TODDAHOMA

A widescreen process can inadvertently destroy its subject by the unmerciless exposure of the flimsy. Oklahoma! is as an example of how TODD-AO overwhelmed a supposed American classic and blew way past its pastoral dimension. Part of the trouble was in the original sell: Mike Todd wanted to go beyond the technical and expensive confines of the 3-camera Cinerama with TODD-AO and, wishing to showcase it with a musical story and panoramic vistas, he thought Rogers and Hammerstein, who had for more than a decade refused to sell Oklahoma! to Hollywood, could be persuaded to allow it to be the process’s premiere. After being swept up by Todd’s enthusiasm and by an impressive demo of the new camera technique, they agreed, but they also insisted, out of fears of excessive commercial peddling, Todd not have any creative control over the making of the movie, thus Fred Zinnemann was selected as a compliant director. Todd’s visions were always showbiz scope and bravura; Zinnemann’s talent was in concentrating on tense dramatic stories; Rogers and Hammerstein were demanders of fidelity to their cornball concepts. Not a very comfortable fit and the result is a peculiarly unaffecting, often feeble story unable to break through on screen. Hailed as one of the best of the “organic” and/or “integrated” musicals, Oklahoma! doesn’t seem all that natural or blended, neither in 1955 terms nor now, especially after reading Frank Rich’s insightful piece in New York magazine. Not helping matters is agrarian Arizona is what we’re seeing and not an ounce of Oklahoma, and, excepting the buggy rides, Robert Surtees’ photography is often too stationary. When everything goes inside soundstages the TODD-AO camera magnifies falseness: the interiors of the central home are laughably larger than the exterior could support; the Oliver Smith “Out of My Dreams” design is over-embellished as neo-expressionism, throwing us right out of the corn silk milieu, sometimes sensing we might be caught up in a displaced Dorothy nightmare from a warped Wizard of Oz; the nighttime decors appallingly second-rate. And not only the sets: in what Walter Kerr might describe as “old-style fantastification,” the libretto holds few pleasurable virtues as the camera peels away the fringy antiquation, just as it does to Hello, Dolly. No quarrel with Gordon MacRae and Shirley Jones who, definitely more preferable than Jane Powell and Howard Keel or Kathryn Grayson and Keel, are a nicely matched pair singing “People Will Say We’re in Love.” But MacRae and Jones aren’t large enough physical presences to thwart the production’s screamers: Gloria Grahame scratches the blackboards with one of those awful crowd-pleasing “don’t you start talkin’ purdy” routines with a voice recalling Shirley Temple at her most grating, and Rod Steiger with his bulky sinister arms doing a N.Y. tenement version of Javert out of Les Misérables. There’s the obvious question: what in this rickety relic is truly Oklahoman? (Frank Rich supplies what’s missing.) Lovers of dance have for decades praised Agnes de Mille’s choreography and perhaps they’re right, yet in the movie we get dance already super-datedly petite, out of sync with locale and premise, with throws of some athleticism to keep the fear of fairies at bay. Well, not quite: couldn’t she have given James (Palmer Cortlandt) Mitchell something to do other than lift a body up in the air or get tossed around by Steiger? The début of TODD-A0 was marred when, during opening night at N.Y.’s Rivoli, a section of the first reel was scratched by dirt in one of the projectors and throughout there were optical distortions the audience could detect. (American Optical Company quickly produced an optical printer to correct them.) Todd’s dream of having his namesake process overshadow the “event” status of Cinerama and the ubiquity of CinemaScope was never fulfilled, though aficionados are still enamored. Once the TODD-AO roadshow version of Oklahoma! completed its run in major cities, the CinemaScope rendering—filmed consecutively with different takes, line-readings, sound mixes and opening credits—was released. (Opening 12/26/1955 at the McVickers, running for 47 weeks; the CinemaScope print opened at the Loop at popular prices and continuous performances.)

Oscars for scoring of a musical picture and sound recording; nominations for color cinematography and film editing.

ROLLOVER IMAGES, at left the Todd AO title, at right the CinemaScope title.

A year after Oklahoma! Shirley Jones & Gordon MacRae did Carousel, an estranging plot-heavy R & H nincompooper, with a score made elusively memorable by its downer frequency. Jones insists this is her personal favorite music in musicals she filmed, including April Love and The Music Man, and though it’s probably impolite to distrust her sentiment, she looks overly fatigued here, and there’s next to zilch chemistry with MacRae, which has a lot to do with the obtuse script and Henry King’s inability to mesh after-life instructions with a return to earth to do the right thing. The singers don’t sound as if they’re having much success in finding reason in what they’re warbling; failing to come anywhere close to the certainty of scaling in “People Will Say We’re in Love,” they’re sending conflicting as well as confusing emotions in “If I Loved You.” (Not until we hear Julian Ovenden and Sierra Boggess sing it on a TV special do we fully get it, and the same response applies to Ovenden’s version of “Soliloquy.”) Attempting to mimic the East coast hood speak of skinny Frank Sinatra, who was first choice until he walked out in a huff, MacRae’s sturdy baritone keeps interfering. Sinatra’s recordings for Carousel have yet to be released. Much of the movie is filmed outdoors, using Boothbay Harbor, Maine, at which there’s a zany and acrobatic “June is Busting Out All Over.” Barbara Ruick as Carrie often looks like Dinah Shore; Audrey Christie isn’t her usual grating self; and Susan Luckey’s good luck is having Jacques d’Amboise as dance partner in “Louise’s Ballet.” Choreographer Rod Alexander refused to do to him what Agnes de Mille did to James Mitchell. Primary among the reasons for so many long and medium shots: the musical was filmed in the new CinemaScope 55, promising plenty of “images that are radiantly bright and sharp, backgrounds clearly in focus, illusion of breathtaking depth and that every seat becomes the perfect seat.” Fox didn’t deliver the goods: advertising CinemaScope 55 in newspapers, magazines, on theatre marquees and prominently showing its logo in the movie credits, Carousel was released in standard 35mm. (Later the same year, The King and I was promoted the same way.) Fox’s excuse: technical obsolescence, as other larger screen proccesses were coming forth and preferred by moviemakers. Intended as a roadshow follow up to Oklahoma!, the studio understood, when assembled, there wasn’t much in Carousel to warrant hardticket certification. (Opening 2/22/1956 at the Chicago at popular prices and continuous performances, running 4 weeks.)

ROLLOVER IMAGE

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