A Date with Judy

A voice-over begins A Date with Judy (1948) by commenting on the characteristic features of the ordinary town of Santa Barbara, California. The voice mainly focuses on two men: Mr. Pringle, a successful tycoon who has very little time for family life; and Mr. Foster, who may not have as nice a house as Mr. Pringle, but who always finds time for his family. The scene then shifts to a performance rehearsal where Judy Foster (Jane Powel) is practicing a song to sing at her parents’ wedding anniversary. Her boyfriend Ogden Pringle (Scotty Becket) is leading the orchestra and staring adoringly at Judy, until his sister Carol (a stunning, young Elizabeth Taylor), who is also Judy’s best friend, interrupts to say that Judy is singing the song a little too joyfully and should be more seductive. Judy agrees, as Carol is her idol, but Ogden thinks the song is good as is, innocence and all. Judy then heads home to get ready for the high school prom that night. Carol’s power over Judy is again illustrated when Judy changes from her new blue dress to an old pink one upon Carol’s insistence (seeing as Carol was already wearing a blue dress). Carol then privately tells Ogden (or ‘Oogie’ for short) that he should play hard-to-get with Judy by sending another friend to collect her for the dance. Judy is devastated when Oogie doesn’t show. She decides to phone him to give her a piece of her mind, but must do it from the local soda shop because her younger brother is occupying the phone at the house. After telling Oogie off, Judy sits dejectedly on a stool until the owner of the soda shop, Pop Scully, offers to have his handsome nephew, Stephen Andrews (Robert Stack) take her, as he is just starting his shift at the shop. Judy is elated and attempts to act as mature as possible (but to no avail) because Andrew is considerably older than herself. At the dance, Stephen is embarrassed to be among high school kids until he spies Carol in the corner while Judy is on stage singing a song. The two are then introduced by Judy, who is immediately ushered away by Carol to go greet the guest performer Xavier Cugat (played by himself). Xavier hits it off with Judy’s parents, who are also at the dance, and takes her mother on the dance floor to rumba when her father good-naturedly refuses. Carol and Stephen also begin to dance as Judy and Oogie have a spat over why Oogie did not pick Judy up himself. Judy is determined to stick with Stephen through the night, even if he’s not interested in her, if only to spite Oogie. When Stephen walks her to her door after the dance, she unabashedly kisses him; much to Oogie’s disappointment, who was watching from the bushes. Oogie tells this news to Carol, who promises to take care of everything for Oogie, if only to get Stephen for herself. The brother and sister then sadly remember their deceased mother and pine for a father like Judy’s who is there for the family, instead of their own Mr. Pringle.

The next morning, both girls are swooning over Stephen and go to the soda shop to see him. Carol tells Judy that she has landed her a radio program at her father’s station and asks her to go see her father about sponsorship. When Judy leaves hurriedly, Carol invites Stephen to dinner at her house; which he accepts. Stephen thinks that Carol is beautiful, but also sees that she is spoiled and egotistical. Meanwhile, at Mr. Foster’s work, he has enlisted the help of Rosita Cochellas (Carmen Miranda) to teach him the rumba so he can surprise his wife at their wedding anniversary; however, when Judy arrives to speak to him, he must hide Rosita in a closet to keep the dance lessons secret. The dancing is rather sensual for Mr. Foster, but he perseveres. That night, at the dinner Carol has planned, Stephen shows up with Judy, in hopes to get her back together with Ogden. When Ogden shows up, Stephen requests that they do a performance together, to which Judy reluctantly complies. Oogie and Judy prove sensational as a duo and they plan to do the radio show together, but only as business partners, as Judy stresses. Oogie then reveals to Judy that he would like to marry her one day, to which she replies that she is far too mature to consider marrying him; while Stephen tells Carol that she tries too hard to impress him which makes her furious. Carol later tells Judy to never trust men because, like her father, they will one day forget about you. Judy is still swooning over Stephen later that evening and tells her father that she wants to marry him, to which Mr. Foster quickly replies that he will sponsor her radio program, if only to keep her from eloping (even though he doesn’t realize that Stephen isn’t interested in marriage).

Carol wakes up early the next day to tell her father about Stephen, but he barely listens between phone calls. The butler later tells him about the love situation his daughter is in, and Mr. Pringle immediately enlists the butler to investigate Stephen. Meanwhile, Judy and Oogie go to get Mr. Foster to sign a contract for the radio program, and happen to arrive during the dance lesson. Rosita quickly hides, but Judy spies her dress in the closet door, leading her to suspect that her father is having an affair. At the radio rehearsal, Judy is despondent and then reveals to Carol the ‘tragedy’ that she had ‘witnessed’. Carol accidentally reveals that she’s in love with Stephen, to which Judy replies that she’d be very angry if she wasn’t already through with men. Judy decides to make her home as pleasing as possible for her father, but when Mr. Foster hints to his family that he has a surprise for them at the anniversary party the next night, Judy fears the worst.

Carol’s butler attempts to covertly interview Stephen but is immediately exposed as an investigator, causing Stephen to storm into Mr. Pringle’s office and berate him for being a terrible father. Mr. Pringle takes this to heart and immediately attempts to reconcile a history of neglect between him and his children. Oogie then goes to serenade a miserable Judy, but is rejected. And so Oogie turns the tables by declaring that he is too old for her games and promptly leaving. The next day, Rosita gives Mr. Foster his last lesson before the two of them go to the hotel in preparation for the night; unknowingly being watched by Carol and Judy who agree that they can’t say anything of the affair until after the celebration. But when Rosita sings a song that night with Cugat’s band and focuses her attention on Mr. Foster, Judy is outraged. She confronts Rosita afterwards and demands to know why she is fooling around with a married man who has children. Rosita herself becomes furious as she confuses the allegations with her fiancé, Xavier Cugat, whom she pulls from the stage to answer questions as to why Judy is claiming he is married with children. The dance lessons are finally revealed and apologies are made once Mr. Foster takes the dance floor with Mrs. Foster to show off his rumba moves. After much arguing, Judy finally forgives Oogie and Stephen arrives with Mr. Pringle to tell Carol that he wants to be with her. A happy ending is finally achieved as the guests at the party all join in a sing-along to celebrate Mr. and Mrs. Foster’s happy marriage.

A Date with Judy is another one of the many Hollywood films which showcase America’s fascination with Carmen Miranda. Her ticket into these pictures has always been her passionate way of song and dance, but the comparison between her Brazilian rhythm and the plain, childlike ways of Judy in this film present a stark contrast between American and Latin styles of performance. Mr. Foster comments that the rumba appears to be a vulgar dance; that is, until he learns it and begins dancing around the house and wearing colorful new ties, demonstrating exactly how Americans want to be caught up in the Latin craze, but are at most times too conservative to try.

In the film, Rosita is engaged to Cuban Xavier Cugat, but the interesting aspect of this couple is that Carmen Miranda plays the unknown singer while Xavier is celebrated in the film as a celebrity band leader. Rather than this being seen as a machismo view of Latino male performers, it should be noted that at the time of the film’s release, the casting of Carmen Miranda as an unheard of entertainer would only be considered an act of irony, as the Brazilian star could be recognized in any role due to her swaying hips, flashy attire, and brilliant smile. During one song, she sings “I’m the zootiest chick this side of Brazil”, a line which strangely emphasizes her immigrant status during the time of the notorious Zoot Suit Riots. It must be suggested that perhaps such a statement was meant to bring a sense of class and prestige back to a term which had recently taken on a somewhat threatening connotation in the United States.

Four Jills in a Jeep

The US war propaganda film Four Jills in a Jeep (1944) is introduced in the opening credits as a tribute to the performers who had the privilege to go overseas and entertain troops during WWII. The story is based on the actual experiences of Hollywood actresses Kay Francis, Carole Landis, Martha Raye, and Mitzi Mayfair, who all play themselves.

The women are at first in Hollywood doing an exclusive live radio show for troops overseas. These actresses sing and swoon over men they haven’t met, as the soldiers ‘over there’ gather around their radios, listen intently, and reminisce about being back home. After the show concludes, Kay talks to jazz band orchestra leader Jimmy Dorsay (also played by himself) behind the scenes and they realize that they are both to be stationed in London within the next few days. Kay sadly reveals that she can only go if she puts together an ‘entertainment unit’ to help her cheer-up the troops; however, all problems are solved when she overhears Martha, Mitzi, and Carole telling Colonel Hartley that they’d be keen to go overseas and help the men. Kay recruits the three beauties and they fly to an American camp just outside of London.

Living the life of a soldier isn’t quite what the Hollywood actresses had expected as they get introduced to 5:30 am wake-up calls, canons, rain, and helmets. While walking to the Mess Hall, Carole loses her boot in the mud and enlists a passing soldier to help her regain her boot. The officer, Ted, immediately falls for Carole, even though he cannot understand why he finds her so familiar. After she leaves, he realizes that it was Carole Landis and nearly plants himself face first in the mud with a silly, star-struck expression on his face. The women are faced with the business of a working war camp as they attempt to brighten the men’s spirits. Their efforts are commendable and they try their hardest to support in any way they can. At one point, Mitzi runs into her ex-performing partner Dick Ryan, now a lieutenant, and they begin a loving bicker like old times. Carole encounters Ted again and the two promise to meet up once he is back on a 24-hour leave. A few days later, the girls all receive a bout of letters and Kay breaks protocol by letting them know that their beaus can meet them tomorrow night in London where they are all scheduled to perform. The ladies relish the elegant concert as Dick performs with Mitzi, Kay flirts with Colonel Hartley, Carole passionately kisses a persistent, but charming, Ted, and Martha convinces several high-ranking officials that she would love a chance to be stationed with the men on the front lines in Africa.

The next few days find Carole eagerly awaiting Ted’s return from his mission during a Christmas concert. The troops all gather in the Mess Hall to listen to the live radio broadcast from Hollywood which features a swooning song by Betty Gable and a hip-knocking, singing and dancing number by Carmen Miranda. The soldiers in the camp then allow the ladies a little rest and relaxation while they perform songs and musical numbers in their honour. Unfortunately, the performance is cut short when a siren sounds to announce that there is a plane about to make an emergency landing. Carole rushes outside just to see the plane hit the ground and explode. She fears the worst, until Ted appears at her side wishing her a merry Christmas and the two embrace. The next scene is at Ted and Carole’s happy wedding. Everyone is happy and enjoying the celebration until some telegrams arrive telling the ladies that their request to be posted in Africa has been granted and they must leave immediately. This spoils the newlyweds’ honeymoon plans, but Carole insists that she is a valid member of the U.S. Army and must obey orders at all times.

When the ladies arrive in Africa, the troops can’t believe their eyes. This camp is far more dangerous than the previous one in London, and the ladies soon find themselves lending a hand in the casualty unit, from sterilizing instruments to scrubbing floors. At one point Mitzy feels faint, but Kay tells her to imagine she’s back in Hollywood working on a motion picture. Love follows the ladies to Africa as well as Kay runs into Colonel Hartley once again and Dick tracks down Mitzy in order to profess his love to her. The women are tired after a long day of volunteering, but still muster the strength to do a stunning performance when the soldiers request it of them. Suddenly alarms sound and bombs begin dropping which sends everyone to the trenches to hide. The women are terrified as the troops are ordered to counter-attack. As the noises and lights of the fighting slowly fade away, the four actresses are offered a chance to return to a safe country while they can, but these determined females instead all opt to stay and see the boys through their tough times away from home.

During WWII, Brazil was seen by the American population as a perplexity among the allies. For all intensive purposes, the South American country was certainly a huge asset to the US, but it’s true relationship with Germany still remained hazy in the popular eye. On this note, Carmen Miranda’s minute role in Four Jills in a Jeep is also portrayed in a light which lends an image that is very foreign, despite the fact that she is in support of US troops. From the palm tree back-drop to the customary Carmen Miranda attire (complete with extravagant head-dress), this legendary Brazilian performer is depicted as a tropical illusion in the midst of blonde songbirds and American soldiers. Her appearance in the film, which seems to be completely unnecessary, raises the question of ‘Why?’ Could it be to give the men overseas the sensual thought of spinning hips? Or perhaps a peek into the tropical vacation that the soldiers can look forward to when they go on leave? The most obvious detail about Carmen’s performance is that she remains in the US while the American stars are overseas and in direct contact with the heroes that they support in the war. And so it appears acceptable to have a foreign performer give a show, but not to send her over to be with the troops in person; a fact which shadows the reality of America and Brazil maintaining good relations during WWII, but with Brazil always staying quietly out of focus as a friendly face on the sidelines.

Doll Face

The 1946 film Doll Face begins with auditions for the famous playwright Flo Hartman’s newest operetta Park Avenue, at the Belmont Theatre in New York. A nervous Mary Carroll tries her luck and ends up wowing the judges with her singing and showmanship, until a director begins yelling out, “That’s it, Doll Face!” His dumbfounded co-directors look at him in surprise until he explains that ‘Mary Carroll’ is actually ‘Doll Face’ Carroll (Vivian Blaine), the head-liner at the Gayety Theatre burlesque show, who has a reputation for making men swoon in their seats. When Hartman refuses to have such a woman in his show, Carroll’s husband and manager, Mike Hannegan (Dennis O’Keef) appears on the stage beside the upset Carroll and vows that she’s got the talent that will make her a star. After leaving the theatre, Mike realizes that he has to add culture to Carroll’s character in order to sell her act to haughty producers like Hartman, and decides that he’ll hire a famous author to write Doll Face’s story and then put her name on it as an autobiography.

As a result, he enlists the help of the handsome writer Frederick Gerard (Stephen Dunne), who at first doesn’t agree with the idea of a book based on burlesque theatre, but then is persuaded otherwise once he sets his eyes on the beautiful Doll Face. He insists on spending as much time with her as possible in order to get the full life story (although he misconstrues almost every fact to make her appear more refined). His sudden change of heart is noted by Carroll’s best friend and fellow burlesque dancer, Chita Chula (Carmen Miranda), who makes sure to alert Mike to her suspicions about the writer. Mike needs little persuasion to acknowledge Fred’s true intentions after the author offers a hefty sum as an investment for a theatre to promote Doll Face’s career. Carroll does stay true to Mike, until, through a misfortunate series of events while going to visit a publisher for the book, her and Fred end up together on a deserted beach just outside of New York. When the worried Mike finds them there together, his concern soon turns to anger as he suspects foul play (of which, there really was none). He pushes Carroll towards Fred (figuratively and literally) saying, “Chita was right.”

With Doll Face gone, the burlesque theatre is in immanent danger of going out of business. It appears as though Carroll is perfectly happy with Fred, and Hartman even offers her a spot in a new play which will be based on her autobiography. Chita keeps a close eye on Doll Face and when it seems as though her and Fred are on the rocks, she sends over a shamefaced Mike to try to patch up the relationship; but to no avail, as Doll Face won’t even speak to him. Mike concocts a plan to reveal on the play’s opening night that by contract Doll Face is not allowed to work for anyone else, thereby allowing him to speak to her. At first, Doll Face is appalled at this move, but once Mike professes his love and that he was wrong when he found her and Fred on the beach, Doll Face realizes that she never stopped loving him. She then one-ups the cunningness of Mike by using the influence of her contract to score him a cut of the play’s profits from Hartman. Thus, the play and the couple’s true love are saved in a display of shrewd, New York business sense; because everyone knows that in both love and the theatre, the show must go on.

Carmen Miranda’s small part in Doll Face is actually the back-bone of the plot as she continually arouses suspicions amongst the love triangle and attempts to piece together what has been broken. It’s easy to see the vivacity ready to burst forth from the sequined costumes of her character, introduced as “Chita Chula: The Little Lady from Brazil”; though, sadly, such displays are conspicuously absent. The lack of focus set on Miranda is quite incompatible for such a famous personality, but such an error is slightly mended when she does an exotic Latin number in Doll Face’s play, complete with gyrating hips and a large head-dress…exactly what is expected from the persona of Carmen Miranda. This scene becomes even more evident of self-reflection when it is noted that earlier in the movie, when asked to join in the Broadway play, Chita replies that she would never want to become another Carmen Miranda (and does an impressive job of mocking her own hips). Chita appears to be a talented immigrant wanting to make her own way in the world without riding on the train of Carmen Miranda’s dress; this making perfect sense as it’s possible that Miranda was the most famous and highly-paid female performer of that time, American or not. Be that as it may, Chita is still a migrant from the Portuguese-speaking country of Brazil, attempting to fit in as American, and ‘acting’ Spanish by performing a dance number set in ‘Porto Rico’. So many inconsistencies add up to the Doll Face producers wanting the popular spice of Latin stars added to a film focused on American show business, while obviously capitalizing on the fame of a Brazilian export, who, unfortunately, is kept in the shadows.

The Gang’s All Here

The Gang’s All Here has a threadbare plot consisting of a boy-meets-girl romance, heartbreak caused by a misconception, and a happy resolution for everyone. However, the film has a handful of gems, including performances by the radiant Carmen Miranda and historical references to America making friends next door and enemies abroad. The film opens on a Broadway stage as a sizable dance troupe unload the S.S. Brazil, a cargo ship carrying the Brazilian exports of coffee, sugar, fruit, and of course Miranda herself, who is bedecked in gaudy jewelry, a nightmarish outfit of bouncing pom-poms and her trademark fruit-filled hat. When the number ends, the host jokes about how the coffee Miranda bestowed upon him will make him rich, then says taking her hand, “Well there’s the Good Neighbor Policy. C’mon honey, let’s good neighbor it!” Male audience members proceed to dance with tropically-themed chorus girls to a song named “Uncle Sam-ba” which fuses North and Latin American styles.

The leading man, a young soldier named Andy Mason, makes his first appearance in this venue, the infamously lascivious Club New Yorker. A chorus girl named Edie Allen catches his eye and he pursues her, but fails to impress her. For unexplained reasons he tells her that his name is Casey instead of Andy. Subsequently the filmmakers place the Mason/Allen affair aside and launch into a bizarrely erotic musical extravaganza, featuring bare-legged showgirls grasping surreally large bananas that beg Freudian interpretation. An effervescent Miranda arrives on the tropical island stage set in a cart pulled by golden oxen; while she delivers her famous number “The Lady in a Tutti Frutti Hat” a multitude of female bodies undulate six-foot bananas from their hips, and lie in star formation with giant strawberries between their splayed legs as their counterparts perform an unmistakably penetrative act. The result is truly mind-boggling.

Mason eventually overcomes Allen’s resistance to him, but by the time her eyes assume that soft romantic gleam, he is stationed in the Pacific. Allen, ignorant of the planned marriage between Mason and his “high-school sweetheart” Vivian Potter, pines for him. After three months he returns and his father hires the Club New Yorker troupe for a party, for which he will sell war bonds by way of admission. A hint of the drama to come is dropped when Allen and Potter confide that are awaiting the return of a beloved soldier, both referring to Mason. When Allen discovers she has spent three lonely months writing letters to a practically married man, she turns her back on his desperate claims to still love her. However, because a key female dancer drops from the show on account of an allergic reaction to roses, Potter takes her place. When Allen later overhears Potter describing her plans to become a Broadway star and abandon what was only a marriage of convenience with Mason, she falls in love with him all over again. With absolutely no follow through to this happy turn of events, the film descends into a dreamlike sequence of futuristic costumes, swirling kaleidoscopic camera tricks, and the disembodied heads of the principal actors singing the film’s theme song.

The Gang’s All Here exemplifies the sexualization of Latin America to an extreme and the conflation of bodies with landscapes. At the close of “The Lady in a Tutti Frutti Hat,” the camera pans over an island coated with open-legged girls lying between the trees like so many ripe bananas; Latin America is projected as a landscape that is female, passive, and even rapable. Those who act upon this landscape are North American businessmen positioned to turn a profit from Roosevelt’s “Good Neighbor Policy” of boosting trade and investment between the United States and Latin America. The wealth to be gleaned from Latin America prompts these men, like the host from the Club New Yorker, to take the region by the hand and say “C’mon baby, let’s good neighbour it!”

The “Good Neighbour Policy” had political aims as well as economic, and this integrationist sentiment has no better pop culture manifestation than Carmen Miranda, the inter-American poster girl. In The Gang’s All Here Miranda unites North America with Latin America through music, such as in the “Uncle Sam-ba.” However, Miranda’s character Dorita is an ambiguous one. On one hand she has bubbly charm and childlike innocence; her antics bemuse and baffle the North Americans, as does her quirky broken English. But on the other hand, she has a potent sexuality, as evidenced by her awakening animalistic passions in the nervous teetotaler Mr. Potter, which must be kept in check. There is suspicion and even hostility between Miranda, cast as a sensuous bombshell associated with the balmy tropics, and the American women, cast as patient and faithful sweethearts associated with a middle-class domestic idyll. The Latin America of The Gang’s All Here may be dazzling and erotic, not to mention lucrative, but the jury is out on whether it can be fully trusted.

YouTube Link: The opening scene, with the transition from "Brazil" to "You Discover You're in New York."

See also: Copacabana, That Night in Rio, Week-End in Havana, Carmen Miranda.

Week-End in Havana

This 1941 Fox romance musical is a Technicolor delight - and the backdrops were filmed in the real Cuba! The light comedic plot of Week-End in Havana begins when a cruise ship of the McCracken Cruise Company runs aground on a reef off of Florida and cruise company employee Jay Williams (John Payne) is sent down to ensure there are no lawsuits. He leaves his anxious fiancée, the daughter of the company’s boss, behind. The only guest on the ship who refuses to sign a waiver is Nan Spencer (Alice Faye), a Macy’s department store salesgirl who insists she have her vacation NOW. . . and refuses to sign until after she's had a good time in Cuba at the McCracken Cruise Company's expense! Jay is instructed to take Nan to Havana, put her up in a fancy hotel, and keep her entertained until he can get the waiver out of her.

In Havana, they go to a flashy nightclub where Rosita Rivas, played by a hip-swinging Carmen Miranda, is the main dancing and singing attraction. Bored of Jay’s bland conversation, Nan goes off to find some excitement. Enter Monte Blanca (Cesar Romero), a sleazy, comedic Cuban and Rosita’s manager and lover, who mistakes Nan for a filthy-rich American who can solve his money troubles, namely the gambling debts he owes to the nightclub’s owner, Sheldon Leonard. Blanca charms Nan into a date the following night at the club, where he takes her to the casino on the upper floor, hoping she will lose enough money at roulette to get Leonard to forgive his debt. When Nan loses $3000 and Blanca realizes she cannot pay for it, he is called to Leonard’s office, where he finds Jay Williams. Jay offers to make good Blanca's debt if Blanca keeps Nan entertained for the remainder of her stay in Havana. Blanca agrees, and proceeds with his courtship of Nan.

When Rosita Rivas finds out, she is enraged, and it is Jay's job to keep her away from Blanca and Nan. He fails, however, and in a comedic scene in a colonial restaurant, Rosita and Nan uncover the deal between Blanca and Jay. Furious with Jay, Nan demands he drive her back to the hotel. On the way, the car breaks down, and they are stuck in the balmy Cuban night to find their way home. A romantic, music-filled adventure ensues and they end up spending the night together. In the morning, Jay realizes he has made a grave mistake, and as he is about to tell Nan that he is in fact engaged, his fiancée storms into the room. Pushing her anger aside surprisingly quickly, she pays an insulted Nan to sign the waiver and takes Jay home to New York with her, despite his reluctance to leave the situation in such a state. Nan gives the money to Blanca so he can pay off his debts, and stays in Havana to continue her good time there. In the last scene, Nan, Blanca, and Rosita Rivas are all dancing rhumba on the colourful dance floor in the club when Jay shows up and professes his affection for Nan. They live happily ever after, in a perfectly choreographed sequence of singing, fruit-laden dancers led by Rosita.

The Cuba of the movie is an idyllic, colonial holiday destination with fancy hotels and tuxedo-clad, mustachioed locals mingling with rich Americans at nightclubs. Havana is a place to party, and to meet romantic Cuban men, who according to Jay are “experts at romance”. One of these men is the comedic Blanca, who is a harmless gambler with greased-back hair and a thin mustache. Despite the fact that Blanca spends all Rosita’s money at the casino, the passion between them keeps them together. Rosita is a hot-blooded, vivacious singer with constantly gyrating hips and an endless collection of charmingly misused English expressions. The porter in the hotel, whose goofy grin and comments get a few laughs, is the only other Cuban character who is prominent in the film.

The tropical nights in Havana provide inspiration for romance and the rich, polished hotels and clubs foster a gay, music-filled atmosphere. For this reason, Nan has the time of her life and ends up falling in love with Jay, who, despite his serious and businesslike character, finds himself inspired by Cuban passion as well.

See also: Copacabana, That Night in Rio, The Gang's All Here, Carmen Miranda.

That Night in Rio

Rio de Janeiro has long been famous for the boisterous festival that is Carnival. So what better opening scene for Irving Cummings’ musical comedy That Night in Rio than a performance of tiny waists, rotating hips, and shaking chests to the beat of "Chica Chica Boom Chic" sung by the samba queen herself, Carmen Miranda. Here we meet two of our protagonists, American Larry Martin (Don Ameche), impersonator and stage performer, and the beloved Carmen Miranda, putting on a fantastic number for the posh clientele at a theatre in Rio de Janeiro. Offstage we realize that the two stars are romantically entangled in a fierce love affair; fierce as in the shoe-throwing mood swings and rapid-fire Portuguese of Carmen who is convinced of Larry’s unfaithfulness, and Larry’s witty, American-drawl banter, able to win her over again and again. Back in the theatre, the distinguished Baron Manuel Duarte and his lovely wife Cecilia (Alice Faye) arrive and the crowd immediately grows silent. Coincidentally, it is now time for Larry to take the stage and perform his flawless impersonation of the Baron as a playboy, which the Baron finds amusing and Cecilia reluctantly accepts as the truth. This impersonation is truly flawless as both the characters of Larry and Baron Duarte are played by Don Ameche, and therein lies the key to the story.

After the show, the Baron attempts to hit on Carmen Miranda (who outright refuses his offers), while Cecilia and Larry share a romantic moment in the lounge singing a spontaneous melody about "a midnight serenade, when they met that night down in Rio." Of course, as a shrewd audience, we now feel that the outcome of this love rectangle is purely predictable; however, That Night in Rio should not be written off as your classic romantic comedy just yet. The plot thickens the next day when Baron Duarte realizes that his stocks have plummeted from a refused airline contract and he must get twenty million dollars in the next 48 hours before the news is released. While Manuel flies to Buenos Aires to strike a deal, his financial sidekicks Penna (S. Z. Sakall) and Salles (Curt Bois) cook up a plan to stall the investment banker Machado (J. Carrol Naish) into thinking all is well: they hire Larry to impersonate Manuel for the night of the Ambassador’s ball. Larry first goes with Penna and Salles to the stock exchange and finds that there are a few things he needs to learn, such as a simple, friendly wave to the floor actually means that you want to buy shares! At the ball, Larry plays the part perfectly, unaware that Cecilia is in on the plan as she enjoys the evening with a man who genuinely wants to spend time with her, rather than her playboy husband. The plan is almost foiled when Manuel returns early from Buenos Aires during the party, but he joins right in with the ploy. Here we see trick photography of the two men in the same room (both played by Don Ameche), along with rapid dialogue and deceptive decoys in order to evade Machado. Larry is finally cornered by Machado who insists upon speaking in French, which Larry does not speak but succeeds by answering in unintelligible mutterings. The night ends with the Baron pretending to be Larry (unbeknownst to Cecilia) as he tries to find out how faithful his wife is. He becomes furious after Cecilia declares her love until he realizes that with her womanly instinct she knew it was him again all along. The next day the Baron realizes that he cares deeply for his wife, but still wants to teach her a lesson by getting everyone to make her believe he actually arrived that morning and not the night before, throwing the Baroness into absolute dismay at what she thinks she’s done.

Meanwhile, the Baron receives news that he wasn’t granted the loan from Buenos Aires. Suddenly Machado marches into the Baron’s office and presents him with a cheque to buy the airline company. Here the Baron, Penna, and Salles realize that Larry had actually saved the day when he confidently bought up stocks and then unknowingly agreed to sell the airline to Machado when they had "conversed" in French.

Back at the Baron’s house, the tables turn yet again in the game of love when Cecilia reprimands Larry for taking advantage of her the night before and, after Larry claims innocence, she realizes that it had been the Baron all along. To get the final hand, she hires Larry again to pretend to kiss her and make the Baron jealous. Larry, sensing only ill-fortune for himself in this predicament, manages to tell the Baron of the plan before it comes to fruition, saying "She wants to start all over again and live happily ever after, like they do in the movies." The final switch comes with the Baron seizing the opportunity to literally sweep his wife off her feet and carry her upstairs, with her kicking and screaming all the while as she thinks that he is still Larry. The movie finishes with both smiling couples, Cecilia and the Baron, Larry and Carmen, singing along together in the lounge of the theatre, proving that happy endings are possible.

And yet, the happy ending of this film reflects its focus on the upper-class elite, from both Europe and Brazil, living in Rio. The movie was released in 1941, capitalizing on WWII soldiers’ need for exotic fantasy, even to the point of Larry being pictured on the movie poster in army attire, an outfit which he wears only once in the movie while he is onstage. The film also followed on the heels of the US "Good Neighbour" policy which was introduced by President Roosevelt to encourage economic growth and cultural exchanges between the Americas. This coincidence is reflected in the opening number as Larry sings, "My friends I extend felicitations, to our South American relations. May we never leave behind us all the common ties that bind us." The desire for cross-cultural ties is even hidden in the basic fabric of the film as both couples comprise an American and a Brazilian. Any affairs that we may initially have thought possible characters of the same nationality are quickly aborted as the couples realize their true feelings. Such a film attempts, through means of upper-class fantasy, to forge strong bonds, whether they be cultural on the surface or underlyingly economic, between the US and Brazil, as well as to showcase Rio de Janeiro, with the help of Brazilian superstar Carmen Miranda, as an alluring vacation destination to escape daily worries and keep your hips knocking from side to side long after the credits have rolled.

YouTube Link: the film's opening (subtitles in Portuguese), with "Chica Chica Chica Boom Chic."

See also: Copacabana, Week-End in Havana, The Gang's All Here, Carmen Miranda.

Copacabana

It's no great surprise that latinidad can be and often is a matter of performance. Indeed, it was Carmen Miranda, Portuguese-born, Brazilian-raised, US-domiciled, who had established the model for Latin performance in the early and mid-1940s.

But in Copacabana, seven years after her Hollywood debut in Down Argentine Way, Miranda tries to shake off her image, show that she can perform European, act as well as sing, and veil the "Brazilian bombshell" reputation that was leading her career nowhere.

The film's plot has Groucho Marx as Lionel Q. Devereaux who, with Miranda's Carmen Navarro, is one half of a down-at-heel double act unable to get bookings. Frustrated, Devereaux turns agent and by mischance books Navarro at the Copacabana club twice: once as herself, a South American cha-cha girl, and again as blonde French chanteuse Mademoiselle Fifi. Naturally, this double identity has to be concealed from the club owner Steve Hunt and the ever more curious press. But the duplicity becomes unmanageable as Hunt falls for Fifi and press attention brings Hollywood movie producers to town.

Mademoiselle Fifi, in short, soon eclipses Navarro, who from the start is portrayed as but one more in a line of what have become seen as Latin novelty acts. "I've got sixteen of them on my list," says talent agent Liggett of South American singers, "they're a dime a dozen."

As the consequences of her performance become evident, Carmen-as-Fifi tries to deflect attention back to Carmen-as-Carmen, but no dice: latinidad is no longer saleable, and it's Fifi's contract alone that becomes subject to an increasingly inflationary bidding war.

In the end, the blonde chanteuse has to be killed off, but the police are called in as Devereaux's disposal of his former star is taken a little too literally. Carmen therefore has once more to veil herself and play French, but this time in order that she be unmasked as "really" Navarro. Even with her veil off, however, doubt remains, which Carmen can only dispel by kissing Hunt (and the various other male characters). For only Carmen, it turns out, can kiss like Fifi.

The final twist (if one can really talk of twists in such a thoroughly predictable movie) is that the whole story is taken up, self-reflexively, to become the plot of a movie to be entitled... Copacabana.

It would seem, therefore, that here almost everything is on the surface: Miranda's own declining appeal, her inability to break out of the mold that she herself helped shape, the limits set to performativity by Hollywood's economic realities. But almost un-noticed, the film subtly indicates another story, of successful whitening.

Andy Russell plays (a version of) himself as the Copacabana's male star. Russell is presented as all looks and voice and no brain, a clean-cut kid continually befuddled by what's going on around him.

Yet Andres Rabajos (as this Chicano vocalist was born) was no doubt more aware than anyone of the dangers and possibilities of Anglicization as a strategy to make it in the USA. A crooner in the style of Bing Crosby and Russ Columbo, Russell's first hits had been Spanish language ("Bésame mucho" and "Amor"), but he crossed over and by the later 1940s had become arguably "the first truly successful Latino-American vocalist".

By the 1950s, Russell's star, like that of Miranda, was on the wane, and he moved to first Mexico then Argentina. But his apparently unquestioned all-Americanness in Copacabana is a reminder that for many--from Rita Hayworth (born Margarita Cancino) to Anthony Quinn (Antonio Rudolfo Oaxaca Quinn)--success could come for Latinos playing gringo.

See also: That Night in Rio, Week-End in Havana, The Gang's All Here, Carmen Miranda.

Carmen Miranda

Off and on, over the past couple of days I've been watching Helena Solberg's Bananas is my Business, a documentary about Carmen Miranda.

Miranda is (or was) a curious figure. She was, apparently, the highest paid performer (male or female) in 1940s Hollywood, and the highest paid woman (in any occupation) in the US at the time. She was extraordinarily popular: one of the first "crossover" artists, who brought something like what would now be termed "world music" to a mass audience in North America. But I'd be surprised if anyone actively sought out her films or her music now. Her image very quickly transformed from serious star to epitome of kitsch, and her films, while often entertaining, hardly stand up well compared to other classic musicals of the 1940s and 1950s. Her acting was never convincing and her musical performances were seldom well integrated into the film narrative. (Oddly, an exception is probably Down Argentine Way, a Betty Grable vehicle for which Miranda's scenes were shot only after the rest of the film was finished.)

But the decline in Miranda's reputation says more about her audience, and perhaps still more about twentieth-century geopolitics, than it does about her.

She was, after all, always already a caricature, an exotic curiosity. On her first arrival in the USA, when she knew little English but a lot about what she had to do to become famous, reporters wrote up interviews with her as though she were some comic primitive but also idiot savant who gave voice to everyone's unspoken desires. Miranda declared that she knew only 100 words of English, among them "men, men, men and money, money, money." Her costumes, especially the famously elaborate headgear, were manic exaggerations of the clothing worn by Bahian market women, but they also resonated with sixteenth to eighteenth-century images of South America as a dusky maiden bearing the fruit of her fertile soil.

Her success owed much to US post-war "good neighborliness," a policy that emphasized and enhanced economic and cultural exchanges between North and South America. The cultural arm of the good neighbor policy was directed by Nelson Rockefeller, and also gave us films such as Disney's Saludos Amigos, a strange mix of documentary, anthropology, diplomacy, and tourist guide. Latin America was promoted as a region now coming to modernity, fresh and vital compared to a Europe worn out by world war. It could be a source of markets and raw materials, but also a site for the indulgence of otherwise perhaps repressed desires. Latin Americans themselves were portrayed as slightly shady but definitely fun: prepared to break a few rules here and there thanks to their irrepressible vitality and desire to make good. Miranda very much fit into this mold. Havana, Acapulco, Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro were now portrayed as filled with high-class nightclubs with sparkling entertainment, the ideal locations for hedonistic holidays from the rigors of making money at home.

As well as a reorientation of US economic and cultural interest from the Old to the New World, the Good Neighbor policy was also a pre-emptive strike as the Cold War got off the ground. Latin America already had strong labor movements (e.g. in Argentina and Chile), established socialist and communist parties (for instance, Peru), and had shown stirrings (or in the case of Mexico, more than stirrings) of revolutionary impulses. But at the same time the region was far from the Soviet sphere of influence, and could be imagined as a showcase for the benefits of liberal, democratic modernization. The US therefore welcomed the democratization and modernization that swept Latin America in the mid to late 1940s.

But within less than a decade, good neighborliness had been discredited. Prompted in part by lobbying from United Fruit, whose banana plantations occupied large swathes of the east of the country, in 1954 the state department engineered a coup in Guatemala, bringing down a left-leaning regime that had, in US eyes, gone too far in suggesting that modernization should be accompanied with social justice, that the benefits of democracy and openness should be felt by peasants as well as party-goers. Toppling the Guatemalan government was the CIA's first major foreign operation, to be repeated soon in Iran. Both were viewed as great successes for a new, burlier and bolder, approach to international relations. Regime change came to be seen as an acceptable solution to problems that democracy and modernity could no longer be relied upon to resolve.

After the Cuban revolution of 1959, the shift in Latin America's image and US tactics was soon complete. The Cold War was fully global and Havana was no longer the destination of choice for high-rolling gamblers or the emerging jet-set.

Carmen Miranda had died in 1955, but in any case nobody could now make a film such as Week-End in Havana. Orson Welles's 1958 Touch of Evil better portrayed the new Latin America: a place of real danger and violence, whose seedy and superficial pleasures could too easily lure the unwary tourist into incomprehensible peril. The border between North and South was both absolute (separating cultures that were incommensurably different) and frighteningly fragile. There might still be a need for Americans to go down and do business with their neighbors the other side of the Rio Grande, but this would be man's work, no job for a woman with fruit on her head.

(Crossposted from Posthegemonic Musings.)

[Update: links to Carman Miranda's official site and a very comprehensive fan site.]

See also: Copacabana, That Night in Rio, Week-End in Havana, The Gang's All Here.