Plot? There is no plot. Famous producer Florenz Ziegfeld (William Powell), looks down from heaven, thinking how nice it would be to put on one more review. That’s the story, and Ziegfeld is never heard from again. What you get are unrelated musical numbers and comedy sketches, each introduced by a title card and featuring MGM’s biggest stars: Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Judy Garland, Lena Horne, Cyd Charisse, Esther Williams, Lucille Ball, Red Skelton, Lucille Bremer, Kathryn Grayson, and Keenan Wynn.
An anachronism in 1946, Ziegfeld Follies’s format would again become popular in the 1960s with TV: The Jackie Gleason Show, The Red Skelton Show, and The Carol Burnett Show. (Ah, gentle readers, my past is showing.) And like those shows, this film isn’t hit or miss, but near hits, misses, and complete misfires. If anything might be considered a saving grace, it’s Fred Astaire. If you’re not a huge fan of his, stay far away. If you are, I can name fifteen movies to seek out first.
The comedy routines are a mystery to me. Did anyone, ever, think that it was funny to watch Keenan Wynn argue with a phone operator about repeatedly being connected to wrong numbers? The others are no better. Victor Moore and Edward Arnold tell a very, very long lawyer joke. Fanny Brice and Hume Cronyn try to retrieve a lottery ticket from William Frawley, and Red Skelton gets drunk while advertising alcohol. These are some of the lamest routines put on film, and there’s nothing that is worth a smile.
But then I’m equally mystified by the one-time popularity of Esther Williams swimming about in a tank. Here she swims and smiles, and that’s it. It isn’t bad, just tedious.
To go with the Ziegfield name, there are several large production numbers which are politely referred to as dated. The first, Here’s To the Beautiful Girls, includes multiple 40s-era hotties, dressed in pink, posing for the camera, along with the requisite circular staircase, and for no reason I can figure, horses. To make it properly surreal, Lucille Ball snaps a whip at dancing girls in cat outfits, which sounds a lot more entertaining than it is. The other big number has Kathryn Grayson, in wonderful voice, singing a forgettable number while soap bubbles gurgle up and Cyd Charisse dances in toe-shoes. It might stick with you due to its weirdness, but for no other reason.
Lena Horne does her best to sex things up, but the song, Love, is too weak. Judy Garland, not yet showing the effects of her drug addiction, sings A Great Lady has an Interview, which is more a joke than a song. It beats the comedy sketches, which isn’t an overwhelming recommendation. There’s also an out-of-place opera segment, which is nicely done, and would have been even better in an opera.
Which leaves the three Astaire vignettes. Lucille Bremer is an attractive partner for him, in two pantomimes. First he’s a jewel thief, sneaking into a fancy event to swipe the lovely lady’s bracelet. It’s fine ballroom, but more attention was lavished on the over-blown sets than the choreography. Later, Astaire and Bremer ignore how foolish it looks when Caucasians pretend to be a different race. They are Chinese (ummm, I don’t think so). After an excessively long opening that involves Astaire standing around a lot, he dreams a ballet which could only be more garish if blinking neon signs were added. Finally, in the only scene worth the cost of the film used to record it, Astaire teams up for the first time with Gene Kelly. The song, The Babbitt and the Bromide is not one of the Gershwins’ better compositions, and seeing these two masters kick each other in the butt is embarrassing, but the meeting is historic. Since it was included in the compilation That’s Entertainment!, there’s no reason to sit through the rest of Ziegfeld Follies.
My other reviews of Gene Kelly films: : Cover Girl (1944), Anchors Aweigh (1945), The Pirate (1948), Words and Music (1948), On the Town (1949), Summer Stock (1950), An American in Paris (1951), Brigadoon (1954), It’s Always Fair Weather (1955), Les Girls (1957), The Young Girls of Rochefort (1967).