A Quiet Ingenuity

Paper by Hannah Gary. Viewed on DVD.

Eugene Delacroix once said that genius “is imagination alone, or, what amounts to the same thing, the refinement of the senses that sees what others do not see, or sees them differently,” (qtd. in Camp 111). Although meant to describe the artistic intellectual, this quote also points to someone who is able to visualize the potential in others when others do not. Arthur Freed did just this with his unbelievable “eye” for talent and his ability to see the areas where his studio, MGM, was incorrect or misguided. Freed, a lyricist turned producer in the “Golden Age” of Hollywood, utilized a different and more effective strategy for quietly working within the system, proving that the feat was not nearly as impossible as others claim it was. Although Arthur Freed easily worked within the Hollywood studio system, he actually, in his own way, was able to step outside the confines his studio set. Freed’s status within his studio and in the Hollywood film industry allowed him to create an innovative “unit” that invented numerous unique techniques and production standards that exemplified Freed’s personal aesthetic, proven by the success of his films and the sustainability of his unit at MGM. Of all his films, Singin’ the Rain (Donen and Kelly 1952) best demonstrates his ingenuity and, in particular, the scene, “Broadway Melody,” is the greatest example of Freed’s work as it brings together the elements that are most identified with the production style of the Freed Unit.

In order to provide a comparison to Freed’s producing status, one must first look at what an actual producer did in the Hollywood studio system. The standard producer “usually shaped the writing and rewriting of the script, had a major say in the casting, and often selected the cameraman, composer and art designers,” (Giannetti and Eyman 83). In some aspects, the producer was the most important person in the creation of a film as they were the ones who saw the film all the way through and hired all the talent needed for the project. Producers also “oversaw the director’s day-to-day problems of filming, smooth[ed] out difficulties if they were good at their jobs,” and even “superseded directors in the final cut of a film” (Giannetti and Eyman 83). This, along with the producer’s relation to studio executives who controlled most studio decisions, meant that producers were arguably the most important people in the production of a film; they could place the film in a capable director’s hands and promote fluidity and ease on set, or hire difficult stars who did not work well together and wind up fighting at the cost of the picture. It was not impossible to find a producer that would go beyond his status, and this was seen in the formation of the “creative producer” who “supervised the production of a film in such exacting detail that he was virtually its artistic creator,” (Giannetti and Eyman 83). Though rare, this type of producer was one that had a unique impact on the industry, unlike that of the standard studio mogul. Overall, in the studio system the producer held most of the power in the production of a film, though how he worked with his staff decided the success of the film being made.

Arthur Freed did not go so far as to become a “creative producer,” but, early on, his familiarity with music allowed him to be given more artistic reign than would normally be permitted. This is evident in his assistance to Mervyn LeRoy on the masterpiece, The Wizard of Oz (Fleming 1939). Both LeRoy and Louis Mayer “knew going into the project that its most important elements were the music and below-the-line factors like art direction, set design, costuming, and the overall production values. In these areas Mayer relied on Arthur Freed,” (Schatz, The Genius of the System 263). This eye for style placed him above his producing contemporaries since that part was usually delegated to the director or other artistic staff. Irving Berlin, a master songwriter, once said that Freed “knew how to handle men; he knew when to say “yes” and when to say “no.” But he never bothered people if he had confidence in them… And he certainly couldn’t dictate to me. I would welcome it if I agreed with him, but I could tell by his face whether it was good or bad and what he thought,” (qtd. in Kenrick). Although there is little to suggest that he was ever an auteur-like producer that set his artistic ideals above all else, he did have that knowledge of style that made him a tremendous asset to his studio MGM.

During the second part of his time with MGM, Freed was given freedom on the majority of the projects he worked on, perhaps because of his sense of style. According to Oscar Rimoldi, the writer of an extensive article on Arthur Freed, Freed’s career was marked by two periods, the first characterized by the reproduction of stage musicals, the second known for its “musical made specifically for film,” which were completely original. During the second period, “Freed was given total autonomy on his pictures and he could buy, decide and cast without the approval of any studio authority. The talented people working for him could use all the artifice Hollywood was able to produce,” (“Produced by Arthur Freed,” 7/8). This is a huge indicator of how much the studio trusted Freed’s style and leadership abilities. Usually, the producer reported to the studio executives for their approval, especially in the manufacturing of a house style, but Louis Mayer and other executives obviously let Freed have an unbelievable amount of control, nearly a carte blanche, over the projects delegated to his unit. During the war, Freed’s unit was even part of the “independent” production units which “applied to virtually any above-the-line talent not under conventional long-term studio contract—a roster which included…Arthur Freed,” (Schatz, “The Hollywood Studio System, 1942-1945” 182). MGM “remained most resistant to the in-house independent,” but, as a testament to Freed’s impressive place in the hierarchy of his studio, he was granted “unit status,” (Schatz, “The Hollywood Studio System, 1942-1945” 186). Not only this, but he was, like other independent producers, able to set “virtually [his] own terms with distributors,” (Schatz, “The Hollywood Studio System, 1942-1945” 184). What makes Freed’s case so unique is that he was, technically, still working within the Hollywood system, but given an amount of freedom filmmakers like Orson Welles, or any other visionary director who was unable to find a fit within the studio system, could only dream of. Granted, this independence was not complete artistic freedom, but it gave him the ability to put into production whichever film he liked or believed would attract audiences. This could be partly because Freed had a special relationship with studio head, Mayer, as he had “become Louis Mayer’s chief confidant and troubleshooter” even before being assistant producer for Wizard of Oz (Fleming 1939) (Schatz, The Genius of the System 263) and wound up only reporting to Mayer, even though Dore “Schary was in theory his boss” (Lev, “The American Film Industry in the Early 1950s” 14). Freed had found friends in the right places who recognized his capabilities and, surprisingly, gave him the independence to act on them. Freed had manipulated the system to work for him, a feat many filmmakers were never able to do.

However, his reputation as a producer aside, Freed had an undeniable knack for getting his way within his studio without being publically vocal. This may be one of the reasons MGM admired him so much: he would not risk the studio’s integrity and express his outcry to the newspapers, but would quietly get his way through the convincing of his confident, Mayer, and other executives. Even before he had his own unit, he was able to cast his protégée, Judy Garland for the role of Dorothy “against Mayer’s persistent obsession with Shirley Temple for the part,” and “threatened to quit the picture if Mayer went along with those executives who wanted to drop ‘Over the Rainbow’ because they said it slowed the picture down,” (Rimoldi, “Produced by Arthur Freed” 7/8). Freed’s ability to know which talent to fight for, in this case Judy Garland, was perhaps one of his greatest assets, especially as a producer; he knew which battles to pick and fought them head-to-head with studio executives. In the case of The Wizard of Oz, his decision paid off astoundingly well, as did many of his other tussles with MGM.

Of these “tussles,” one that was fought for, but brought poor box-office earnings, did not display the diminishing of Freed’s “eye” for style as much as it demonstrated his care and respect for his production staff. The film, Invitation to the Dance (Kelly 1956), was one of Freeds few “misses” has a producer. Because Singin in the Rain had been such a hit, “Freed felt he could (…) push through a project very dear to Gene Kelly” who “persuaded Freed to let him direct and choreograph the film,” despite the studio being “cold to the project, and Mayer” particularly being “openly against it…Freed’s determination prevailed” (Rimoldi “Produced by Arthur Freed” 9/10). Although the film was not a hit, in this instance Freed proved how important the people he employed were to him. Thus, Freed not only was able to get his way in a rigid system that would normally prevent such concessions, but he also did so in a quiet, controlled manner that was beneficial to those under him.

Thomas Schatz, author of The Genius of the System, claims that “because of the different stakes involved for each of these key players, studio filmmaking was less a process of collaboration than of negotiation and struggle,” (12). As seen above, Freed was a fantastic negotiator, but he also promoted teamwork in his unit, using himself as the example. Betty Comden and Adolph Green, major scriptwriters for musicals, found in Arthur Freed “a collaborator whose taste and judgment they trusted and whose production unit could transform even their most stage-bound efforts into uniquely cinematic experiences,” (Schatz, The Genius of the System 449). These writers knew and believed that Freed would use their work in the best possible manner which, in all likelihood, allowed their writing to flourish more than if they been under the supervision of an authoritative producer. Not only did Freed encourage a community atmosphere through his friendship with the writers, but “director Vincente Minnelli had the most intense alliance with the producer. All of Minnelli’s MGM musicals were done in collaboration with Freed,” (Schatz, “Postwar Stars, Genres, and Production Trends” 377). Minelli was one of MGM’s best musical directors, directing some of the most well-known musicals of all time, such as Meet Me in St. Louis (1944). His closeness with Freed and their ability to work so well together indicates how beneficial a collaborative atmosphere can be in filming. Freed did not stop there, he “also developed strong alliances with his performers, writers, and composers. Gene Kelly starred and danced in nine Freed musicals, and Fred Astaire in six,” (Schatz, “Postwar Stars, Genres, and Production Trends” 377). Whether it was Freed’s loyalty to his people in an industry that was fairly cut-throat, or was simply because of his respectful treatment of those who worked for him, something about Freed allowed the members of his unit to relax and trust his production ideology. This may be one of the largest reasons for the Freed Unit’s success.

Freed’s place as a producer was vitally important to his unit’s success, but equally, if not more so, was how he actually functioned with his team and what his specific talents and contributions were to the musical and Hollywood itself. Perhaps foremost among Freed’s capabilities was his near prophetic ability to spot talent and act on his hunches. One of the biggest examples of this is how “Freed had been instrumental in signing 13-year-old Judy Garland to a contract with MGM in the mid-1930s, and she became—along with Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly—one of the performers most closely associated with the producer,” (Lorenz). Freed also was able to hire the best possible directors and other artistic members and all of their work “under the Freed Unit banner (…) ranks with their best” (Lorenz). By building up his prestige, and consistently turning out fantastic pictures, Freed recognized and was able to utilize the industry’s best actors and dancers. Yet when Freed realized he had found the best people to do their jobs, he let them do just that. Whether in reciprocation for the amount of freedom he was given from the studio or just his personality, he gave nearly equal independence to his production unit staff. Irving Berlin also said that Freed “discovered a lot of people and he would take much more pride in that than in writing “Singin’ in the Rain,”…And he knew style – he didn’t do it, but he had an eye for it,” (qtd. in Musicals101). His discoveries obviously meant a lot to him, and, obviously to the people he picked. He let the people he hired do what they did best, create fascinating, impressive, and memorable musicals.
Freed’s unit also distinguished itself with its focus on dance and the “integrated musical.” Indeed, Thomas Schatz, an expert in the Hollywood studio system, believed that one of the two “factors” that contributed to the advancement of the Freed unit was the “emphasis on dance,” (“Postwar Stars, Genres, and Production Trends” 377). This is certainly evident in the myriad of films Freed produced with Gene Kelly, a star tap-dancer, in the leading role. Not only were Freed’s musicals special specifically because of dance, but also because they utilized the “integration of music and dance directly into the narrative as a means of both personal and romantic expression,” (Schatz, “Postwar Stars, Genres, and Production Trends” 378). Freed “musicals overcame the break between the musical’s story and its ‘show’—and thus the tension between the star as dramatic character and as musical performer” as opposed to the “backstage” format of earlier musicals that were “realistically motivated,” (Schatz, “Postwar Stars, Genres, and Production Trends” 378). Not only was this style important to the Freed Unit, but Freed was also “largely responsible” for its prevalence and usage in the industry (Lev, “Genres and Production Trends, 1950-1954” 35). This was a major change for the musical genre itself, and may have been one of the reasons for musicals’ surge in popularity under Freed. As characters joyously dance onscreen, an offshoot of their emotional status, it allows them to become more accessible and, in a way, more real to the audience. It gives the characters shape and purpose onscreen, in a way that was not fully comprehended in the “backstage” musical format.

The Freed Unit also was characterized by its preference towards American themes in its films. Because Freed, as the producer, was the one who looked at and decided on scripts, this was probably the realm where he had the most artistic say. Stanley Donen, one of Freed’s directors, noted that Freed’s musicals had a “distinctive ‘energy, which has mainly to do with (a) America and (b) dancing,’” (qtd. in Schatz, “Postwar Stars, Genres, and Production Trends” 378). One of the best films to detect Freed’s use of American themes is On The Town (Donen and Kelly 1949). The film covers the tale of three sailors spending their day off in New York City, and, as they travel about, they each find love and joy in what it means to be home, in America. While watching this film, there is the feel that these sailors have their best times on the streets of an American city, not in foreign lands; there is “no place like home.” Similarly, in The Pirate (Minnelli 1948), despite being set on a tropical island where foreign aspects would be expected to dominate, the “boisterous and hilarious finale…pay homage to the best traditions of vaudeville with [a] rendition of ‘Be A Clown,’”(Rimoldi, “Produced by Arthur Freed” 7/8). This vaudeville scene, along with the classic, American woman, played by Judy Garland, who is respectful but independent, make this a very American film despite being set in a foreign environment.

Probably the element most attributed to the Freed Unit is the use of spectacular musical numbers that are colorful and visually intriguing. These scenes “opened onto dimensions of total self-consciousness and exquisite stylization,” (Prince, “Genres and Production Cycles” 308). One of the greatest and most famous of these is the “American in Paris” number in An American in Paris (Minnelli 1951). This has what is known as a “dream sequence,” another of Freed’s contributions to the musical genre, where a character is transported outside his or her world into one of elegance and artistic abundance, completely outside the limits of standard time or rules that govern nature. This scene in An American in Paris pays “elaborate homages to impressionist painting,” (Prince, “Genres and Production Cycles” 308) while presenting an astounding display of the beauty of dance and the detailed intricacy of the Freed production unit. These awe-inspiring scenes also seem to make use of many extras dancing, many set pieces with a vast array of colors and shapes, and express pure emotional value. Whether happiness at finding love, or sadness at it being taken away, the musical numbers transport the audience to a different place where the dances are a magnified, outward expression of emotion.

Freed also was the driving force behind the creation of the director-choreographer, an idea that would pay off immensely. Thomas Schatz claims that the most vital “members of his production units were four choreographers—Gene Kelly, Stanley Donen, Charles Walters, and Robert Alton—whom Freed developed into directors,” (“Postwar Stars, Genres, and Production Trends” 377). He even claims that this position was “by no means common in Hollywood or even at MGM—except in the Freed unit, where it was the dominant and defining feature,” (“Postwar Stars, Genres, and Production Trends” 377). What the development of this position really demonstrated was, again, Freed’s faith in the people who were a part of his unit. By giving these choreographers the ability to explore their talents in capacities different than their usual area of expertise, Freed succeeded, again, in a risky experiment. This is especially evident in Kelly and Donen’s directorial collaboration on On the Town (1949), a well-liked, innovative film, especially in its use of on-location shooting. It also displays Freed’s generosity as a producer in a job where others were much more straight-laced to preserve a studio’s house style.

Singin’ in the Rain (Donen and Kelly 1952) in particular, widely accepted as one of the greatest musicals of all time, demonstrated how beneficial this new position was for the musical genre. It also proved how all Freed Unit characteristics could fit together seamlessly, a wonderful indication of the power the Unit possessed. The film’s co-director-choreographers were Stanley Donen and Gene Kelly, the latter of which also played the lead character, Don Lockwood, in the film. Donald O’Connor, another star of the picture, said of his bosses, “‘Stanley Donen was brilliant…You never hear too much about him connected with the picture, because Gene worked directly with the people. Stanley kept in the background, but made a big contribution. Arthur Freed rarely said a thing. He hired the best people and let us work,’” (qtd. in Burlingame). Despite Freed’s more in-the-background place in the making of this film, O’Connor’s quote, again, only proves how much Freed trusted the people he hired; he knew they were the best, so, without interference, he simply let them create what he knew they could.

Freed’s influence on the film, however, is deeper than his relationship with the stars and even the directors. The script, based on the change from silent pictures to sound in early Hollywood, was a very familiar subject for Freed. The first picture he worked as a lyricist for was MGM’s first “talkie,” and, under Irving Thalberg, was given the chance to write a few songs for the film (Rimoldi, “Produced by Arthur Freed” 7/8). He did just that and with the approval of the studio his career had begun. In Singin’ in the Rain, the focus on the beginning stages of sound film was fairly accurate, probably due to Freed’s familiarity with the subject. However, what makes the film “work” and not be awkward is that it carries a modern sophistication, with colors abounding in each scene, elegance in the actors as well as the mise-en-scene, and a satisfying ease with the balance of visual elements; all these make a well-rounded and tasteful picture that is timeless. Not only did this film pay tribute to his early days as a lyricist, but it also demonstrated his background with Broadway musicals. Of the two “phases” in his career, the first was based in the replication of “Broadway’s successful stage shows,” the second being the film musical, which was completely original (Rimoldi, “Produced by Arthur Freed” 7/8). Singin’ in the Rain is a perfect melding of these two phases, as it retains a brilliant tribute to Broadway in the “Broadway Melody” scene which follows the rise and fall of a dancer onstage; yet, it does so in a completely inventive way, not relying on any specific past stage-based performance.

Whether intentional or not, the producer in the film, R.F. Simpson, played by Millard Mitchell, may be an accolade to Freed’s position as producer at his unit. R.F. is portrayed onscreen as the compassionate leader of a film unit, one who understands his stars and wants the best for them. He takes their input freely and obviously cares for their welfare and their success in the difficult industry. What is interesting to note is that the problems that arise for him, as a producer, are not because he reaps the consequences of being overbearing or harsh with the people in his unit, but from the actual studio system itself. It is the higher-ups, the executives and their contract system that ultimately create the problems and hindrances to the characters onscreen. This is obviously the case when Lina Lamont, the difficult and rude film “star,” gets her way because of a loophole in her contract, not because of R.F’s decision. This may or may not be indicative of Freed himself, but obviously this unit respected their producer enough to make the position portrayed onscreen that of the confident and respected presence behind-the-scenes.

Despite Freed’s personal influence on the whole of the film, there is one scene in particular that demonstrates his unit’s prowess and the numerous contributions they made to the genre itself. This scene, entitled “Broadway Melody,” is a dream sequence, an invention of the Freed Unit. It tells the tale of a man’s trials and joys performing as a dancer onstage. The title, in and of itself, is a homage to Freed’s first success as a lyricist. “Broadway Melody” was that very song Thalberg admired and named the first MGM “talkie” after (Rimoldi, “Produced by Arthur Freed” 7/8). It also features Gene Kelly as the lead role and Cyd Charisse as the haunting vixen, both protégées of Freed. This particular “dream” scene, similar to Freed’s others, is not grounded. Everything seems to be floating, ethereal, and abstract, like the image of billboard lights without having any buildings attached and the extras freezing and posing to create intricacy. These elements obviously make the scene unrealistic, but it is the sheer amount of artistry and creativity in the sets, costuming, and lighting, that transports the audience to a completely different place.

There is a major focus on dance in this scene, as was common to the Freed Unit’s films. Perhaps it is due the phrase “Gotta Dance,” consistently being used, or maybe it is because the theme of the scene is based on that “Broadway Rhythm,” but either way the dancing seems to have a contagious effect on the audience, as it feels more inclusive than exclusive. At one point, Don Lockwood calls all his fellow dancers to the stage by yelling, once again, “Gotta Dance,” as if it is a universal round-up call. As the dancers begin to crowd around him, the audience member feels as if he or she is similarly being called to action, as if they are a part of the action as well. Also, the dancing in this sequence, because of the lack of dialogue, is the supplement for emotion. Whether it is the hopeful, geeky, Lockwood dancing for agents to get his “break,” the sultry female who uses catlike movements to go after him, or the longing as the characters dance in a near-empty set, dancing is able to tell the audience exactly how the characters are feeling, maybe even better than dialogue ever could.

American themes are also prevalent in this sequence, perhaps most obviously in the focus on “Broadway” and “show business.” The overall theme, in and of itself, is very American as it follows the “little-guy” trying to make it big in the land of opportunity. This quintessential, rather geeky, American goes after his dream, joyfully allowing the audience to see and understand how much it means to him through dance and facial expressions of pure delight. It also follows the classic Hollywood tale, how the love of a woman disrupts and changes the protagonist’s path, as Lockwood is seduced by the vixen, Charisse’s character, in a nightclub. Eventually, also very American, his path is straightened again when he gets a glimpse of his past self, the one transported by dance, who points him back. There is also a tribute to vaudeville as Lockwood is trying to work his way up to high-society, and the gangster, complete with a scar on his face, both very American in origin.

The “spectacle” of this sequence may be the best indicator of its producer, Freed, and his production values. Aside from the dreamy quality, the use of filming and editing techniques also make the scene extremely powerful. There are many high angles, and even some crane shots that lift the audience above the place of action, making everything onscreen seem larger-than-life. The size of the set alone makes everything seem open and free, and, combined with loose framing at points, make the sequence seem exquisitely grand. One of the greatest examples of this is in the part when Lockwood dances with Charisse’s character on a completely empty, stair-like set. All they do is dance, while she wears an extremely long dress that billows majestically through the air. Although the loose framing and sheer volume of the set would usually diminish their value onscreen, they take it up with their expressive dancing and their passionate devotion to each other; they are, in each other’s sight, of more value than the emptiness of their environment. Not only this, but the consistent breaking of the fourth wall, as Lockwood and numerous other characters direct their attention directly towards the camera, make the audience, again, feel as if they are a part of the picture. The lighting of this sequence is fascinating, as the billboard lights flash intermittently sparking interest, and the shaded lighting in the Casino adds anticipation. All these elements add to the cohesiveness and grandeur of the scene itself.

The spectacle of this scene is also evident in the numerous extras and editing. There are a vast numbers of dancers who appear throughout the piece that fill up the screen, all dancing in unison. The camera shots of these people make the audience feel included, as the characters are viewed coming directly towards the camera, from low angles, zooms of their faces, and a few whip pans to increase the dimension of the film. All these help the audience feel what the characters feel, a profound amount of happiness as they dance. The people are also dressed in bright, vibrant colors making them seem both whimsical and interesting to those who watch. Finally, the timing of elements of this sequence increases its power as segments of vibrant colors and boisterous dancing are alternated with slow, quiet parts. This makes the explosive segments seem bigger and the quieter ones more contemplative and introspective. All in all, the sheer awe-factor of this sequence, the profuse dancing, and American elements all make this the best possible example of the Freed Unit’s prowess in the musical genre.

Arthur Freed as a producer was able to gain his own “unit” in a system rigidly against such status, consistently getting his way through friendships, his negotiating ability, and knack for spotting impressive talent that, in many cases, would provide the base for his unit, as well as MGM’s, success. His “unit” drastically contributed to the musical genre itself, with the invention of the director-choreographer, the mystical “dream-sequence,” and the focus on American themes and dance. Perhaps the greatest element that Freed contributed was his dedication to a cooperative atmosphere and a reciprocation of trust. Rather than being the domineering, person on set, he was respectful, quiet, loyal, yet willing to fight when necessary; he proved that this collaborative environment can create the greatest artistry. In an industry that is constantly criticized for its “immorality” and lack of standards, Freed gave proof that courteous methods of dealing with “show” people can actually be the best motivator for success. Unfortunately, Freed’s ingenuity in silence is lost today, as modern knowledge of him is extremely limited. This is exceedingly disappointing as his place in the industry and his contributions go unparalleled; his strategy was one of elegance. Don Lockwood’s proclamation at the opening of Singin’ in the Rain, could very well signify Freed’s reign as a producer: “Dignity. Always dignity.”

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