An American in Paris movie review (1951) | Roger Ebert

Now
that the film has been restored for a national theatrical release and an
eventual re-launch on tapes and laserdiscs, it’s easy to see why “Singin’
” passed it in the popularity sweepstakes. Its story of two Americans in
Montparnasse – a struggling painter (Gene Kelly) and a perennial piano student
(Oscar Levant) – is essentially a clothesline on which to hang recycled
Gershwin songs (“I Got Rhythm,” “S’Wonderful”) and a corny
story of love won, lost, and won again. Compared to “Singin’s” tart
satire of Hollywood at the birth of the talkies, it’s pretty tame stuff.

And
yet “American” has many qualities of its own, not least its famous
ballet production number, with Kelly and Leslie Caron symbolizing the entire
story of their courtship in dance. And there are other production numbers, set
in everyday Parisian settings, that are endlessly inventive in their use of
props and locations.

The
stories of the two movies are curiously similar. In both of them, Kelly must
break his romance of convenience with a predatory older blonde (Nina Foch in
“American,” Jean Hagen in “Singin’ “) in order to follow
his heart to a younger, more innocent brunette (Leslie Caron and Debbie
Reynolds). In both, he is counseled by a best friend (Oscar Levant and Donald
O’Connor). And in both there is a dramatic moment when all seems lost, just
when it is about to be gained.

“Singin’
” is the more realistic picture, which is perhaps why it holds up better
today. “American” has scenes that are inexplicable, including the one
where Levant joins Kelly and their French friend Henri (Georges Guetary) at a
cafe. When he realizes they are both in love with the same women, Levant starts
lighting a handful of cigarettes while simultaneously trying to drink coffee.

Maybe
it seemed funny at the time.

There’s
also a contrast between the Nina Foch character – a possessive rich woman who
hopes to buy Kelly’s affections – and Jean Hagen’s brassy blonde, a silent star
whose shrieking voice is not suited to the sound era. Foch’s blonde is just
plain sour and unpleasant. Hagen’s blonde is funny and fun. And, for that
matter, there’s no comparing the ingenues, either: Caron, still unformed, a
great dancer but a so-so actress, and Reynolds, already a pro in her film
debut, perky and bright-eyed.