Swing Time

It's funny. Music was my profession for fifteen years and during that time I learned to appreciate several different forms of musical expression. But for some reason, I never really got into musicals. Maybe that's because I got drafted into playing in the pit orchestra for an endless parade of Little Theatre productions in college.

So don't ask me why in the world I rented Swing Time (1936) starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. It's a romantic comedy with lots of music and dancing. As romantic comedies go, it's okay: One silly escapade after another, but acted well and with pretty good timing. (Have romantic comedies really changed at all in 70 years? I don't think so. Or maybe they have. They're worse now. Remember, they didn't have Ben Affleck 70 years ago.)

But when Astaire and Rogers began their dance to Jerome Kern's "Pick Yourself Up," my mouth dropped to the floor. Not only is the dancing superb, Astaire and Rogers make it look effortless. Forget about Dancing with the Stars, these are the stars. Astaire is so graceful, playful, so completely in command of his body as an instrument. He is a musician, after all, and he understands every nuance of what he's doing. (So, by the way, does Rogers. When the media seemed to frequently diminish her skills in light of Astaire's, she would say, "Look, I did everything Fred did backwards and in heels.")

But more important than all of that is the obvious joy of dancing displayed by the couple. It happens so seldom these days – watching or listening to a performer who joyfully performs. I hear it when I listen to Ella Fitzgerald. And I see it in Astaire and Rogers.

All of the dance numbers are amazing. Audiences today cringe (and rightfully so) at Astaire's blackface number, but you can't deny the brilliance of his moves. And the final number "Never Gonna Dance" is simply astounding. Astaire and Rogers were doing more than dancing; they were telling a story. Look closely and you can see every emotion expressed (some of them passionate), emotions that could never be expressed through dialogue (especially in 1936). It's a joy to watch.

Astaire was a meticulous craftsman, insisting on perfection in each take. Most of the dance scenes are filmed in one long unbroken shot. It's rumored that the "Never Gonna Dance" sequence took 47 takes, the last of which was used, even though Rogers' feet were bleeding through her shoes.

Several years ago I watched an award being given posthumously to Astaire, presented by one of his many dance partners. I don't remember her name, but she related the story of how they would practice for hours on end, film take after take until she was beyond exhausted. After each effort, Astaire would smile and say, "That was better. Let's run it one more time." And that would continue for hours until this woman was ready to scream. As she watched with the audience the dance clips from Astaire's amazing career, she looked up and seemed to be speaking directly to Astaire. "Oh, Mr. Astaire," she said, "what I wouldn't give to be able to run it one more time."