THE BARKLEYS OF BROADWAY

New Zealand Listener, Volume 21, Issue 541, 4 November 1949, Page 16

THE BARKLEYS OF BROADWAY

(M.G.M.) RED ASTAIRE and Ginger Rogers are together again in this M.G.M. silver jubilee song-and-dance number and _ it would be strange, I suppose, if something of the nostalgic anniversary atmosphere did not attach itself to the stars themselves. It must be close on a decade since I last saw them chasing the flying hours with glowing feet -and none of us can be as spry as he was 10 years ago-but it must be conceded that they have conserved their energy to a remarkable degree. Maybe the pas de deux are shorter than they were-certainly there don’t seem to be so many of them-but the footwork is as neat as ever and there is still enough vigour in the routines to draw a twinge of sympathetic backache from the impressionable filmgoer. And that is about as much as I can honestly say in praise of The Barkleys of Broadway. In spite of the stars, the sleek sets, Oscar Levant, Tchaikovski, and Technicolor-and after making allowance for unrealised (and unrealisable) expectations-it is still nothing to make a song and dance about. I was the more disappointed because this is the kind of production which the Americans normally handle well. Their cameramen have a smoothly efficient technique, their rather theatrical use of colour isn’t out of place in this setting, their scriptwriters can usually be relied on to turn out fast, entertaining dialogue, and the whole show generally moves at a brisk pace which effectively

diverts attention from the slightness of the story. The Barkleys, unfortunately, has a sort of silver jubilee, middle-aged spread about it. It rambles on, and on; it depends too much on an indifferent and overworked plot and too little on the simpler elements of spectacle and movement. Even Oscar Levant seems affected by the sluggish tempo. His wit lacks edge and he hammers his way through his quota of Tchaikovski as if doggedly determined to give the cashcustomers at least something to remember him by. Not even Astaire himself is free from the hoodoo. His best piece, a solo dance to the tune "I’ve Got Shoes With Wings On," is likely to be spoiled for many filmgoers here by inevitable (and invidious) comparison with the Red Shoes ballet. Some improvement might have been made if another 1,000 feet of the film had been left on the cutting-room floor, and Durante would have been a better asset in the circumstances than Levant. As it stands, The Barkleys barely makes: the grade.