MGM is known for producing some of the finest musicals in the 40s and 50s. The Arthur Freed production unit typically put together high calibre teams of the best stars, writers and directors. Summer holiday features Mickey Rooney, an experienced musical star who was also adept at comedy and a good actor to boot, music by popular songwriters Harry Warren and Ralph Blane, a screenplay by Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett (It's a Wonderful Life) adapted from a Eugene O'Neill play and direction by Rouben Mamoulian, a director with a somewhat patchy record but whose forte was in musicals. This ought to be good.
Unfortunately Rooney was past the peak of his career, and he is not best used here in any case. It wouldn't be surprising if the actor, by now in his late twenties, was starting to get fed up with being Hollywood's perpetual teenager. As it is, he gives a rather daft, cartoonish performance, lots of ape-like gestures and walking with his bottom sticking out, a constant caricature of an eager young man. This may well be the sort of thing that was intended. The costume department has fitted him with ridiculous baggy trousers, making him look a real prize prat. I know he is supposed to be a boy on the verge of manhood, and that this is supposed to be a comedy, but this clownish look is simply in the wrong vein.
I'm not familiar with Eugene O'Neill's Ah Wilderness! so I'm sure how much of it has survived in Summer Holiday. Going by the other work of O'Neill's I do know, which is usually quite literate and rather edgy, I'd guess not very much. Goodrich and Hackett have done a good job of injecting some jokes that only work cinematically (such as Walter Huston suddenly realising how Rooney's speech is going to develop) and the picture is worth a giggle or two. At times it rallies for American conservatism to an extent that is almost self-parody, and it's hard at times to decipher exactly what message the movie is supposed to be given. My guess is that while it was seen as acceptable to go all out on bashing socialism, some of O'Neill's other libertarian views have been excised or toned down, attacking the one thing blindly without offering any sort of alternative. There are here and there hints of a message, but it's all a bit vague really. I'm not denouncing or advocating any particular politics here, just saying that this smacks of disorganised screen writing.
Director Rouben Mamoulian brings some nice touches to the musical numbers, having the actors move from place to place as a song progresses, moving rhythmically to make a dance out of ordinary actions. There's a truly sublime moment during the school song where the film segues into a montage of living recreations of Grant Wood paintings. It's not quite perfect; while most of those images are naturalistic nods toward the original pictures, the rendering of American Gothic is far too literal, and as such it's a bit false and jarring. This is perhaps Mamoulian's biggest fault at this time. He didn't have the good taste to know when to tone down an idea.
And the fact that Summer Holiday does seem to rely a lot of visual tricks does in many ways betray its weaknesses as a basic work. Even the songs by the promising pairing of Warren and Blane sound like rejects from Meet Me in St Louis. There are some good things about it – some nice ensemble pieces, Walter Huston's steady performance – but as a whole piece it is rather disappointing. Creative minds don't always merge to best effect, and putting together a dream team doesn't always guarantee spectacular results.
Unfortunately Rooney was past the peak of his career, and he is not best used here in any case. It wouldn't be surprising if the actor, by now in his late twenties, was starting to get fed up with being Hollywood's perpetual teenager. As it is, he gives a rather daft, cartoonish performance, lots of ape-like gestures and walking with his bottom sticking out, a constant caricature of an eager young man. This may well be the sort of thing that was intended. The costume department has fitted him with ridiculous baggy trousers, making him look a real prize prat. I know he is supposed to be a boy on the verge of manhood, and that this is supposed to be a comedy, but this clownish look is simply in the wrong vein.
I'm not familiar with Eugene O'Neill's Ah Wilderness! so I'm sure how much of it has survived in Summer Holiday. Going by the other work of O'Neill's I do know, which is usually quite literate and rather edgy, I'd guess not very much. Goodrich and Hackett have done a good job of injecting some jokes that only work cinematically (such as Walter Huston suddenly realising how Rooney's speech is going to develop) and the picture is worth a giggle or two. At times it rallies for American conservatism to an extent that is almost self-parody, and it's hard at times to decipher exactly what message the movie is supposed to be given. My guess is that while it was seen as acceptable to go all out on bashing socialism, some of O'Neill's other libertarian views have been excised or toned down, attacking the one thing blindly without offering any sort of alternative. There are here and there hints of a message, but it's all a bit vague really. I'm not denouncing or advocating any particular politics here, just saying that this smacks of disorganised screen writing.
Director Rouben Mamoulian brings some nice touches to the musical numbers, having the actors move from place to place as a song progresses, moving rhythmically to make a dance out of ordinary actions. There's a truly sublime moment during the school song where the film segues into a montage of living recreations of Grant Wood paintings. It's not quite perfect; while most of those images are naturalistic nods toward the original pictures, the rendering of American Gothic is far too literal, and as such it's a bit false and jarring. This is perhaps Mamoulian's biggest fault at this time. He didn't have the good taste to know when to tone down an idea.
And the fact that Summer Holiday does seem to rely a lot of visual tricks does in many ways betray its weaknesses as a basic work. Even the songs by the promising pairing of Warren and Blane sound like rejects from Meet Me in St Louis. There are some good things about it – some nice ensemble pieces, Walter Huston's steady performance – but as a whole piece it is rather disappointing. Creative minds don't always merge to best effect, and putting together a dream team doesn't always guarantee spectacular results.