White Christmas 1954

[9.0/10] White Christmas is a flashy movie. It is awash in luminous color and elegantly constructed sets. Its lead characters travel across the country to put on wildly successful shows. They do it all while wearing stylish, luxurious outfits perfectly tuned to the setting and the moment. The then-novel “Vistavision” shooting format expands the dimensions of the screen and packs it as full of movement and imagery as the form can stand. This is a showpiece, where the stars dance, sing, and pratfall their way with a brash, blaring style and don’t apologize for it.

It would be easy to write that off as empty, if winning entertainment. The setup sees Bob Wallace (Bing Crosby) and Phil Davis (Danny Kaye) trying to recreate their hit New York musical revue at an ailing ski lodge in Vermont, that by odd coincidence, turns out to be owned by the general who commanded them in World War II. And it provides an excuse to sprinkle in sequences of the gang “rehearsing” elaborate musical numbers, meant to thrill or dazzle or tickle the audience. You could excise the lavish “Mandy” number, the toe-tapping “Abraham” number, or even the uproarious “Choreography” number and not lose much, if anything, from the story or the characters.

But if you did, you’d be missing out on the fun. White Christmas is undoubtedly a feast for the eyes and the years. Crosby croons his numbers about lost generals with his signature baritone and, true to the title of the show-within-a-show, isn’t afraid to play around. Kaye is an absolute hoot, with slapstick comic relief, hilarious facial expressions, and a goofy, ribbing tone that makes him endearing. Vera Ellen, plays Judy, one of the two Haynes sisters who become tangled up with Bob and Phil, and she is a dream in dance shoes -- astoundingly fluid, flexible, and expressive -- and the film’s not so secret weapon in the dancing department. And Rosemary Clooney plays the other Haynes sister, Betty, and matches her on the distaff side of the vocal register, anchoring other scenes with her presence and a booming tone in numbers like “Love, You Didn’t Do Right by Me”, where the solo song and the focused framing give the actress nowhere to hide.

This is a star-studded affair, and everyone in the picture is perfectly cast. Even the side characters like Emma, the no-nonsense, eavesdropping caretaker of the lodge; Susan, the general’s wide-eyed granddaughter; and Doris, the dunder-headed showgirl who can’t quite seem to get her introductions straight, fit their roles like a glove. The pure showmanship, with the singing, the dancing, and the comedy, is top notch from beginning to end. If that's all White Christmas had, nothing but flash, it would still be worth the price of admission.

And you could be forgiven for thinking that's all the movie has. There’s a not so subtle motif in the film about the phoniness of showbiz and its practitioners. The new commanding officer who’s stepping in to command Bob and Phil’s division scoffs at the idea of the soldiers putting on a show during Christmas time rather than prepping for battle. Judy isn’t above luring bigtime producers to the Haynes’ sister act under false pretense in the hopes of getting their big break on the great white way. Betty’s genre-mandated conflict with Bob stems from whether big showbiz types are inevitably “working some angle” to enlarge their prestige or their pocketbooks, no matter how sincere they may seem. In other hands, White Christmas itself could bite on that theme and come off phony, or saccharine, or only interested in showing off

But that would ignore what puts the film over the top, and sets it apart from scads of other successors and imitators in the yuletide feelgood showcase department. White Christmas comes with an undeniable streak of sincerity, and sentimentality. Behind the spritely humor, catchy songs, and dizzying dance numbers, there are connections and relationships that, while a touch exaggerated given the time and place, nevertheless come off as genuine and even affecting.

Take the film’s romances. The story of Bob and Betty is a bog standard, “Boy meets girl/Boy and girl fall in love/Boy and girl split up over a painful misunderstanding; Boy and girl reconcile when all is made clear” type of deal. Their flirtations and frustrations depend on contrivance, convenience, and the outsized scheming of their conniving seconds.

But by gum, a surprisingly solid script from screenwriters Norman Krasna, Norman Panama, and Melvin Frank scaffold enough of it to where the admittedly cockamamie setup comes off unexpectedly convincing. The script dutifully sets up Phil and Judy’s willingness to trick and cajole in order to achieve their ends. It establishes Emma’s predilection toward listening in on guests’ conversations and adds a plausible interruption so that she can catch a misleadingly damning part of the discussion between Bob and a T.V. bigwig. Heck, it even deftly cements that General Waverly is near-sighted to explain why he has Bob read his letter from the army out loud where the audience can hear it. The logistics of the sitcom-y schemes and misunderstandings have a surprisingly solid footing, which makes them easier to accept.

The love tangles gain the most strength, though, from the simple but scrupulous work done to establish all of the major characters’ motivations and personalities. Phil is a nervous nellie, who’s not above leaning on saving Bob’s life to nudge his business partner into new ventures or help him find love, if only to give himself forty-five minutes of peace and quiet a day. Judy is a clever operator, happy to work the angles and bat her eyes if it allows her to give fate a push, while worrying that her older sister will always feel the need to mother her.

Betty is more pure, honest to a fault and wanting a knight in shining armor while suspecting that most men are far more craven than that fantasy standard, especially in a mercenary business like showbiz. And Bob is a workaholic who doesn’t have time for love, especially when he’s convinced that he won’t find a woman with two brain cells to rub together in their line of work. The intersections and snags among the foursome are evident from the jump, but the character foundations, what each wants and what they’ll do to get it, make this a legitimately sturdy little romantic entanglement.

In the few places where it’s wobbly, White Christmas makes up for it with the absolutely charming character dynamics. Crosby and Kaye play off one another to perfection, with a ribbing, brotherly vibe that lets them alternate between absolutely pestering one another to showing genuine care and affection without missing a beat. Their clever patter and memorable turns of phrase exemplify the best of the movie’s sharply-written dialogue.

For their part, Clooney and Ellen sure don’t look like sisters, but the vibe between them is no less familiar, with a hot-and-cold mix that makes them different, yet at home with one another. Judy and Phil make for a cute beta couple, throwing off genuine sparks and comic charm despite some outdated tropes and a certain “Wouldn’t you like me to be your beard?” vibe that exists between them.

The main romance, though, depends on the chemistry between Betty and Bob, and thankfully, it’s there in spades. The way the pair politely snipe at one another over drinks, warm to each other after socializing through the night on a train to Vermont, open up to one another about their hopes and dreams over whole milk and liverwurst, and after a rocky patch, reunite when their truest intentions are made plain, thrives on the easy manner between Clooney and Crosby. For an admittedly goofy, ploy-heavy romance to work, you have to buy the affections, and more importantly the shifts, among the couple at the center of it. Thankfully, both of the actors sing, literally and figuratively, in moments of light flirtation and soft sincerity.

It’s those latter moments that truly elevate White Christmas. Director Michael Curtiz (who also directed an obscure art film called Casablanca), shoots the film with an unfussy elegance. Simple pans from a combative conversation between one couple to a lively box step between another give an elegantly-constructed film a sense of naturalism. A wide shot of Bob gazing at Betty far away at the train station comes with a striking composition that underscores the emotional distance between them.

But he also favors simple shots that allow the feeling of the moment to ring out. In a basic over-the-shoulder perspective, we see Bob pour his heart out to Betty with apology and reassurance he worries will fall on deaf ears. When Betty learns the truth -- that Bob isn’t capitalizing on the general’s hard times to feather his own nest, but forgoing any payment to preserve the purity of the his grand gesture -- the camera slowly zooms in on her expression as she becomes overwhelmed with the realization that the noble knight she thought was a fantasy never left.

And most notably, we see General Wavely’s tear-filled eyes, in a straightforward, unbroken shot, as he sees that gesture unfold before him.

His is the story that gives White Christmas ballast. A beloved general is relieved of command. He invests every penny he can scrape together into a wintry inn that falls on hard times when the snow refuses to fall. He feels used up and forgotten when the army doesn’t want him, and civilian life seems to have reduced him to obsolescence. And the men who served under him, be they top flight entertainers or regular (G.I.) joes, heed the call to both revitalize the business that became his dream, and remind him of all the people who still admire and care about him.

I’ll confess, I get a little misty just thinking about it. There’s no reason to look upon war with rose-colored glasses. But there is reason to revel in loyalty, in unbreakable bonds, in those who think themselves useless being reinvigorated and reminded of how much they still have to give and how much they still mean to those whose lives they touched.

Singing and dancing can be marvelous. Love stories, when done well, are heartening. But White Christmas goes one step further, with the story of a man who nearly lost everything, including his spirit, and finds it again in repayment for the kindness he showed so many in the hardest of times.

White Christmas is perennial viewing in my family. We borrow its terms like “weirdsmobile” and quote Bob’s admission that his plan may sound crazy, “But you're working for crazy people.” We chuckle about how many times they sing “Sisters”, how the whole shebang takes place in under a week, and poke fun at the convenience of the snowfall hitting in just the right place, in just the right way, at just the right time. We laugh at Danny Kaye’s comic contortions. We marvel at Vera Ellen’s tempestuous taps. We sing along with Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney’s memorably-performed melodies. There is plenty to entertain folks from one to ninety-two around the holidays packed into the movie’s two hours of screwball humor and musical variety show.

But what keeps us coming back year after year is the substance and sincerity that underlies all that flash. At base, White Christmas is about men at war yearning for the warmth of a home they may never see again; about two people finding the kind of soulmate each was convinced didn’t exist, about a man realizing he’s not forgotten, but instead awash in love. The craft and showmanship on display is impeccable. But there is more beneath the surface of such a spritely picture than you’d expect from a soft and silly classic like this one: a truth and earnestness that belies Betty’s expectations, and the audience’s, and draws out what is sweet and sublime about this season.