High Society (1956) promises fun at the movies. And it
delivers. This spritely screwball musical stars Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra,
both of whose characters are at least somewhat in love with an elegant heiress,
Tracy Lord, played by the blonde and beautiful Grace Kelly. This was to be
Kelly’s very last movie role before she married a real-life Prince Charming and
became Princess Grace of Monaco. Rounding out the cast are the acerbic Celeste
Holm and the delightfully ebullient Louis Armstrong. The setting is ritzy
Newport, Rhode Island, where the central characters live in posh mansions,
surrounded by fawning retainers.
Armstrong’s presence is explained by the fact that there’s a
jazz festival in the vicinity. He acts as a kind of narrator to open and close
the film; he also memorably duets with Crosby on the up-tempo "Now You Has
Jazz.” In this story, Crosby plays C. K. Dexter Haven, a well-heeled
singer/composer who is Tracy Lord’s neighbor, as well as her former husband. Though
they were once deeply attached, and shared a romantic honeymoon aboard a yacht
called the “True Love,” affection has turned to loathing (on Tracy’s part, at
least), followed by an acrimonious divorce. Now Tracy is on the brink of
marrying a staid businessman, and Dex wanders over to observe the hubbub. You
see, C. K. Dexter Haven has (in his relaxed way) never quite gotten over Tracy,
and he’s hanging around to check on what his former wife is up to.
Also in residence on the wedding weekend are a magazine
journalist (Sinatra) and his photographer sidekick (Holm), determined to get a
scoop on this big society event. Everything goes haywire on the night before
the nuptials, when Tracy gets drunk and Sinatra’s character gallantly comes to
her rescue.
The Cole Porter ditties (including the romantic hit, “True
Love” and a nifty Crosby/Sinatra duet) are appealing, and there are no false
notes among the performers. Still, seeing High Society again after many
years, I became convinced that there was a better version of this tale to be
found. And so, of course, there is. Back in 1940, the great George Cukor
directed The Philadelphia Story, based on a Philip Barry stage hit that
starred Katharine Hepburn. Hepburn’s Hollywood career had recently been
foundering, and so she bought the play’s film rights in order to reintroduce
herself to the moviegoing public. It worked magnificently well, especially
since Cukor invited two of the era’s brightest male stars, Cary Grant and James
Stewart, to play the main men in her life., If Hoboken’s rough-and-tumble Frank
Sinatra is amusing when he romances the soignée Grace Kelly in and around her
estate’s swimming pool, imagine how much funnier it is when aw-shucks Jimmy
Stewart pitches woo to the imperious Hepburn. And of course Cary Grant is Cary
Grant, effortlessly suave and just the fellow to tame this particular shrew.
What we love about Katharine Hepburn is how wonderfully she plays a woman who
is absolutely wrong about pretty much everything. Seeing her get her
comeuppance is a delight for those of us who admire strong women but also place
great stock in happily-ever-after.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, author of The Great Gatsby,
insisted that the very rich “are different from you and me.” To which his pal
Ernest Hemingway wryly reposted, “Yes, they have more money.” Movie fans,
particularly in the years coming out of the Great Depression, preferred to
think that—despite all their riches—the wealthy could be as foolish as those of
us with emptier pockets. The Philadelphia Story certainly proves this is
so.
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