What an entertaining movie. Astaire and Randolph Scott are in the Navy. Astaire has to woo back Ginger in San Francisco, while Scott must be persuaded that Harriet Hilliard is worthy of being his wife. Everything works out fine.
It's sometimes argued, and I can see why, that Scott's romance with Hilliard is unnecessary and slows the plot down. Especially painful are Hilliard's singing of sappy love songs. I could have done without her singing, right enough, but I found the romance rather touching. Hilliard enters the movie as a music teacher, wearing a pair of spectacles, no makeup, and the ugliest clothes known to man or beast. No wonder Scott avoids her until she grooms herself sexily under the tutelage of her sister Ginger and a slinky Lucille Ball. The problem is that AFTER her makeover she looks like the same irretrievably plain woman as before, only with a glossier outfit. It's tough enough for a homely guy. But at least a man can become wealthy and powerful and popular, then he can collect women anyway, even if he looks like JoJo the Dog-Faced Boy. But what does a plain-looking woman do? The same avenues to romance aren't open to her. Henry Kissinger had groupies. Did Margaret Thatcher? It must be terrible to be an ordinary woman in a culture as cruel as ours. As a kind of a footnote, I must mention that Randolph Scott was rumored to be bisexual by Hollywood gossips who needed some nonsense to chew on, and it's kind of amusing that he has the following line in this film when he's putting homely Hilliard off -- "Women don't interest me, sister." The movie probably gives more quality time to Ginger Rogers than any of her other films with Astaire. And she's marvelous. She's beautiful, sexy, a talented actress and dancer, and the script gives her good comic lines too. "Let's kiss and make up," suggests Astaire. "Let's just make up," she says, "that will give you something to work on." It's also the only film she made with Astaire that gives her a solo number during an audition. (Choreographed by Hermes Pan.) Her performance is accidentally sabotaged by Astaire who slips some Alka Seltzer or something into her water, and she hiccups through her number, burping being too indelicate for the time.
As a dancer, I'd make a terrific circus elephant so my opinion must be taken as that of an amateur, but I think their dances together are the equal of any they put on film. Their first, during a dancing contest, "Let Yourself Go," is the most wildly exuberant of any I can remember. And the only dramatic duet, "Let's Face the Music and Dance," must be among their finest. The last step as they exit is startling.
I like the film for reasons with personal resonance. I remember seeing it for the first time in a theater in downtown San Diego, next to a shop called "The Seven Seas" that catered to sailors. I was in uniform at the time and was impressed with the treatment of the naval careers of Astaire and Scott. What I mean is, here we have this frothy musical comedy which owed absolutely nothing to historical reality, and yet, unlike most of their other teamings, pays its dues anyway. Jumping ship, Astaire calls out for a "water taxi." I had just taken a water taxi ashore myself. The uniforms are correct to the period (unlike, say, those in "On the Town"). And they're worn properly, hats down to two finger-widths above the eyebrow and not cocked back. And there are two incidents in which Astaire runs into a problem with naval authorities and they're both handled with perfect seriousness and are thoroughly believable. An officer stops Astaire from leading a jazz band during inspection and reports to the captain, "They were playing when the call was sounded, sir. I'm certain no breach of discipline was intended." It's what an officer -- a good officer -- would say, and nobody laughs.
The series was getting a little repetitious by the time "Follow the Fleet" was made so instead of putting Fred into high society and a tuxedo, they turned him into a gum-chewing swabbie instead. It was a good idea. And the dance numbers are up to the concept.