Screens from Warner Archive’s new 4K to Blu-ray of the perplexing festival of illusion and pretence that is Michael Curtiz’ “biographical” movie of Cole Porter, NIGHT AND DAY from 1946.
The screen (above) of Cary Grant as Cole and Monty Woolley as himself is the first gesture of straightwashing that, given Code enforcement buries the homosexuality of either/or both personalities.
But this is only the beginning for this two hour excursion into artifice, illusion, denial, reinvention and massaging via screenplay and production design. The only thing Curtiz and the crew appear to render naturalistically is the presentation of the 23 Porter numbers that are beaded throughout the action of the picture in what can basically be called diegetic form. In other words, in situ. But even here the shots only show Cary/Cole playing the piano, while the full might of the giant brassy Warner Orchestra blasts away in synch, albeit nowhere to be seen.
The artifice keeps multiplying with the advent of new characters. In an early sequence set in France after the war (Great) the movie introduces a French chanteuse, “Gabrielle”, played by an almost unrecognizable Eve Arden. For the one and only time in her career, Eve opens her mouth and starts speaking with a broad French accent. Or is it? As she moves around the set gesticulating as only Arden could the accent seems, and in fact is, perfectly genuine and convincing. Arden finishes the sequence with a rendition of “I’m Unlucky at Gambling” sung perfectly in French. We never see her again.(More’s the pity.)
The movie casts some still fresh actors in bits, like Dorothy Malone here in short bobbed hairstyle and a polished quietly spoken New England Patrician accent. Other performers include Jane Wyman in Auburn Blonde rinse, directed to shout her lines. At one point Cole/Cary is introduced to an up and coming vedette, played by Mary Martin, as “herself” as she takes on an ingenue bit. She’s the one and only “real” thing or characterization in the picture. Other delights include Paul Cavanaugh, a Warner second stringer sporting a blonde rinsed marcel wave. And Sig Ruman also playing himself, badly.
But by far the strangest and most intriguing aspect of the film’s quasi-realist-artifice is the color design. I cannot figure who determined it but the picture color codes major sequences with massed blocked single color. Thus in an early number an unnaturally acid Blue is sprayed to cover the entire background of the frame effectively creating a kind of geometric picture frame effect for the sequence. The wardrobe has been put together in a combination of drabs and secondary acids including that eye burning blue, morbid taupes, and dirty greens. Only when the show moves outdoors do we get a “natural” palettte. The duality seems rigorously enforced.
For the players, Curtiz manages to horsewhip almost everyone into brisk delivery, given the doggedly adulatory nature of the biographical screenplay and the downplaying of Cole’s wife, played by Alexis Smith with a gloomy resignation. The strangest performer in the show is Cary Grant who looks more often than not like he’s definitely not enjoying the job. Gossip records major clashes between Curtiz and Grant all through the shoot But so did Errol Flynn who loathed Curtiz’ dictatorial method. In Errol’s case the whip cracking paid off. With Cary it doesn’t always. But all this makes for compelling, sometimes hair raising viewing.
Nobody can call this movie in any way a success, but the presentation of 23 numbers is an unalloyed joy, and the sheer perversity that seem to cloak the picture in supernatural shade is frankly irresistible.
The new 4K master and disc is, as always with Warner Archive, flawless.
For much more comment and reaction scroll down to this item on David's Facebook Page where his thoughts were first posted.
