Evan D. As a project this year we are taking a trip through time to revisit all of the Best Picture winners in history, Wings to Anora. An American in Paris is the twenty-fourth film in that series, to see all the other Best Picture reviews, click here. One of the great joys of reaching back into the history of cinema is found in the stylistic leanings and fads that did not fully endure into modern day. Some of that is a matter of practicality. Sound and color became cheaper and more ubiquitous, rendering silent films obsolete and black and white films a novelty. Even so, the creativity filmmakers working in those mediums flexed to convey wordless depth or monochrome vibrancy still shines through. Other relics can be attributed to changes in fashion or taste. Most notably of this type of film is the hidden treasure of old Hollywood: the Movie Musical. Sure, musicals still get made today. Often they are an adaptation of a stage play, an animated film for kids or the ungodly brainchild of Lin Manuel Miranda. Long gone are the days where actors tap danced and performers sang on screen for no reason beyond the inherent cinematic splendor of performance. As important as plot, if not more, was the visual indulgence of a beautiful set and immaculate piece of choreography. Still a notable influence on modern film, Vincente Minnelli’s An American in Paris may be the shining example of exactly the type of movie Hollywood left behind. Jerry Mulligan (an ever effervescent Gene Kelly) is an American soldier turned painter, seeking to channel the mythic romance of the French capital into his art. Living above a quintessential Parisian cafe, Jerry paints city landscapes while his pal Adam (Oscar Levant) toils away on a piano concerto that he’ll never actually perform. The pair seems to be toiling towards nothing, not that it matters much to them. If you have to be a starving artist, no better place to starve than Paris. One day Jerry ventures out to sell his latest work — a thus far fruitless endeavor — and to his surprise finds an interested party in Milo Roberts (Nina Foch). Daughter of a suntan oil tycoon, Milo flits around the city looking for art that inspires her. She has taken an interest in Jerry’s paintings, but more crucially in the artist himself. Simultaneously trying to sponsor and court Jerry, Milo’s efforts on both fronts are frustrated by his dogged pursuit of a young perfume saleswoman Lise (Leslie Caron). In an inversion of what one might expect from modern musicals, the plot of Minnelli’s film is really just background to the performances. Anyone who has seen Singin in the Rain will know that Gene Kelly’s dancing is a show in and of itself. Unlike that masterpiece, the muddy and often lazy love triangle of this film at times feels like distraction from Kelly’s athletic dance choreography and Edwin Willis’s stunning set design. Oh but what a visual splendor those elements are. Therein lies the confounding crux of why movie musicals fell out of fashion and why the new ones cannot capture the magic of yesteryear. An American in Paris is an absolute delight when Gene Kelly is tap dancing across with a poetic ferocity nobody has been able to match since. Leslie Caron dazzles with her delicate ballet in front of vibrant technicolor backdrops. At its best, the film is magic. It’s also little more than a showcase for those elements of beauty. As a narrative story, An American in Paris is severely lacking. Each of the leads are locked in a separate love triangle, neither of which resolves especially neatly. The script really lets down Caron’s Lise, presenting her as little more than a charming prop for Kelly to chase around. It is a problem Minnelli seems to recognize because he compensates for a lacking story by extending every song or dance out to the point that each sequence goes from enthralling to overlong. For its faults, An American in Paris remains undeniably propulsive. Charming performances buoy the flailing script and the run of memorable set pieces build into one of the most astonishing finales put to screen. It may not be the best of the classic Hollywood musicals — hell, Gene Kelly would best it himself only a year later — but Minnelli’s first Best Picture winner understands the absolute magic that only cinema can produce. 7/10
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