Bing & Sinatra in High Society

High Society is a musical that I don’t quite understand. The first song doesn’t appear until about 15 minutes into the movie, and there are virtually no choreographed songs (though Sinatra and Bing do some footwork at the bar). Most of the songs are sung by Sinatra and Bing, with the exception of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” and the performance of Bing coupled with Louis Armstrong’s band at one point. I am not quite certain why this is a musical, though the music is great (“You’re Sensational” being a particular favorite of mine).

Storywise, High Society is a bit contrived and unoriginal (guy tries to get his ex-wife back before her wedding day and, ultimately, does). And the setting is Newport, RI, around the time of the Newport Jazz Festival, but other than the appearance of Louis Armstrong and his band, the festival serves as an underdeveloped backdrop and an excuse to discuss music. Bing Crosby is the jazz guy in this film, and yet he is fairly unconvincing. His songs to Carolyn and Tracy (Grace Kelly) remind me of a crooner; the half-lidded, lulling voice who pulls out an accordian during the flashback on the boat. Even when Bing is onstage with Louis Armstrong’s band at the party, there is this disjunction between his smooth voice and the raspiness of Armstrong.

So if Bing is meant to represent jazz (and does so unsuccessfully, though what he does sing is great), then how is Sinatra meant to be viewed in this film? It seems to make sense that Sinatra should sing, because he is another love interest (though a weak love interest… still no clue of why he falls for Tracy, other than that she is beautiful), and he has a good voice. Sinatra uses songs to woo Tracy (thinking back to his crooning days), with the exception of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” which is a lively duet and fit smore naturally than some of the other songs into the flow of conversation, working in place of dialogue between Sinatra and the photographer.

The rivalry didn’t seem to be present between Bing and Sinatra, though during “Swell Party,” Sinatra comments, “I don’t dig that kind of crooning chum,” poking fun at the style of singing they were both known for at one time. But both actors seem to be in this film in order to sing (as their characters aren’t very well developed and their interest in Tracy is extremely contrived), or rather, the film seems to be a musical in order to have stars like Bing and Sinatra present. What is so striking is that the leading lady, Grace Kelly, doesn’t sing at all (other than her drunken state weaving through the party, “you’re sensational!” she proclaims). Bing and Sinatra sing at her, but never with her, emphasizing that crooner-like state (even if the music is infused with jazz) of the singer singing at his object of affection, while she listens dreamily.

Star Image Still Important

“The challenge is if you started with a star, you’re stuck, because you’re always going to need a star,” said Jeffrey Seller, a lead producer of the current “West Side Story” revival in a recent New York Times article.

One of the discussions dominating our Sinatra class is this idea of star image, and how much the role of a character is enhanced, morphed or influenced by a star’s image. Where does the star image end and the acting begin with a character? Some roles are so intertwined with a star’s image, that it seems imaginable to separate the two. Think of Marlon Brando’s role in A Streetcar Named Desire. Can Stanley ever be separated from Brando now?

And as it’s apparent in “Without Star, Often Broadway Shows Can’t Go On”, Broadway continues to face this challenge in recasting roles. How do you replace a Bernadette Peters or a Nathan Lane or a Kristin Chenoweth? Well, sometimes with other stars. And sometimes, you take the plunge with someone unfamiliar, and watch your sales plummet.

What the article doesn’t fully explore, but would be worth considering is: how do you identify a star in theatre versus film? As the article begins to suggest, some stage stars are film stars first (like Catherine Zeta-Jones), but for Peters and Chenoweth – what makes them star material? The answer isn’t in this post. Yet.

The Guys: Sinatra and Brando

“All dolls are the same,” Sky Masterson (Marlon Brando) asserts in the movie musical Guys and Dolls, though this later proves untrue when he falls in love with the upright, religious Sarah Brown. But are all guys the same? In this film, many of the gangsters blend into one another, but Brando and Sinatra bring performances that differentiate their characters and highlight different models of masculinity.

Brando and Sinatra, Guys and Dolls

Nathan Detroit (played by Sinatra) is a different model of masculinity than what we have previously encountered in the other films viewed in this class. He is not in the armed forces, and in fact, partakes in illegal activities (notably, gambling). Nathan Detroit is well-dressed, sporting a gold ring on his pinkie, a pinstriped suit, and a nice hat cocked to one side. He is also more in charge, and more commanding of other men around him. It has been noted that Sinatra has a scrawny frame, but his two sidekicks help to downplay this – one is really little and the other is fat. Nathan Detroit barks at these guys, gets them to run his messages and do his grunt work. Sinatra plays a character that is more assertive, and whose weakness is a doll – Adelaide.

Sky Masterson is a more independent, smooth version of masculinity. He also gambles, like Nathan, but is more of a risk-taker, which pays off in the end. Unlike Nathan, he believes all women are the same, and even when he falls for Sarah, he is less desperate than Nathan. Sky yells at Sarah, kisses her forcefully, and leaves her at the Mission. It is Sarah who goes after Sky, so it is interesting that both women (Adelaide and Sarah) do some intense pursuing. We also don’t get the sense that either man is really changing his ways. Sky used a bet to help out Sarah, but doesn’t seem transformed or saved in any way. His demeanor (which will go back to Brando’s performance) hints that he is not the type of man to change for a woman, even if he does get married to her. Nathan is also reluctant to change, as can be seen in the wedding finale, when he is hiding the paper with the racing record and then sneezes during the vows. Somehow I doubt that he will really change his ways either.

In regards to how Sinatra and Brando embrace these forms of masculinity, it is necessary to examine their modes of performance. Sinatra has an affected speech (and I’m not sure how much of this is the writing of the script). He never articulates contractions, which lends a stilted rhythm to his speech, and he over enunciates certain words. Often he walks or stands with his hands clasped behind his back, and this makes Nathan Detroit look at ease or pensive, but also natural. He was also a predictably natural performer when he sang, unlike Brando, whose voice never had the power or range.

Brando also has some gestures and movements that seem particular to him that he branded on Sky’s character. For example, he moves his hands in an outspread motion when he talks (oftentimes, by using his hat to emphasize points), and there were a number of times where he pointed his finger (sometimes in place of words). When he is making a serious advance (especially with women), he places his hands on a table or door sill and leans in, so that he commands a space (and attention). Once in awhile I would catch him pursing his lips, in both an arrogant and lustful manner (this occurred around interactions with Sarah). Thinking about the Method, Brando would handle objects in a natural manner, but definitely not part of the script, like when he examines Nathan’s business cards at Mindy’s, or scans the paper as Nathan talks to him about cheesecake. He also maintained a slight brooding, outcast persona (that seems fitting with Method actors) and not especially out of place with Sky’s character.

A different Sinatra in “From Here to Eternity”

The world of From Here to Eternity is male-centered. Similar to the previous three films we have seen of Sinatra’s (Anchors Aweigh, It Happened in Brooklyn and On the Town), Sinatra’s character (Maggio) is in the armed forces. Unlike the other three, most of the action takes place on an army-base. From Here to Eternity is a world of rules, regulations and routines.

Sinatra engages in traditionally masculine activities: he smokes, plays pool, gets drunk (even stowing a whiskey bottle under his shirt at the club), loves women and fighting with almost equal gusto. No longer is he the wide-eyed, naive soldier/sailor, bursting into dreamy songs, following his buddy around like a puppy. Maggio has a hot temper, facing off with Fatso at the bar, and taking all of the beatings that Fatso doles out in the Stockade. There is a triumphant, courageous moment at the end, when Sinatra escapes the cruelty of Fatso and the Stockade, only to die.

Maggio is a more serious, masculine role, reflecting the more serious tone and subject matter of this film (the lead up to the Pearl Harbor bombing is emotionally intense and skillfully dramatized). The relationship Maggio has with Prewitt is still reminiscent of the sidekick characters Sinatra previously played, but is a more involved, equal relationship. They stick up for each other. Maggio shows Prewitt a good time on the town, and Prewitt avenges Maggio’s death. They have a deeper bond in this film than Sinatra had with former co-stars, such as Gene Kelly.

One of the other more noticeable differences is how much more present Sinatra’s Italian identity is in From Here to Eternity. Angelo Maggio is a very Italian name. He is proud of this identity, willing to fight Fatso for calling him a “little wop” and referring to his sister. Sinatra has family in this film. A big family, which he proudly shows off through the photograph at the bar.

Since this was not a musical, the spectator views Sinatra as a more complete person – with a background, through his friendships, his alliances, and his demeanor – that does not rely on his singing ability. So it’s no wonder that Sinatra won an Oscar for this performance. Let’s revisit that moment when he won:

Cars and Masculinity

Cars were a symbol of status for Italian-American men in the West End of the 1950s (The Urban Villagers, Gans). Generally, cars are associated with men (and cars are even ranked by how masculine they may seem. For example, one would probably dub a Corvette more masculine than, say, a VW Bug).

So it might come as no surprise that Sinatra once owned a Lamborghini Miura. And here is a 2003 article in Forbes about the auctioning off of this “swinging” ride, fit for a crooning, playboy star.

Still a boyish figure

In two previous films, Anchors Aweigh and It Happened in Brooklyn, Sinatra’s characters seem boyish, not-quite masculine, and his lack of traditional (aggressive, confident) masculinity is made apparent by how he compares to the other men in those films. In On the Town, Sinatra’s masculinity is more clearly defined by how he compares to the women and not the other men (particularly his two friends/sailors – Gene Kelly and Jules Munshin).

Sinatra plays Chip, the wide-eyed sailor who is practical about how he wants to spend his one day on the shore. He wants to see the sites of New York City, whereas Kelly and Munshin are all about getting a girl. In fact, it is a woman who must make a move on Sinatra. The taxi driver, Hildy.

Hildy has her eyes on Sinatra from the get-go, because his “face is open.” She demands that he sits next to her in the taxi, and she badgers him to come up to her apartment. Hildy possesses a number of masculine traits: she drives a taxi, even though the war is over and she is reminded that she doesn’t have to do that anymore. She is aggressive, physically touching Sinatra, cornering him in the taxi.

Sinatra and the take-charge taxi driver

And she is forthright – she wants him to come back to her place. She has to make the move, because Sinatra still seems like a kid (Kelly calls him junior a couple of times). There are a couple of other instances that highlight his prepubescent state of mind – the playful attitude in the museum, covering up his face when they walk into a room with a nude art model, Hildy ordering beer for him at the club. Yes, when Hildy finally drags Sinatra up to her apartment, Sinatra kisses her passionately, but she has to convince him first that they’ve done all they can for Kelly.

It is interesting – considering Sinatra’s crooner image and parts he played in previous musicals – that the only time he can say sweet nothings into Hildy’s ear is when he sings. He teases her and woos her through his singing in a way Chip can’t do when he’s talking, pointing out the sites from the top of the Empire State Building.

The Sinatra Man Cave

According to the host of the TV show “Man Caves,” Frank Sinatra is one of the greatest men in history, so it’s not surprising that in his hometown of Hoboken, there is the Frank Sinatra Social Club.

The point of “Man Caves” is to find man caves that are rundown and need a makeover. A man cave, as I learned from my Gender and Space class last semester, is a sanctuary for men, in a space such as a garage or den.

In this episode of “Man Caves,” the space is the Frank Sinatra Social Club, a bland room with a sawed-off kitchen counter, cheap tables and mismatched chairs, where a group of Hoboken men get together to eat some good Italian food and socialize. These men know the haunts of Sinatra, admire his music, and the fact that he came from Hoboken, and made it big.

I saw this episode at the perfect point in my reading for the Sinatra class. Herbert J. Gans’ article from “The Urban Villagers” portrayed West End Italian-Americans as family-oriented with a commitment to good Italian food. Food became the crux of the West-Enders’ socializing, much as it seems to be for the Sinatra Social Club.

Watch the video and see for yourself if this man cave does justice to Sinatra, and if it – in any way – represents a Sinatra brand of masculinity.

http://www.hulu.com/watch/35376/man-caves-frank-sinatra-social-club

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Sinatra spoof on terrorism

You must know you are an iconic image when your art is spoofed.

The link below takes you to the lyrics and song of “Strangers on my flight”, sung to the tune of Sinatra’s “Strangers in the night.” Sinatra’s stardom – his familiarity and Voice – is manipulated to comment on the semi-current event of terrorist plane hijackings.

Strangers on my flight

Brooklyn 2

There are some notable similarities between Sinatra’s character Clarence (aka Brooklyn) in “Anchors Aweigh” and his character Danny (from Brooklyn) in “It Happened in Brooklyn.” The uniform and return to native land, the boyish charm jolted by a deep baritone when he sings, and his inability to get the first girl he thinks he wants.

But what is different are the male costars that Sinatra is juxtaposed against: younger, older, overly sophisticated and “soft.” As the nurse points out in the opening scenes, Danny is not the “ideal” Brooklyn guy. When he does make friends (to prove to the nurse that he is a friendly Brooklyn native) it is with an older gentleman, who turns out to be a duke (not a common man). The duke’s grandson, Jamie, who becomes Danny’s protegee, friend, and eventual rival in love, is a “square.” He plays classical piano, talks politely, dresses elegantly. His manners and sophistication are what appeal to Annie, and sweep her off her feet, out of the arms of Danny (who must not really be in love with her, as he can’t remember the exact color of her nails or her height).

In “Anchors Aweigh,” Sinatra was pitted against Gene Kelly, a more athletic, manly man, who gets the girl, and appears aggressive and more well-suited for his uniform. We get the sense in the mise en scene of “It Happened in Brooklyn” that Danny is a bit of a runt (he is ailing from the mumps, can’t quite pick up a conversation with men, and looks baffled when he winds up on the dance floor). Later on, we see this reinforced when he is in the gym with Nick and the kid, and can’t make the seesaw move down. So, though the audience may acknowledge that Danny is not the most “manly”, he appears next to men (and boys) who make him look capable and somewhat masculine.

Let’s examine Nick, the older, gruff janitor of Danny’s former school. Nick not only is a perpetual bachelor and past his prime, but he takes on a certain feminine role when Danny enters his house. He wears an apron, cooks pasta (“Either you got a feeling for homemaking or you ain’t,” Nick says) and confesses to knitting! An amusing character trait is how his voice cracks (much like that of prepubescent boy), showing us that he may not have reached his full male potential. He even gets wrapped up in matchmaking Annie and Danny, a trait I find more feminine than masculine.

Though I had a sense right away that the nurse would play a greater role, I was a bit surprised that Sinatra once more didn’t manage to get the girl. Annie and Danny had music in common, and a fun, playful relationship (which drifts more towards the friendship side of things then a romantic relationship), and Danny certainly didn’t look at Annie the way that Jamie did – with longing and desire and mush. This is the look of a crooner, I think.

So what does this film tell us about Sinatra’s image, and particularly, his image as it relates to his recording persona? First, there is the distinction between Sinatra the small guy in ill-fitting clothes, and Sinatra “The Voice.” This contrast is certainly played out in the record shop, where the girls scream after Sinatra sings. Danny seems more musically inclined (he can read sheet music) than the “real” Sinatra, but the impact of the Voice remains the same. In this movie, as in “Anchors Aweigh,” Sinatra’s character is aligned with Brooklyn, something that was true of Sinatra in real life, except he’s a Hoboken boy.

But what I find truly interesting and interconnected between Danny’s character and Sinatra’s image as a recording artist, is the commitment to and love for music. Danny always remarks, “You gotta keep trying,” which pushes Annie, and pushes Jamie, and pushes Leo. He also takes Nick’s advice, which is that singing “Should come from the heart… it doesn’t have to be witty or smart, it just has to come from the heart.” When I think of Sinatra’s singing, I think of it as having feeling, of being projected into the microphone with a sincerity and deep love for the music (even if the lyrics are sappy, at times).

The Frank Image, on MTV

So I’ll admit that I was watching MTV this morning.

I thought an episode of Teen Mom was a great post-exercise fix before tackling my thesis again, and during the break, a commercial came on for the MTV VMA Awards. It featured Drake, a performer I am only slightly familiar with. He wore a suit, donned a hat at an angle, and glided down onto the stage to grab the iconic microphone, a band playing in the background. In an article written for MTV.com, Drake said he was trying to get into character, to find his inner Sinatra. And without Drake having to go into more detail, I think I get what he means by this.

It is a packaged image: the suit, the hat, the walk, the way he caresses the microphone. It’s the Sinatra package, and it tells me in a one-minute preview, that Drake must be suave, a ladies’ man, and a great singer. Except he’s not quite Sinatra. And I know what MTV is doing. The black and white picture helps too. It screams classy, timeless, stardom. Perhaps that is part of being a star – being timeless too?

Check the video out for yourself.

Drake Promo Video