1951: An American in Paris
What a strange story. An American in Paris is a musical starring Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron. It is set to the music of George and Ira Gershwin. The film follows former GI Jerry Mulligan, an expat living in Paris trying to make a life as a painter, and his two friends Adam and Henri. Jerry (Gene Kelly) is full of joi de verve, bouncing with energy, smiles, and song.
While displaying his paintings on a Paris lane, Jerry is approached by Milo Roberts, an older woman who loves his work. She persuades Jerry to allow her to sponsor him, and she is genuinely interested in helping him be professionally successful, but she may also be interested in something more romantic. Alas, while Jerry and Milo are out at a local street pub, Jerry catches sight of a young beautiful French woman. And poof! We have the insta-love. A trope I particularly dislike.
The story then becomes a love square. Milo interested in Jerry. Jerry interested in Lise, the young woman from the pub. And Lise interested in Jerry’s friend Henri. But of course Henri and Jerry are unaware of their shared love, even as they sing and dance a whole number together about being in love.
Lise is hard to get, and she hardly speaks, even as Jerry goes about declaring his unending love for her. We never learn anything about her until near the end of the film when she declares she cannot see him again. She is in love with Henri because he cared for her during the war when her parents fought in the Resistance. She feels like she cannot walk away from that.
The film is filled with beautiful and weird ballet and orchestral scenes and typical musical song-and-dance that provide imaginative insight into our characters’ daydreams. However (and keep in mind that I have never loved musicals), the final ballet scene, while stunning, totally detracted from the rest of the story.
In my opinion, this story was incomplete, and at best, would be better seen on stage. The romance is totally unrealistic, the attraction between Milo and Jerry just dissipates with no explanation or closure, and the ending is just predictable Tropey-McTroperton. Jerry imagines this lovely, lengthy ballet as he watches “the love of his life” drive away. And when he returns from this reverie, there she is (shocker!) coming up the steps to reunite with him, having walked away from her longtime love.
Usually when I watch these old films, I try to put myself in the shoes of the people of the time and the Academy, to understand why it was such a valued film and story at the time. For An American in Paris, I really struggled because the plot was so simplistic and had several holes. However, I suppose the setting and the mindset of former-GI-turned-artist was a relateable dream in 1951, so shortly after the War ended. Painting in Paris and falling in love with a young French woman is a nice exotic escape from the horrors of soldier-life. I just don’t think it was executed very well.
