It's a treat to see the majestic, golden-haired, golden-voiced Constance Moore, but what a shame she is in something so cheap and lame. From the first shots we know this movie isn't going to bother with coherence. We see an orchestra leader conducting a symphony, then Jane Powell in her boarding-school bedroom. She falls asleep and we see her dream of joining the orchestra at Carnegie Hall and singing with them. Huh? Who is she? Why should we care about her? Why show us a character's DREAM before showing us anything about who they ARE? The whole thing is slipshod like that. Moore is supposed to be the love interest for Ralph Bellamy, but we never see them do anything but argue. Then, near the end, they are reconciled, but nothing more romantic happens. No love words, no kiss. Then, right at the end, Moore whispers to Powell that Bellamy has asked her to marry him and she will say yes! It's as if the movie makers suddenly woke up and realised, uh-oh, we forgot the love stuff! The movie also has its distasteful aspects--the 15-year-old character (Powell's real age at the time) puts her hair up, wears lots of makeup and a sexy dress to show that she can pass for eighteen and be in a Broadway show. As a result, dozens of soldiers and sailors flock to her eagerly, and she encourages them. It gives the viewer an uncomfortable feeling that she is being taken advantage of.
There is also the weird elevation to star status of the mediocrity Morton Gould. He is the conductor at the beginning, playing Carnegie Hall, and throughout the film we are told, ooh, they are putting on an original Morton Gould show, ooh, that's Morton Gould!, ooh, Morton Gould wants me for his radio show! Gould himself, as we see from his appearance in the movie, is as dull as his unmemorable music.
And the burlesque! The typical embarrassment of Hays-code burlesque theatre, with men roaring and stamping at girls who wear more clothes than real girls of the time did at the beach. The little sister burns with shame at seeing Moore display a leg (horrors!) to the audience, but in the Broadway show at the end, in which they both star, Moore is wearing a costume that shows BOTH her legs! Ridiculous.
It is very nice to see such likable performers as Arthur Treacher and Louise Beavers (there is a sweet moment when he stops making ice-cream sundaes for Powell and instead makes one for himself and one for Beavers, and they dig in). But both have been much, much funnier with better material.
There is also the weird elevation to star status of the mediocrity Morton Gould. He is the conductor at the beginning, playing Carnegie Hall, and throughout the film we are told, ooh, they are putting on an original Morton Gould show, ooh, that's Morton Gould!, ooh, Morton Gould wants me for his radio show! Gould himself, as we see from his appearance in the movie, is as dull as his unmemorable music.
And the burlesque! The typical embarrassment of Hays-code burlesque theatre, with men roaring and stamping at girls who wear more clothes than real girls of the time did at the beach. The little sister burns with shame at seeing Moore display a leg (horrors!) to the audience, but in the Broadway show at the end, in which they both star, Moore is wearing a costume that shows BOTH her legs! Ridiculous.
It is very nice to see such likable performers as Arthur Treacher and Louise Beavers (there is a sweet moment when he stops making ice-cream sundaes for Powell and instead makes one for himself and one for Beavers, and they dig in). But both have been much, much funnier with better material.