The Five Pennies (1959)

Anyone with a passing interest in American music knows about Louis Armstrong, even superficially. The New Orleans-born cornetist/trumpeter/singer was a central figure of jazz music. His influence on the genre gifted him a popularity not afforded any other black artist in a segregated American popular culture. Armstrong’s renown saw him land numerous film roles – typically playing himself or a jazz band leader – such as Cabin in the Sky (1943); New Orleans (1947); and Hello, Dolly! (1969). He appears as himself, too, in The Five Pennies (1959), a film based on the life of a real-life cornet player. But The Five Pennies concerns not Armstrong, but a white contemporary in Red Nichols. Nichols, played by the effervescent Danny Kaye in this film, might not have been as virtuosic as Armstrong or Bix Beiderbecke, but he was a fine cornetist. For a time in the late 1920s and early ‘30s, he was hailed in Europe as the greatest living jazz cornetist – but only because the records of his African-American counterparts were not yet widely distributed across the Atlantic. Once European jazz fans were more exposed to the numerous black jazz greats, they turned on their regard for Nichols as quickly as they had built it up.

We first find Nichols (Kaye) moving to New York City in the 1920s, hoping to break through in the Big Apple’s thriving jazz scene. In what is probably a dramatization by director Melville Shavelson, Nichols receives that break during a Louis Armstrong show he attends. There, he meets and will later marry Willa Stutsman (Barbara Bel Geddes; in this film, Willa is a singer but was in actuality a dancer). The two are deeply supportive of the other, and will have a daughter named Dorothy (Susan Gordon as a child; Tuesday Weld as a teenager). In New York, Nichols will put together a band that may contain some familiar names to jazz aficionados: himself, pianist Arthur Schutt (Bobby Troup), clarinetist/saxophonist Jimmy Dorsey (Ray Anthony), drummer Dave Tough (Shelly Manne), and trombonist Glenn Miller (Ray Daley). They call themselves the Five Pennies in a sly nod to Nichols’ surname (five pennies equals a nickel), and the quintet tours the United States. At the height of the band’s popularity, Dorothy contracts polio. Nichols, unable to balance the demands of touring with the Five Pennies with the attention his daughter requires, has a crucial decision to make.

Danny Kaye’s comedic and musical abilities are the stuff of legend, in addition to his holding the distinction of being the first Ambassador-at-Large for UNICEF. In The Five Pennies, the audience saw glimpses, for the first time, of Kaye in a more dramatic role. This is not to say there aren’t any signature comedic moments by Kaye – far from it. In the film’s second half as a musical life wears down on Red Nichols, Kaye transforms from a dainty, energetic, and outgoing fellow to someone inhabiting weariness and harboring deep conflicts within his soul, disallowing anyone outside his family to look within. Any such transformation necessitates an actor who can believably and naturally transition between the two halves – and Kaye does just that. His expressive face helps to exaggerate emotion when needed; the studied change in his gait from the film’s first to second halves is something I never expected from him. Those only familiar with Kay’s comedic roles are in for a surprise – a pleasant one – in The Five Pennies.

She never really received top billing in her work nor was she primarily an actress in film, but Barbara Bel Geddes provides ample support for Kaye in this movie. The sincere, not showy, relationship between Willa and Red Nichols always feels authentic. Nichols spends most of the film reveling in his musical life; thus, Willa, as played by Bel Geddes, is responsible for much of the work here. Bel Geddes’ understated performance is wonderful complement to Kaye’s, and it only deepens my wish – when also considering her performance in one of my favorite films, I Remember Mama (1948) – that she starred in more movies alongside her accomplished stage career.

So while The Five Pennies might possess great performances, those performances are also what makes the film tolerable. It runs into trouble with an inert screenplay by Jack Rose and director Melville Shavelson (Rose and Shavelson also wrote 1955’s The Seven Little Foys and 1958’s Houseboat) from a story by Robert Smith (1952’s Invasion, U.S.A., 1953’s 99 River Street). Thus, The Five Pennies is a standard biopic about dreams deferred because of familial love, and it fails to distinguish itself when there is no musical performance on-screen. Too often I found myself wanting the film to hurry up its exposition so that Danny Kaye or Louis Armstrong could perform (Kaye’s cornet and trumpet playing was dubbed over by Red Nichols himself, but Kaye spent months learning the cornet so that he could accurately mimic the correct fingering) the next number. But Rose and Shavelson dedicate sufficient time to pore over Willa’s diagnosis of polio and how it irrevocably changes her life and those of her parents. This could easily have been maudlin, yet Rose and Shavelson provide enough space for this development without too much self-pity or undeserved inspiration.

Whether with or without lyrics, original or adapted material, there is music aplenty in The Five Pennies. Familiar songs such as “When the Saints Go Marching In”, “My Blue Heaven”, and “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” are all given jazzy renditions – and though it might not be as popular as those aforementioned songs, Louis Armstrong’s rendition of “(Won’t You Come Home) Bill Bailey” at the speakeasy in the film’s concluding minutes is a musical highlight. Armstrong, as always, is a joy to watch while in his element. Despite given relatively little to do in The Five Pennies, Armstrong brings the best with the provided material. The moody lighting often employed during the speakeasy and nightclub scenes adds to the unique ambience of the performances. There are a handful of original songs in the film, all composed by the eminent Sylvia Fine (Kaye’s wife, who always tailored her compositions to suit her husband’s singing abilities and musical style). Kaye’s novelty songs are not to everyone’s tastes (certainly not mine), but they are not prominent in The Five Pennies.

“Lullaby in Ragtime” is not even remotely related to ragtime, but it provides Kaye a tender lullaby, the likes of which he excelled in. It is an easygoing, heartwarming tune that boasts beautiful two-voice counterpoint. The film’s title song appears on a sleepless night for young Dorothy – yet another lullaby! Backed by orchestra, it is short, sweet, lovely. However, it is not the last performance of “The Five Pennies”. Do you recall the two-voice counterpoint mentioned earlier this paragraph? Sylvia Fine composes a third lullaby and combines all three lullabies into an incredible rendition of three-voice counterpoint – “Lullaby in Ragtime” (the best of the three), “The Five Pennies”, and Louis Armstrong with “Goodnight – Sleep Tight”. With amateur musicians, this is a difficult musical feat to pull off. And though they were professional actors, it is a great accomplishment to sing this successfully alongside Louis Armstrong: Kaye could not read music (yet Kaye, through observation and close listening, was masterful at internalizing rhythm and expressing his own musicality) and Susan Gordon was no older than ten when this scene was filmed.

The Five Pennies is one of several jazz musician biopics released during the Hollywood Studio System (see: 1945’s Rhapsody in Blue, 1954’s The Glenn Miller Story, 1956’s The Benny Goodman Story, etc.), but probably one of the least-known. That is almost certainly due to Red Nichols’ obscurity to even casual jazz fans today. Nichols did resume his touring career and revive the Five Pennies – its original members had long departed for their own storied careers – following his service as an industrial worker during World War II. But he never again reached the popular heights that he achieved prior to the mass distribution of jazz records featuring African-Americans performers in Europe. For Louis Armstrong, he remains a highly recognizable, central figure in the genre decades after his passing.

This decent film adaptation of Red Nichols’ life up to that point is perhaps not the best introductory film to Danny Kaye (I would recommend one of his comedies like 1955’s The Court Jester), but it is ideal for his fervent fans and those seeking any depiction of jazz figures in American cinema.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

It Started In Naples (1960)

Today's review on MyOldAddiction.com, It Started In Naples by #MelvilleShavelson starring #ClarkGable and #SophiaLoren

MELVILLE SHAVELSON

Bil’s rating (out of 5): BB.5.  USA, 1960.  Capri Productions, Paramount Pictures.  Story by Michael Pertwee, Jack Davies, Screenplay by Melville Shavelson, Jack Rose, Suso Cecchi D’Amico.  Cinematography by Robert Surtees.  Produced by Jack Rose.  Music by Alessandro Cicognini, Carlo Savina.  Production Design by Roland Anderson, Hal Pereira.  Costume Design by Orietta…

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The Princess and the Pirate (1944)

Bob Hope’s mastery of quickfire one-liners and self-deprecation endeared him to American audiences listening to him over the radio or watching him in films. Those skills made him the ideal Academy Awards host (Hope still has the record hosting the most ceremonies) and frequent entertainer for the United Service Organizations (USO). By the 1940s as a contracted actor to Paramount, Hope starred in the Road to... musical comedy series with Bing Crosby and Dorothy Lamour. Their comedic chemistry made the films runaway hits. Road to Morocco (1942) represented the series pinnacle, but Paramount wanted to move on – loaning Hope out to Samuel Goldwyn Productions (at this time affiliated with RKO Radio Pictures as distributor) for two films in exchange for Gary Cooper’s services to make For Whom the Bell Tolls (1943).

The first Bob Hope movie with Goldwyn, They Got Me Covered (1943), made little impression. For the second film, Goldwyn lavished an A-picture budget for Hope, Virginia Mayo (an unofficial member of the Goldwyn Girls), and director David Butler. As a detour from the Road to... series, The Princess and the Pirate is filled with fourth wall-breaking references that make it impossible to recommend for anyone who has never seen a Bob Hope movie from this era. With that qualifier in mind, The Princess and the Pirate is an offbeat comedy that Hope’s fans and admirers will enjoy, though it is certainly not his finest work in motion pictures.

We open with the title screens describing a ruthless pirate named Hook. Immediately, Bob Hope breaks the fourth wall to tell the audience: “That’s not me folks, I come on later. I play a coward!” Hook (Victor McLaglen), who – shockingly – has a hook hand, has just buried a valuable treasure on a desert island when he orders an attack on a naval ship. With his buccaneers of the Avenger swindling the booty, Hook’s crew also kidnap the Princess Margaret (Mayo), who has run away from home in defiance of her father, the King (Robert Warwick), as she wanted to marry a commoner. Hook’s crew also accosts an actor, Sylvester the Great (Hope), who sleeps in the cabin across from the Princess. Sylvester escapes abduction by disguising himself as a gypsy. The Avenger’s eccentric tattooist, Featherhead (Walter Brennan), finds the disguised Sylvester attractive. Featherhead helps Sylvester and Princess Margaret escape, directing them to see find his cousin somewhere on the pirate cove named Casarouge.

Also featured in The Princess and the Pirate are the Governor of Casarouge, La Roche (Walter Slezak); Hook’s first mate, Pedro (Marc Lawrence); Hugo Haas as an ethically challenged barkeep; and a film-ending cameo that makes a ruffled Hope exclaim that this will be the last picture he makes for Goldwyn (it was).

In these days where memories of Bob Hope’s radio and USO work are waning, his wise-guy humor might not be as funny to some viewers. Without question, his comedic timing and delivery is as refined as anyone’s. Director David Butler even admitted that Hope himself did not need much direction with the screenplay by Everett Freeman (1942’s George Washington Slept Here, 1951’s Jim Thorpe – All-American); Don Hartman (1935’s The Gay Deception, Road to Morocco); and Melville Shavelson (1958’s Houseboat, 1959’s The Five Pennies. But Hope’s signature jokes about one’s own shortcomings and metatextual jabs over the ways the Hollywood Studio System worked are not sustainable for a feature film unless there is support from elsewhere in the movie.

The Princess and the Pirate does not have the broad humor one sees in the Road to… series. Instead, the film’s comedy – which still possesses Hope’s comedic hallmarks – is interwoven into the plot. On another level, The Princess and the Pirate is a swashbuckler parody that provide its supporting characters (namely, the antagonists) with more antics and jokes than the typical Bob Hope comedy. The swashbuckler genre was overdue for a parody by this point, as the genre had been popular since the silent era – The Crimson Pirate (1952) and The Court Jester (1955) would come later. As Hook, Victor McLaglen’s energetic performance – his threats to slit Sylvester’s gizzard or gullet enliven the intentionally hackneyed writing – is a joy to watch. McLaglen, a character actor often found in gritty, hypermasculine roles, looks like he is having the time of his life in this film. So too is an unhinged Walter Brennan, who had the distinction (fortunate or unfortunate depending on how one views it) of looking much older than he was. Brennan’s tattooist must have been the film censors’ worst nightmare – a slightly queer and lusty pirate. And in a role where he is more than just an old Western coot playing alongside a John Wayne or Gary Cooper, he gets to be more cartoonish than in any other performance I’ve seen him in. For The Princess and the Pirate, McLaglen and Brennan’s complement those of Hope and Mayo’s.

For Mayo, The Princess and the Pirate was her first starring role. Though she participated in singing classes with the Goldwyn Girls, Mayo herself never joined the company. Yet, she was a breakthrough star in her own right. As the film’s no-nonsense, strait-laced foil to Hope, Mayo plays off Hope’s comedic chops, but her character resists Sylvester’s raised eyebrows and naughty suggestions. That Hope and Mayo have no romantic spark subverts swashbuckler tropes, as the dynamic between their characters can best be described as friendly bickering. In Princess Margaret’s exasperation as pirates board their ship, their comedic dynamic sets the tone for the rest of the film:

PRINCESS MARGARET: Why don’t you die like a man? SYLVESTER: Because I’d rather live like a woman!

Costume designer Mary Grant (1957’s Sweet Smell of Success) gowns see Mayo go through various wardrobe changes – just how many dresses does she have on her person? – in the film’s splendid Technicolor. The remarkable production design by Ernst Fegté (1943’s Five Graves to Cairo, 1950’s Destination Moon) and Howard Bristol (1940’s Rebecca, 1959’s Anatomy of a Murder) not only encompasses the ships, but the Casarouge exteriors and La Roche’s palatial residence. The Casarouge art direction – ramshackle wooden buildings, portside materials strewn haphazardly across the docks – help make it believable as a sleazy den of inebriated, trigger-happy scalawags. As the final act transitions to La Roche’s governor’s mansion with its high ceilings, ornate furniture, and gleaming floors, the sets look like they came from some lavish musical. Despite some indifferent camerawork (as one often finds in comedies), The Princess and the Pirate’s backgrounds are always fascinating to look at. Filled with so much detail, the film almost escapes the restrictions of the soundstage that almost all of it was shot in.

According to Hope, he enjoyed making The Princess and the Pirate and his character’s ability to don various costumes to evade the villains (which reminded him of his vaudeville beginnings). But Hope’s loan to Samuel Goldwyn had expired – actors and actresses in the Old Hollywood Studio System had little leverage to oppose loan deals written up by studio executives – and he was ready to return to Paramount. With World War II raging in two theaters, he would continue to entertain American troops on various USO tours. Virginia Mayo remained with Goldwyn until 1949. With her ascension to being a leading actress, she starred in a handful of comedies opposite Danny Kaye and was cast against type in her brilliant performance for William Wyler’s The Best Years of Our Lives (1946).

Though The Princess and the Pirate might not be the most memorable (or funniest) film its two leads starred in, it is a welcome swashbuckling comedy that defies the swashbuckling stereotypes that one comes to expect. Entertaining though it is, several references are rooted in an assumption that one knows about Bob Hope’s filmography, Samuel Goldwyn’s reputation, and other period-specific media. Feeling more like an animated short film stretched longer than it should, the movie should only be seen by those who have an interest in the cast and crew involved with the production.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.