Movie Report: An American in Paris (1951)

Ah, the age of Hollywood musicals. Big, bright and beautiful.

Gene Kelly plays an American GI in post-war Paris, trying to make it as a painter. He's torn between the rich American woman who wants to "sponsor" him, and the adorable French girl (Leslie Caron) that he loves. And then ... ah, forget it. The plot's silly, and it doesn't matter anyway. All this movie was created for was an opportunity to have pretty, talented people sing and dance to Gershwin songs.

So there is much singing. And much dancing. The sets are gorgeous, as are the costumes. (Interesting fact, this was filmed on MGM's back lot, not on location in Paris. Hard to tell.)

But the showpiece of the film, an extended ballet sequence set to Gershwin's tone poem An American in Paris, is just tossed in at the end with no lead-up or explanation at all. It's sorta like ... "Damn -- what do we do now? Hell with it -- just let Gene dance for twenty minutes."

And after that, the movie's just *over*. It's jarring and odd, and it takes away from how lovely the work was up until that point.