There's No Business Like Show Business

The story begins in 1919, whereupon we are introduced to the Vaudeville team of Molly and Terence Donahue (Ethel Merman and Dan Dailey). The next few years are touched upon briefly as Molly and Terry add three children to their family, as well as their act; the toddlers hit the stage with mom and dad almost as soon as they make their entrance into the world. The story begins in earnest when the youngest Donahues hit legal age, or there abouts. "The Five Donahues" include eldest son, Steve (Johnnie Ray), daughter Katy (Mitzi Gaynor) and the youngest, Tim (Donald O'Connor). They get bookings and do shows, and eventually cross paths with a wanna-be performer, hat check girl Vicky (Marilyn Monroe) who, after Tim falls hard for her, gets her big break and begins her rise to fame. The road for all concerned is not smooth, of course, but not to worry-- there's plenty of singing and dancing to go around, and meanwhile Steve surprises everyone with a personal life choice, Tim falls into a jealous funk and Katy meets the handsome Charles Biggs (Hugh O'Brian). And along the way, Molly and Terry find out what parents have known since the beginning of time: Raising kids is no picnic. But at least they have singing and dancing and singing and...

For the first fifteen minutes or so of the film-- or maybe longer; it seems MUCH longer-- we are "treated" to Molly and Terry's Vaudeville act. And about five minutes of Merman's singing should be enough for anyone; her voice fairly grates on the senses. After this extended opening the film moves along, but seems flat and stays that way until Monroe makes her entrance. Once she's on, the screen belongs to her; but it's still not enough to save the day. She does, however, contribute the single memorable number to the show, "We're Havin' A Heat Wave." But her "Lazy" number is just that, and not even the contributions of O'Connor and Gaynor can help it.

The production numbers suffer from poor staging, uninspired choreography and some of the worst costumes you're likely to ever find in a movie. Even the best song the film has to offer, "Alexander's Ragtime Band," (done terrifically by Alice Faye in the movie of that title) is terribly abused here, presented in a lengthy and contrived manner that is beyond repair. Even "Heat Wave" was saved only because of Monroe, whose sensuous delivery outweighs the actual blandness of the number. And the costumes for the grand finale, especially, are embarrassingly ridiculous (and quickly take the "grand" out of it)-- particularly the white dress Merman wears while delivering the title song; a creation so horrendous it defies description. Overall, it's a sad commentary on the lack of originality and quality of the film when the likes of Monroe, Gaynor and especially O'Connor can't even save it, even though individually and collectively they do have their moments; the problem is those moments are just too few and far between.

The one believable aspect of the film is the casting of Merman as a Vaudeville star; and after seeing her "act," there is no longer any mystery as to what killed Vaudeville. If this is a sample of the real thing, talking pictures had nothing to do with it's demise. It simply inevitably imploded. The burning question that remains is, how in the world did Ethel Merman ever become a star? And what about Johnnie Ray? A relatively successful recording artist with a unique style, he was nevertheless dreadfully miscast in this film. Frequently asked why he made only this one movie, he would reply, "Because I was never asked to do another one." Which is quite understandable; he could sing, but he simply could not act. And it's hard to discern whether it was just the part or his acting that made his character seem so ludicrous.

The supporting cast includes Richard Eastham (Harris), Frank McHugh (Eddie), Rhys Williams (Father Dineen) and Lee Patrick (Marge). With a cast including the likes of O'Connor, Monroe and Gaynor, and with songs by Berlin, "There's No Business Like Show Business" inherently promises great things, but fails to deliver. There's no getting around the fact that in the end it's a lackluster, forgettable contribution to a genre known for liveliness and joy. Not the least bit satisfying, it is perhaps the biggest misfire in the history of movie musicals. And it leaves you with a single, burning question that demands to be asked: Where's Gene Kelly when you need him?