Blackie (Clark Gable) is a pleasant, heroic, good guy who runs an exceptionally nice night club but is somehow thought of as scandalous. Huh. That doesnât make sense, but onward. Blackie spends his time, when not doing the most respectable disreputable things possible, with old friend Father Mullin (Spencer Tracy). Into his club comes prissy opera singer Mary (Jeanette MacDonald), so he hires her and falls for her⌠Huh. That doesnât make sense either. The local respectable opera impresario and slumlord (Jack Burley) also wants Mary, both for her singing and romantically, and also wants to stop Blackie from running for public office because he likes firesâmore or less. Eventually the San Francisco earthquake hits, which is the reason the film was made.
In the year of My Man Godfrey and The Petrified Forest, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences decided to nominate a melodramatic disaster film for Best Picture as well as Best Actor, Director, Writing, Assistant Director (yes, that was a category), and Sound Recording, and gave the Oscar to it for sound. That was a peculiar thing to do, but who doesnât love a disaster film?
So, looking for a disaster film? Well, youâre going to have to wait. First you have to spend some time with Gable as the purist rogue thatâs ever lived clowning around with Tracyâs annoying priest. And then youâre going to have to listen to Jeanette MacDonald sing. And then sing some more. And then talking and arguing in the foreground as MacDonald sings in the background. Then some more singing. Then some more arguing intertwined with singing. The songs are no more exciting than the story but they take up more time.
Watching all that singing is Blackie, the kind of sleazy that only exists in cinema. Heâs rough and tough and gives organs to the church because thatâs what rough and tough guys do. His bar and gambling casino is supposed to be seedy, but looks like the best four star restaurant, with everyone in tuxes. And this fake shady character is the most realistic part of the film. No one acts human, no relationship is real (or amusing), and the story is just stuck together as an excuse to put these stars in the same picture with an earthquake.
The acting is somewhere left of terrible. Tracy is often overrated, but here heâs not even trying, mugging for the camera from time to time. Itâs hard to say what Gable is doing. My guess is he didnât take the film seriously and was just goofing off. At least MacDonald makes sense. She could never act, and here she continues her tradition. She was a singer, not an actress, and it shows; it always shows. She has zero chemistry with Gable which is no shock. Chemistry has nothing to do with her and Gable wasnât bothering. As for that singing, well, MacDonald has skill, but the music doesnât fit. A rap tune wouldnât either, nor would a hour long symphony. To the extent that this flick calls out for anything, it calls for jazz. The all too frequent pauses for opera, and operafied pop vary between unnecessary and painful. It isnât here because the story demanded it, but because studio bosses had to figure out places to put MacDonald. Her final version of San Fransico is pretty good, but canât make up for the rest.
And then after 90 minutes the earthquake hit with zero warning or buildup and⌠itâs good. Really good. The special effects are amazing for 1936 and not bad now (some rear screen work is too obvious). Thereâs a real feeling of weight as buildings fall. And Clark Gable begins to act. The reasonable cinematography shoots up to top notch. I didnât think W.S âOne-Shot Woodyâ Van Dyke had it in him. Itâs like a whole different movie. The cheap unbearable melodrama became solid drama.
Then itâs all brought low by an ugly religious ending that seems to say that itâs good for God to murder lots of people and destroy cities in order for people to worship him. Apparently Gable found it as offense as I do, but he was getting paid and under contract. Itâs a spectacularly unpleasant ending.