An American in Paris

On paper, I should have liked An American in Paris. I fancy myself an elaborate, lush Hollywood musical, I like Vincente Minnelli's direction, and I like looking at Gene Kelly. And yet, upon viewing the film, I found myself detached and bored.

Why? It seems to me that An American in Paris is as narratively puzzling a film as they come.

We have a painter, living in Paris, who, contrary to the narrative, doesn't seem to produce very compelling paintings. How the hell does he make a living in Paris just by painting? But he's damn good at tap dancing - which leads one to ponder why his trade isn't the latter, but alas...

We have a lonely heiress, who for reasons that aren't very fleshed out beyond the fact that she is attracted to him, is compelled to finance and support (read: pimp) said painter until he hits pay dirt. She's in the fray for a bit, but her arc is closed out with little resolution for her.

But it would seem to me that painting isn't really the painter's primary passion in this film (I mean for God's sake, the film is literally paused so that the painter can dream about himself dancing for 20 minutes); there is a brief stretch in which he seemingly is focused on painting, but for the most part, his attention is funneled towards Leslie Caron, who makes an unimpressive film debut here, and who very obviously does not have a whole lot of acting experience. She is a dull presence to say the least - a bit of an issue given that the film is driven by a setting and atmosphere that is supposed to be interpreted as "dynamic." Conventional Hollywood filmmaking has her falling in love with Gene Kelly very soon after spending some time with him, which didn't align very well with me considering she is supposed to have had a very longstanding relationship with Henri (played by a very annoying Georges Guétary), to whom she owes her life. But alas...

The songs? None of them stuck with me. I don't recall any of them, couldn't sing a verse back at you. And the pianist friend? What in the hell is the point of the pianist friend? I understand that Oscar Levant essentially did this film as a favor, but his character serves minimal purpose to the film. Eliminate him and the picture stands just fine.

And what of the odd alternating narration that kicks off the film, but then is promptly removed?

The film is based off of the premise of Gene Kelly being in Paris, this city of beauty and art and culture and inspiration, and yet the film veers off track several times over. Paris seems to be a loose device used here (as is the painter's trade of painting), and could very well be substituted with a different city given some tweaks to the script.

It's a watchable enough film, I suppose. I didn't really hate it, though I couldn't make enough sense of it. It's still a very beautifully shot picture - and that 17 minute dance sequence is damn impressive - but it's otherwise some real messy filmmaking. Seems to me that Minnelli and team threw as many themes and tactics at the film as possible and cared not at all for the actual storytelling. I have zero desire to watch the film again, which is wild considering just how tolerable I generally am for musicals (and how much I loved Anchors Aweigh).