IT'S ALWAYS FAIR WEATHER

Michael Kidd, Dan Dailey and Gene Kelly

IT'S ALWAYS FAIR WEATHER (1955). Directors: Stanley Donen; Gene Kelly.

Three men who were buddies in the army have many drinks at the end of the war and vow to meet in ten years' time at their favorite bar in Manhattan. Now, you might wonder, if they were such good friends, they would certainly have stayed in touch for the past decade, but apparently they haven't, so when they each keep the appointment they discover that they have little in common and don't even like each other very much (surely they could have talked about wartime experiences, at least?). Angie (Michael Kidd), who planned on becoming a great chef, is married, has several kids, and runs a hamburger joint in Schenectady. Doug (Dan Dailey of There's No Business Like Show Business), who'd wanted to become a famous artist, does work on TV shows that sell detergent, and is on the verge of divorce. Ted (Gene Kelly), who figured on a legal career, is now an unmarried manager for a boxer who is planning to take a dive. The ladies in the story include Jackie, (the gorgeous, leggy Cyd Charisse), who works on one of Ted's TV shows; and Madeline (Delores Gray), the star of said show. The gals hope to get the former soldiers on the program as a surprise, unaware that they now actively dislike each other. And some hoods who fixed the fight are out to get even with Ted.

Filmed in startling CinemaScope and color and photographed by Robert Bronner, It's Always Fair Weather presents a striking sound stage Manhattan that is prominently featured in two sequences: when the boys dance under the elevated subway, each wearing a garbage can lid on one foot; and when Kelly does an absolutely smashing dance on roller skates, and even winds up tap dancing while still wearing them ("I Like Myself"). Cyd Charisse [The Unfinished Dance] is featured in a production number in which she dances with flat-faced pugilists in a gym, and Delores Gray gets a chance to shine when she sings and dances to "Thanks, But No Thanks" with a dozen chorus boys. The songs were composed by Andre Previn [The Kissing Bandit] -- the lyrics were provided by Comden and Green -- and are pleasant enough, with "Friends Forever" emerging the prettiest number. The performances by the entire cast are excellent. Michael Kidd appeared in a few films, such as Smile, but was primarily a well-regarded choreographer [Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.]

Verdict: A small degree of pathos counteracts the silliness and Kelly's dancing is simply sensational. ***.

THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE (1962)

Glenn Ford and Ingrid Thulin with backdrop of Notre Dame

THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE (1962). Director: Vincente Minelli.

This remake of the silent film of the same title has been updated to WW Two. Argentinian Madriaga (Lee J. Cobb) is dispatched with rather quickly, and most of the story takes place in Paris, where an initially superficial Julio Desnoyers (Glenn Ford) has an affair with the married Marguerite Laurier (Ingrid Thulin of The Silence). Julio's father Marcelo (Charles Boyer) had deserted Army service years before and begs his son to fight the Nazis, unaware that Julio has already joined the resistance. This leads to the movie turning into a ersatz spy picture that has Julio going off on a suicide mission and a final confrontation with his cousin Heinrich (Karl Boehm of Sissi). Other characters include Julio's sister Chi Chi (Yvette Mimieux of Light in the Piazza) who joins the resistance much sooner; Marguerite's husband, Etinne (Paul Henreid); and Heinrich's father, Karl (Paul Lukas). It's amazing that adding all the excitement and peril of WW Two, plus technicolor and CinemaScope, has not resulted in a better movie than the original, but a far worse one. A middle-aged Glenn Ford is horribly miscast -- Minelli wanted a more appropriate Alain Delon but MGM nixed it -- and his love affair with Marguerite never for a minute seems passionate or believable. Scenes that should crackle with tension and drama are frittered away by Minelli's lacklustre direction. Not a single actor ever gets a close up, further distancing us from the characters, and Andre Previn's musical score can best be described as insipid. Milton R. Krasner's cinematography is a plus, but the sweeping vistas do little to pull us into the story. Other changes from the silent version include more wartime interaction between the two families -- one French, the other German -- and Etienne is not blinded. A bizarre sequence has Marguerite telling her husband she's leaving him for Julio the exact instant after he shows up, shattered by being tortured, after months away -- what perfect timing! Badly written and poorly made despite all the technological advances, this is a colossal bore. Of the cast, only Charles Boyer makes much of an impression. Like the silent version, this also has shots of phantom horsemen floating through the skies, and this time it seems even hokier.

Verdict: Stick with the original. ** out of 4.

VALLEY OF THE DOLLS

VALLEY OF THE DOLLS (1967). Director: Mark Robson.

Three young women either in, or on the fringes of, show business endure heartbreak of varying kinds and turn to pills for comfort. Anne Welles (Barbara Parkins) has a complicated relationship with her boss, Lyon Burke (Paul Burke). Neely O'Hara (Patty Duke) gains success but turns into a drug-addicted monster. Jennifer North (Sharon Tate) falls in love with a singer, Tony (Tony Scotti), who must be institutionalized due to a rare illness; then she develops breast cancer. I remember that Jacqueline Susann's novel was a very entertaining potboiler, but the film version is not so successful. There is certainly enough drama and tragedy in the story to make an effective movie, but the direction and editing, and some of the third-rate acting, really sink the production. The sense of time passing is never clearly delineated, and it seems apparent that a lot has been left on the cutting room floor. Barbara Parkins' [Asylum] blandness seems to work for the role of the "good girl;" ill-fated Sharon Tate is not much of an actress; and as for Patty Duke ...? Let's say that the character Duke is playing is horrible, and that she is miscast to begin with, but even with that in mind Duke's performance is pretty much an embarrassment. Duke self-consciously "acts" all through the movie, and acts badly for the most part; she simply can't do a convincing drunk and when she sings with a dubbed voice she looks spastic. Paul Burke [The Disembodied] is not bad but Martin Milner sinks to Duke's level as O'Hara's husband. Charles Drake doesn't appear long enough to make much of an impression, but he's fine. The cast members who come off best are Susan Hayward as a Broadway star; Lee Grant as the afflicted Tony's sister; and Robert H. Harris as Burke's business partner. Tony Scotti is barely acceptable as Jennifer's husband -- this was his only film appearance -- and Richard Dreyfuss of Jaws appears briefly as a stagehand. A scene when Neely O'Hara, who is drying out in the same sanitarium where Tony must live, encounters him in the lounge and they sing together, comes off more treacly than moving. The scene most people remember is a bitchy encounter between Duke and Hayward in the ladies room. The screenplay betrays decidedly sixties attitudes towards homosexuality, and the whole business of referring to pills as "dolls" is ridiculous. The theme song by Andre and Dory Previn isn't memorable, and there are other really lousy numbers as well. This was remade as a mini-series in 1981 -- I recall it being better than this film -- and to my surprise it was also a TV series with 65 episodes in 1994. Robson also directed the film version of Peyton Place, which is superior to this.

Verdict: Not very many redeeming qualities. **.