silent performance in ‘Dance of the Sea’, but is funnier in his few seconds on screen in the ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ finale.
The stars of The Broadway Melody are present in force, though Anita Page is only required to watch while Conrad Nagel mimes to Charles King’s voice. King himself gets several numbers and Bessie Love is, as always, delightful to watch and listen to. She makes her first appearance in miniature before growing to full size, a special effect that the filmmakers clearly enjoyed, because they use it on three separate occasions.
Hollywood Revue includes two Technicolor musical numbers, The Wedding of the Painted Doll and Orange Blossom Time, as well as Norma Shearer and John Gilbert tackling Shakespeare. Combined with the sound, these sequences help us to understand how spectacular the film must have seemed to 1929 audiences. It was the Painted Doll number which led to the accidental invention of playback when Douglas Shearer suggested using the previously recorded sound for a reshoot.
The appearances of Joan Crawford and Marion Davies make a fascinating contrast. Crawford, always dedicatedly ambitious, throws herself into her song and dance with an enthusiasm that sidelines her technical ability. Davies is equally professional, and arguably more proficient, but gives the impression of wanting to be anywhere other than that soundstage.
Jack Benny, as Master of Ceremonies, wanders in and out of the proceedings being Jack Benny, only more so. The minstrel show conceit which opens the film (thankfully without blackface) is just abandoned, causing Mr Interlocutor Conrad Nagel to disappear until the final number.
The Hollywood Revue of 1929 has its lowpoints (The Italian Trio), is too long and lacks pace, but it is never embarrassing to watch and, to its contemporary audiences, must have been a box of delights.
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