Having just seen the Imperial Ice Stars Swan Lake on Ice, and The Sleeping Beauty on Ice, I'm getting rather tired of the whole "well, we tried the story, now let's just dance around a bit" thing. It didn't work for them, and it doesn't work for An American in Paris.
Speaking just of the two main actors, Gene Kelly is frankly not pleasant to look at, and putting him in grandpa pants doesn't help. Having him mug for the camera while tap-dancing (the dance equivalent of mime) is like fingernails on a chalkboard. He's our hero? He can't even say the girl's name right. It's Lise, not Lisa. And Leslie Caron has what appears to be a freakish overbite that creeped me out for the rest of the night. I may have nightmares. I simply don't buy that she's the head-turner she's made out to be, unless that head is about to hurl -- which it might, given that we're supposed to celebrate this middle-aged man picking up a teenager, who we can read between the lines has already been getting it between the sheets regularly from her "protector" since during the war.
The one interesting character in the entire film is Adam. He reads as a gay friend, unfortunately with no life of his own. If this hadn't been filmed during the heavy-handed Production Code era, he probably would have had a fuller role to play than fiddling with coffee and cigarettes and having narcissistic daydreams. But at least he was there at all.
The much talked-about 18-minute dance sequence at the end is a good time to take a bathroom break, or perhaps drive to McDonald's for some fries and a Coke. You won't miss anything you can't already see, performed as well and by much better-looking people on So You Think You Can Dance.
Many times, we confuse "groundbreaking", which this film probably was, with "good" ,which it certainly was not. Sometimes you have to let go of the past, and this is one of those times.
Speaking just of the two main actors, Gene Kelly is frankly not pleasant to look at, and putting him in grandpa pants doesn't help. Having him mug for the camera while tap-dancing (the dance equivalent of mime) is like fingernails on a chalkboard. He's our hero? He can't even say the girl's name right. It's Lise, not Lisa. And Leslie Caron has what appears to be a freakish overbite that creeped me out for the rest of the night. I may have nightmares. I simply don't buy that she's the head-turner she's made out to be, unless that head is about to hurl -- which it might, given that we're supposed to celebrate this middle-aged man picking up a teenager, who we can read between the lines has already been getting it between the sheets regularly from her "protector" since during the war.
The one interesting character in the entire film is Adam. He reads as a gay friend, unfortunately with no life of his own. If this hadn't been filmed during the heavy-handed Production Code era, he probably would have had a fuller role to play than fiddling with coffee and cigarettes and having narcissistic daydreams. But at least he was there at all.
The much talked-about 18-minute dance sequence at the end is a good time to take a bathroom break, or perhaps drive to McDonald's for some fries and a Coke. You won't miss anything you can't already see, performed as well and by much better-looking people on So You Think You Can Dance.
Many times, we confuse "groundbreaking", which this film probably was, with "good" ,which it certainly was not. Sometimes you have to let go of the past, and this is one of those times.