Strike Up the Band (1940) is a rollicking pastiche of
M-G-M Americana, which is probably a genre, but at the very least, a profitable
theme for the studio. Two of its prize
properties, Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland, are back for their fourth paring,
and once again, prove they can do no wrong.
The question is whether the studio wanted to make a teens in the
Depression coming-of-age movie, a barn musical, a patriotic endorsement of our
nation in that stick your fingers in your ears and go la-la-la period between
the start of World War II in September 1939 and our eventual entry in December
1941—or just a nostalgic, warm, family comedy?
With nothing to lose, the studio decided to make it all of the above.
As for the family in family comedy, the few parents we see include
Mickey’s widowed mother, whom he insists he will make “a queen” and June
Preisser’s rich parents, who will bankroll Mickey’s ultimate success, which is
very convenient. Most of Mickey and
Judy’s high school gang talk of parental rules but seem to run their own lives
pretty well, to the point that the most important adults in their sphere are
the school principal, played by Francis Pierlot, a longtime vaudevillian and
stage actor whose film career in his senior years must have surprised and
gratified him; and the real-life big band leader Paul Whiteman.
Mr. Whiteman’s orchestra played an important role in the
1920s when the well-mannered and sophisticated jazz of the era evolved into
swing music in the early 1930s (Bing Crosby and Rudy Vallee were among those
who had their start with him). By the time this movie was made, one could say that,
though he had a noted place in the history of early twentieth-century American
music, his best years were behind him.
American kids going to the grand party for rich June Pressier’s 18th
birthday (How could they afford those rented tuxedos?) would have been thrilled
to be listening and dancing to the famous Paul Whiteman’s orchestra; however,
they probably had more Dorsey, Miller, and Kyser records at home and were
probably wondering when the “boogie-woogie” would start.
Mickey and his pals play in the school band, which is dull
and uninspiring to them, but the scene gives us an oh-so-brief comic glance at the
disapproving, spinsterish music teacher played by Virginia Sale, who had a long
career playing much older character parts.
She was the sister of vaudevillian comic Chic Sale. She also wrote and played in a one-woman show
called American Sketches, with which she toured from the 1930s through
the 1950s, including a stint over in Europe to perform for the troops during
World War II.
Mikey Rooney, born in a trunk and growing up on a
soundstage, was by now a veteran movie star, not just a movie actor, and could
do this role in his sleep. It does,
however, give him a chance to exhibit yet another talent for us—he was a very
good drummer, and his solo pieces in this movie are terrific.
Mikey’s dilemma in the movie is that he wants to be a big
band leader but his sainted mother wants him to be a doctor. Money is tight (or as Mikey says, “When’s
bank night?”), so we don’t know how she thinks this is going to happen, but
Mikey dreads disappointing her. Still,
on the sly, and with a polite, clean-scrubbed rebellious streak, he organizes
his buddies on the all-male school band into a dance orchestra. They want to perform at parties and dances
and raise money to go to Chicago to audition for Paul Whiteman and get rich and
famous.
Every big band needs a girl singer, and this is where Judy
Garland comes in. Judy is, as always,
wonderful, multi-talented, tears your heart out with a look and a lyric, and
seems to grow in her powers with each movie she makes at this period.
We are treated to Gershwin tunes and different settings,
from the imaginative but weird fantasy where a bowl of fruit becomes an
orchestra via stop-motion animation, to a spirited conga number in the high
school gym, to a very long and overly produced finale that gives us—either as
an afterthought or perhaps a cherry on top—the image of martial bands, Mikey in
a white naval uniform, and a salute to the flag. Clearly, the studio wanted to make sure, even
in the last moments of the film, that all bases were covered.
Mikey’s solution to his problem dovetails with Judy’s
problem—which is the effervescent June Preisser, the (as we mentioned in this previous post) “eye-rolling junior vamp” with the rolling acrobatic moves that
always astound but that never seem to fit in with a musical number. June’s making eyes at Mikey makes Judy
miserable. Judy pines after Mikey, but
the fool never seems to notice.
Pining after Judy is the really funny and quite
endearing Larry Nunn as Willie, a boy who is a freshman to their senior
grade. Larry Nunn had a brief movie
career—this film was probably his best work—and died tragically at only 49. Young Willie provides the dramatic crisis in
the film when he is injured and requires an operation. The gang turns over their earnings to him
and, as we see in the melodrama play they perform as a fundraiser, virtue is
its own reward.
A word about the melodrama, a Gay Nineties spoof called
“Nell of New Rochelle.” I think this is
my favorite part of the whole movie, partly because of the silliness, and
partly as a tribute to a long-ago form of entertainment. It’s part of our American theatrical
heritage. When this movie was made, the
Gay Nineties was only fifty years ago. I
say “only” because I have now reached the senior citizen stage of my life and
to me, the 1990s was last Thursday, and the 1970s was the week before
that.
The spoof also gives William Tracy, one of Mickey’s pals, a
spotlight role as the villain of the piece.
His overly made-up and sneering, sinister overtures to virginal Judy is
a stark contrast to his somewhat goofy teen personality, always worried about
whether or not he is on the outs with his girlfriend, Annie, played by Margaret
Early. Young Mr. Tracy’s most prominent
role was likely the jokester junior shop clerk in The Shop Around the Corner,
made the same year of 1940 (see this previous post.)
The silliness of this “mellerdramer” also served as an
inspiration to me when, a couple decades ago, I directed a similar kind of show
for my local community theater called “The Face on the Bar-Room Floor,” and we
incorporated many of the gags in this spoof:
the counting of the chimes of the town clock always being wrong, using
many of the same songs: “She Is More to
be Pitied Than Censured,” “After the Ball, “ “Father, Dear Father,” etc., and
when the unfortunate child, like Willie in the movie, died and suddenly bore a
white gown and cardboard angel wings, instead of “flying” him on a wire, we
brought out two gum-chewing, bored-looking stagehands to hoist him on their
shoulders and parade him off to “heaven.”
The audience loved it. That
community theatre show remains a warm and wonderful memory that returns to me
when I see this spoof in Strike Up the Band.
A few other favorite moments:
When June Pressier, new student, confidently slinks into the
classroom, causing Margaret Early to whisper to Judy Garland, “She’s touched it
up,” referring to June’s being a dyed blonde—Judy, half admiring and half
dreading a competitor murmurs simply, “Yeah.”
It’s a quiet moment, and in moments like these and when she is singing
the comic but plaintive, “I ain’t got nobody and nobody’s got me,” in the
library is when Judy is at her most powerful, commanding the screen far more
than in the frenetic moments when—one suspects at the insistence of Busby
Berkeley—her forceful eye-popping enthusiasm is nothing more than a theatrical
ploy. It does not draw us in like the real
acting does.
We might also note in the library scene a brief Charles
Smith sighting as the boy who’s looking for a book on the fall of the Roman
Empire. We also see Charles in the
above-mentioned The Shop on the Corner.
I also like Willie’s pathetic and funny marriage proposal to
Judy just before his mother calls to tell him it’s his bedtime, and the
long-suffering Willie’s remark to Judy, when he sees that Mikey has snubbed her
again, “Just give me the word, Mary, and I’ll slug him,” and “Some birds just
got to be shot twice before they stop flying.”
At some point between the high school dance and the big gig
in Chicago, the kids have graduated from high school, but we never see the
ceremony and it seems of secondary importance to their quest for fame and
fortune. It’s a world of homespun advice
from Mom, played by Ann Shoemaker who offers in her society lady diction, “The
top of the ladder is very appealing, and for my sake, be careful how you climb
that ladder, because that’s very important, too.”
Paul Whiteman offers his own advice, or something about
dying and drumming, “When we get to the last eight bars of the big tune—the
last thing to stop is our rhythm.”
It’s a world of neckties and sweater vests, and it’s a nice
place to visit, and I wouldn’t mind living there, too.
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Jacqueline T. Lynch is the author of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. and Movies in Our Time - Hollywood Mirrors and Mimics the Twentieth Century and Hollywood Fights Fascism and Christmas in Classic Films. TO JOIN HER READERS' GROUP - follow this link for a free book as a thank-you for joining.
