Review of 42nd Street

An amusing "let's produce a musical" movie, with a big ensemble cast and dance routines by the inimitable Busby Berkeley. Warner Baxter is Julian Marsh, a desperate, hard-pressed producer with (melodramatically secret) failing health. His star, Dorothy Brock (Bebe Daniels) is in love with her old vaudeville partner Pat Denning (George Brock), but she's the project of Kiddycar tycoon Abner Dillon (Guy Kibbee, who does a fine befuddled fellow of a certain age). Una Merkel and Ginger Rogers play chorus girls—and Rogers manages to steal a lot of small scenes with her quick wisecrack delivery. Dick Powell plays the juvenile lead, with a crush on new chorus girl Peggy Sawyer (Ruby Keeler). There's something wrong with Powell's face: his upper lip is too long, his chin is too short, his eyes are too sparkly, and generally he's too eager to please. Keeler has puppydog eyes and a pleasant face but not much of an acting or singing voice. Ned Sparks, who in a top-hat and cigar looks a lot like the untrustworthy companion in the Little Nemo comics, has a wonderful grimace and double-take. For much of the film they're working on the play in the theatre, and Daniels sings a lot of songs, but she's on the downward track—she breaks an ankle and cannot go on—while Keeler is heading up. It's an interesting way of having two stars share one stage role. And both the Ginger Rogers and the Bebe Daniels characters act unselfishly in the end, promoting and supporting the new girl. There's just enough sappy melodrama between the song and dance numbers to please those who require such things. And there are some great quick shots of old New York, a busy grey aerial shot of skyscrapers, a series of street signs from 42nd street intersections. The songs are mostly not very memorable, but "Shuffle Off to Buffalo" and the title song seem to have lasted. The best part of the movie has to be the stage settings and the Berkeley routines. For the honeymoon "Shuffle" routine, after the newlyweds sing from what appears to be the back platform of a train, the whole thing splits in half and opens 180 degrees into a cutaway railway car. In a pre-code bit of suggestibility, the new bride thrusts her arm through the sleeper curtains to drop them where the porter can get them and give them a good brushing--and the arm jerks, rises, and then sinks languorously, dropping the shoes and lingering... And there are some lovely dances on slowly turning, glossy black platforms. And in the finale, the whole cast seems to mount a set of steps or bleachers, their backs to the audience and carrying dark skyline cutouts. Then, all at once, they turn and each one holds up a painted skyscraper. A wonderful effect, the dancing buildings. It strikes me that Busby Berkeley's heritage has passed partly to film directors like Terry Gilliam whose artificial sets melt into verisimilitude, as in Baron Munchausen, and the artist Red Grooms.