Director: Edward Buzzell
The latter half of the series of six Thin Man films moves further and further from their source—both in the sense of those involved behind the camera (W.S. Van Dyke’s passing in 1943 meant that the last two films were helmed by other studio hands) and in what they aspired for tonally. The penultimate entry, The Thin Man Goes Home, further explored Nick Charles (William Powell) by setting the narrative in his suburban childhood home, and the change of location and pace felt like a jump start for a series that threatened to grow tired. Similarly, Song of the Thin Man has new ambitions and is undoubtedly the most unique entry in the series. Unfortunately, if the idea is compelling on paper, the execution is largely lackluster. The conceit is that Nick and Nora (Myrna Loy) are now complete out of their element—the film, which takes place on gambling boats and jazz clubs, is effuse with contemporary lingo and youthful, hip faces. Whereas the married couple were always the suavest people in the room, Song of the Thin Man bravely casts them as out-of-touch. The thought of placing the 1930s pairing within the context of a radical new subculture is inspired, but it means Nick and Nora lack the charm and sophistication of the previous entries by design. The screenplay offers fewer memorable quips, and Loy in particular is hurt by having little to do (Loy’s dislike for the film is shown in the visibly disinterested look she has in nearly every scene). If the film meant to champion the older generation within the new subculture, it loses its mark—Nick and Nora are consumed by it, so much so that even Nick’s reveal at the end of the film is immediately overshadowed by the actions of one of the younger cast members. Song of the Thin Man is arguably the weakest entry in the series, however, it was an apt, bittersweet note to go out on, with Nick and Nora now settled into parenthood, so comforted by the security of their relationship that they watch the world pass them by.
Director: Edward Buzzell
This dramatization of teenage fan culture in the 1940s is benefited by the appeal of seeing MGM stars play versions of themselves, but a dead in the water subplot involving an affair drags down the level of fun considerably. Virginia Weidler plays the president of a movie fan club who will get the opportunity to meet Greer Garson, Walter Pidgeon, and other MGM notables of the time. Whereas films like Hollywood Canteen had the stars play more down to earth images of themselves, the cameos in The Youngest Profession involve the actors essentially playing their star persona, with all the glamour and sophistication that it entails. While MGM might have not been keen to present their roster as anything else, the end result is that none of the celebrities actually seem radically different than they would be in any other film. Still, they are the highlight, and the film does a fairly good job at being impressed by each of their appearances—when Robert Taylor appears at the door, the picture just about stops to savor in his image. Weidler is fine in the role, but watching her attempt to save her parents’ marriage is depressing at best. Jean Porter has a great energy in her performance (her reactions sell the surprise of seeing each of the stars), but otherwise the picture is largely a bore.
Director: Edward Buzzell
Another recycling of the The Prince and the Pauper mistaken identity plot, Honolulu casts Robert Young in a dual role as both a wildly famous celebrity and the pineapple plantation owner who is his spitting image. Inevitably, the two will exchange lives, resulting in an increasingly complicated romantic situation. Though Young eats up the majority of the screen time, dancer Eleanor Powell received top billing and is the picture’s most redeeming factor. As promised by the title, Powell dances with hula skirts and leis, even if her technique is not so much traditionally Hawaiian as it is simple swing dancing with accessories. Her most memorable number, however, is a gender swap blackface number in which she emulates Bill Robinson. Three years after Fred Astaire’s “Bojangles of Harlem”, the performance can’t quite overcome its predecessor–the stage is an underwhelming minimalist design that pails in comparison to the surrealism of the sequence in Swing Time, and if Powell has some grace, she doesn’t match Astaire’s athleticism or control. Lending support to the leads are Gracie Allen and George Burns in the last of their screen appearances together, and unfortunately another wasted opportunity. The two aren’t even in the same hemisphere until the last five minutes of the picture, and MGM makes the baffling choice in the early-goings of putting Gracie in a Mae West costume and having her sing. If the number is the film’s highlight (it involves lookalikes of The Marx Brothers, Clark Gable, W.C. Fields, and more), it shows a remarkable failure to understand what audiences would have wanted to see from the comedienne. Burns is absent almost entirely from the picture, and he would not resurface on cinema screens for decades thereafter.
Director: Edward Buzzell
An insufferable Esther Williams vehicle only notable for Frank Loesser’s “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, Neptune’s Daughter is a poorly-aged debacle lazily directed by Edward Buzzell. Though I’ve only scratched the surface of her body of work, Williams appears to have little comic talent on screen – while she is formidable in dramatic roles such as Million Dollar Mermaid, here she is absolutely humorless in what is otherwise a live-action cartoon. The picture displays the studio system at it’s lousiest – it is hardly coherent, with a polo scene late in the film rife with stylistically unmotivated jump cuts. “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” is so helplessly out of context that the scene becomes funny for all of the wrong reasons (in the same scene, Montalban refers to the warmth of the room, not to mention the fact that swimming suits are the attire of choice throughout the bulk of the picture). Even with a lousy Williams vehicle you might expect a redeeming spectacle or two, however the lengthiest of which is entirely missable and occurs just before the end credits roll.
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