Busby Berkeley Overview

Picture cascading waterfalls of women, bedecked in identical glittering costumes and moving in eerie unison. Picture abstract, kaleidoscopic shots that slowly reveal themselves to be composed of live, dancing bodies -- dancing bodies in pools of water, on rotating stages, in... [more]

Picture cascading waterfalls of women, bedecked in identical glittering costumes and moving in eerie unison. Picture abstract, kaleidoscopic shots that slowly reveal themselves to be composed of live, dancing bodies -- dancing bodies in pools of water, on rotating stages, in the middle of grandly theatrical sets, balanced atop water skis. Sound familiar? We've just stepped into the world of Busby Berkeley. Berkeley avoided the heavy artillery of World War I military service by choreographing elaborate drill routines for the soldiers. A little private heaven where he could demand perfection and precision from all those gallantly clad soldiers, Berkeley's military duties set the stage for his later approach to Hollywood choreography. By the late '20s he was directing the dance sequences for the Rodgers and Hart stage musical "A Connecticut Yankee" (1927). But he was soon lured back to Hollywood to choreograph "Whoopee" for Samuel Goldwyn in 1930. After a couple more runs with Goldwyn, Berkeley was quickly scooped up by the Warner Brothers studio. The musicals he produced there marked the high point of his directorial career. Grandness quickly became his trademark. Audiences weary of Depression-era dreariness were hungry for some fantasy in the movie theaters. And Busby delivered: the chorus girls were always beautiful, were often scantily clad (Berkeley had a penchant for sexual titillation), and were mostly unhampered by any real storylines. His directorial approach was highly fluid and stylized. He dismounted the camera from its stand and wove it under and around the dancers. He employed cranes to achieve aerial shots of dancers positioned in geometric patterns. In "Footlight Parade" (1933) water darlings lined up their legs to form a "human zipper," while "Dames" (1943) featured dozens of smiling dancers arranged in a perfect six-pointed star. The visual trickery bordered on the surreal. A gruff personality and ruthless drive for perfection lay behind Berkeley's theatrical daring. The special aliveness of his productions was usually preceded by screaming and yelling. But producers overlooked his dictatorial tendencies as long as he delivered box-office hits. Between 1932 and 1933, he choreographed five separate productions: "The Kid From Spain," "42nd Street," "Golddiggers Of 1933," "Roman Sandals," and "Foothill Parade." These films represented Berkeley's moment of glory; almost all of them were among the top grossing films of the '30s. But by the late '30s, tastes in musicals were changing. Berkeley found himself in a very different world when he signed with MGM studios in 1939. The studio subdued his over-the-top extravaganzas in favor of goody-two-shoes affairs like "Babes in Arms" (1939) and "Lady Be Good" (1941). This was the beginning of the end for Berkeley, who came to suffer from alcoholism, depression, and increasing conflicts with co-workers. He was demoted to dance director on both "Girl Crazy" (1943) and "Lady Be Good," and was later relieved from "Annie Get Your Gun" (1950). Berkeley held on a while longer. He approached his former grandness with spectacular "aqua-ballet" sequences for the Esther Williams vehicles "Million Dollar Mermaid" (1952) and "Easy to Love" (1953). The flying banners, spouting fountains, speedy water skiers, and breathtaking stunts were 100 percent Buzz. But by the time he died in 1979, he had not worked on a film in 17 years. Perhaps this is fitting, since this visionary truly belonged to an earlier era. Berkeley remains an archetype of 1930s Hollywood glamour, a symbol of the kind of delicious, bizarre lavishness that Americans have always cherished like a bad habit. [show less]