I love old movies. Whether one is talking about the 30s, 40s, 50s, or the silent era, I think there's a vast ocean of tremendous value that's been largely, sadly overlooked in subsequent years. That's not to say that all of classic cinema is equal, however, and inevitably one sometimes stumbles across titles that fail to capture one's imagination in the way one would hope. Unfortunately, I feel that 'Bolero' is one of those titles.
There is a nonchalance about the picture that reduces its flourishes of levity to a sense of mild amusement in which not even a smile is cracked. There's an ease to the picture that so diminishes even the most dramatic moments such that the loudest of raised voices can impart nothing more than people pretending to be upset, and turns in the plot almost uniformly evoke a reaction no greater than "Oh. Okay." All this would be fine if the cast were portraying fictional actors in the roles of these characters, putting on sardonic airs - but of anything else 'Bolero' may be, meta it is not, and so the most severe arguments and profound shifts simply come across as rather passé. To that point, too - I think George Raft, Carole Lombard, Frances Drake, and all others here demonstrate a suitable level of range and nuance in their performances. The laidback fluidity of the course of events in this feature, however, prevent them from exercising their capabilities to their fullest extent - and in those rare instances when someone truly explodes, it feels purely like overacting. I assume the frustrating overarching casualness can be chalked up to the artistic choices of director Wesley Ruggles, and I don't want to cast aspersions on the basis of just this one film, but it doesn't inspire confidence.
In fairness, 'Bolero' distinctly represents a simpler entertainment from a simpler time. One is accustomed to pictures with dance also including song - that is to say, musicals, which haven't changed a great deal since the advent of the talkies. There's nothing inherently wrong with the fact that 'Bolero' focuses exclusively on the former while disregarding the latter in any meaningful sense. Yet for all the swinging, fancy moves of lead Raft and his co-stars, the lively frolicking only does so much to grab or keep one's attention, and it's not so stimulating as to be able to provide able counterbalance to weak direction and plot progression.
Frankly, it's a real shame - the story is wonderful in concept, and I recognize some terrific ideas in the screenplay. Yet it's only in the last several minutes that all the disparate parts come together with the strength and cohesion 'Bolero' should have had all along. We get at long last an invigorating dance sequence, acting that is on point, and drama that is allowed to unfold at exactly the right pace and amplitude. And still the very, very end seems extraneous, and moreover, this long-awaited highlight is informed by a turn in the plot at the one-hour mark in the runtime - a strikingly unwieldy few minutes plagued by rushed, shoddy editing and sequencing, abusing eyes and ears alike. And at no point throughout the length have we been given much of a reason to care about the protagonist, so even at its best, 'Bolero' can't carry the weight that it should.
Storytelling is an art, and art is subjective. Other viewers will watch this and find it far more enjoyable and impactful than I have. That's fine. Everyone has their own opinions. Mine is that 'Bolero' languishes under questionable direction, more than anything else, that dwindles the feature to a shade of what it could and should have been. It's far from the worst film one could ever watch, and even among pictures of the 20s, 30s, and 40s that I admire so greatly, there are more regrettable clunkers than this one. Unless you're a diehard fan of dance, however, or someone in the cast, then I just don't see much need to go out of your way for this movie.
No thumbs up or down - just one disappointed shrug.
There is a nonchalance about the picture that reduces its flourishes of levity to a sense of mild amusement in which not even a smile is cracked. There's an ease to the picture that so diminishes even the most dramatic moments such that the loudest of raised voices can impart nothing more than people pretending to be upset, and turns in the plot almost uniformly evoke a reaction no greater than "Oh. Okay." All this would be fine if the cast were portraying fictional actors in the roles of these characters, putting on sardonic airs - but of anything else 'Bolero' may be, meta it is not, and so the most severe arguments and profound shifts simply come across as rather passé. To that point, too - I think George Raft, Carole Lombard, Frances Drake, and all others here demonstrate a suitable level of range and nuance in their performances. The laidback fluidity of the course of events in this feature, however, prevent them from exercising their capabilities to their fullest extent - and in those rare instances when someone truly explodes, it feels purely like overacting. I assume the frustrating overarching casualness can be chalked up to the artistic choices of director Wesley Ruggles, and I don't want to cast aspersions on the basis of just this one film, but it doesn't inspire confidence.
In fairness, 'Bolero' distinctly represents a simpler entertainment from a simpler time. One is accustomed to pictures with dance also including song - that is to say, musicals, which haven't changed a great deal since the advent of the talkies. There's nothing inherently wrong with the fact that 'Bolero' focuses exclusively on the former while disregarding the latter in any meaningful sense. Yet for all the swinging, fancy moves of lead Raft and his co-stars, the lively frolicking only does so much to grab or keep one's attention, and it's not so stimulating as to be able to provide able counterbalance to weak direction and plot progression.
Frankly, it's a real shame - the story is wonderful in concept, and I recognize some terrific ideas in the screenplay. Yet it's only in the last several minutes that all the disparate parts come together with the strength and cohesion 'Bolero' should have had all along. We get at long last an invigorating dance sequence, acting that is on point, and drama that is allowed to unfold at exactly the right pace and amplitude. And still the very, very end seems extraneous, and moreover, this long-awaited highlight is informed by a turn in the plot at the one-hour mark in the runtime - a strikingly unwieldy few minutes plagued by rushed, shoddy editing and sequencing, abusing eyes and ears alike. And at no point throughout the length have we been given much of a reason to care about the protagonist, so even at its best, 'Bolero' can't carry the weight that it should.
Storytelling is an art, and art is subjective. Other viewers will watch this and find it far more enjoyable and impactful than I have. That's fine. Everyone has their own opinions. Mine is that 'Bolero' languishes under questionable direction, more than anything else, that dwindles the feature to a shade of what it could and should have been. It's far from the worst film one could ever watch, and even among pictures of the 20s, 30s, and 40s that I admire so greatly, there are more regrettable clunkers than this one. Unless you're a diehard fan of dance, however, or someone in the cast, then I just don't see much need to go out of your way for this movie.
No thumbs up or down - just one disappointed shrug.