An American in Paris
I’m not a big musical fan, and An American in Paris didn’t really change that. The Gershwin score is glorious, of course — lush and lively in all the right places — but the film wrapped around it feels more like a gallery piece than a story. It’s beautiful to look at, just not all that engaging.
Gene Kelly dances like he’s trying to charm the paint off the sets, and Leslie Caron floats through her debut looking perfectly lovely, if not exactly alive. Everything’s bright, polished, and a bit too pleased with itself.
The famous ballet at the end is impressive in scale but exhausting in length — a flourish that forgets to mean anything. It’s a film of undeniable craft, but for me, there’s not much heart behind the spectacle. All tune, no tune-in.
Gene Kelly dances like he’s trying to charm the paint off the sets, and Leslie Caron floats through her debut looking perfectly lovely, if not exactly alive. Everything’s bright, polished, and a bit too pleased with itself.
The famous ballet at the end is impressive in scale but exhausting in length — a flourish that forgets to mean anything. It’s a film of undeniable craft, but for me, there’s not much heart behind the spectacle. All tune, no tune-in.
Mini Review: The Gershwin score dazzles, but An American in Paris feels more like an art exhibit than a story. Gene Kelly charms, Leslie Caron drifts prettily, and the Technicolor sets are gorgeous but airless. The big ballet’s impressive yet exhausting — a film of undeniable craft but little heart. All tune, no tune-in.