#camern miranda

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The Gang's All Here

It has no deep meaning. At times it seems to have no meaning at all. Yet Busby Berkeley’s THE GANG’S ALL HERE (1943, TCM, Hulu, YouTube) is such an agreeable assemblage of goofy comedy and over-the-top musical numbers, it’s hard to resist. It was Berkeley’s first film in three-strip Technicolor, and his approach to that medium is eye-popping, with vivid colors for Carmen Miranda’s sets and costumes and one number in which pinks and greens dominate.

What plot there is involves rising stage star Alice Faye’s romance with serviceman James Ellison, who’s informally engaged to childhood sweetheart Sheila Ryan (replacing Linda Darnell, who pissed off Darryl F. Zanuck by getting married). His father (Eugene Pallette), Ryan’s parents (Edward Everett Horton and Charlotte Greenwood) and Faye’s colleague Miranda all get mixed up in the romantic mess when Pallette decides to put on a show to sell war bonds at Everett’s estate. This is the kind of film Hollywood churned out during World War II. It’s filled with topical references, and Faye even has one song, “No Love, No Nothing,” about waiting for her sweetie to return from the war. Miranda’s stardom was partially an effort to reach new audiences in Latin America since the European market was closed to Hollywood films, though it’s important to point out that her high energy and performing skills were more than enough to justify her presence. In an expert cast, Ellison feels like a fill-in and acts if he were trying to make a big impression before the real stars returned from military service. He didn’t.

But the real star is Berkeley. He makes “The Lady in the Tutti Frutti Hat” the ultimate Carmen Miranda number, with dancing bananas and strawberries surrounding her as she sings about what it’s like to be Carmen Miranda. The phallic implications are obvious and weren’t waiting until more recent decades to be discovered. The Production Code Administration insisted that the chorus girls never hold their bananas below waist level. Less outrageous, though no less interesting, is “The Polka Dot Polka,” which starts with Faye singing to children dressed as 19th century adults but then moves into a post-human staging as neon polka dots dance across the screen with no visible assistance. At one point, a closeup of Faye’s head protruding from a sea of material turns into a kaleidoscope that quickly replaces her face with a swirling pattern of shiny cloth. It’s like FANTASIA (1940) for couturiers.