By Steve Provizer
When it comes to Hollywood doing jazz bio-pics, I prefer straight-out hagiography: The Goodman story, the Dorsey Story, the Miller story-they're just the Lindburgh story, Madame Curie and Young Abe Lincoln story with swing music. Fonda coulda been Miller and Stewart could been Lincoln. Greer Garson as Marian McPartland? Anyway, it's a nice, comfortable roll in the nostalgia hay. Why do those numb-nuts in L.A. go all pseudo-egghead on us and decide they have to “explain" jazz? That's a formula for disaster.
Remember your initial excitement when you heard about “Round Midnight," and about “Bird"? Remember your disappointment after you saw them? Why didn't they let Dexter play anything up tempo!! Why did they make Bird a man-child!! Is every black man a tragic figure and every white man a dolt?
Possibly the most infuriating example of the genre is “Jung Man With a Horn." Sorry-Young Man. The insane ilk of psycho-babble that floats through this movie like celluloid arteriosclerosis is unmatched. Kirk/Bix has “one wing" then falls for the broken pseudo-shrink Bacall who has a pet macaw? You're right, Kirk/Bix, she is “dirty and twisted inside," while you-were-born-to-play-the-trumpet-and-can-only-communicate-through-that-damn-horn. Bejasus. Don't ask me if the same 4th-class Freudianisms befoul the “Dorothy Baker novel of the same name." I can only deal with psychic spewage in one genre at a time.
And-"Based on the life of Bix Beiderbecke"? My moldy toenail. Uggh.
God bless Harry James, the film's “music adviser" who dubs the trumpet parts and Kirk Douglas, who pushes the trumpet valves convincingly and has the appropriate unyielding embouchure and convincing semi-ecstatic gleam in his eye. Unfortunately, Harry James' style bears as much resemblance to Bix's as, well-you finish the analogy. I don't want to sound churlish.
Happily, the movie is quite informative for all you trumpet players out there, as there are at least 4 mentions of the loathsome “roll" in this movie. You know, where the mouthpiece gets too low on your lower lip? You better correct it pronto, or I will strap you in this comfy chair and force you to listen to cinematic dialogue about trumpet rolls until your chops fall off.
There are good documentaries about jazz. Why is this music such an lousy fit in feature films?
A “Bad" Embouchure
When it comes to Hollywood doing jazz bio-pics, I prefer straight-out hagiography: The Goodman story, the Dorsey Story, the Miller story-they're just the Lindburgh story, Madame Curie and Young Abe Lincoln story with swing music. Fonda coulda been Miller and Stewart could been Lincoln. Greer Garson as Marian McPartland? Anyway, it's a nice, comfortable roll in the nostalgia hay. Why do those numb-nuts in L.A. go all pseudo-egghead on us and decide they have to “explain" jazz? That's a formula for disaster.
Remember your initial excitement when you heard about “Round Midnight," and about “Bird"? Remember your disappointment after you saw them? Why didn't they let Dexter play anything up tempo!! Why did they make Bird a man-child!! Is every black man a tragic figure and every white man a dolt?
Possibly the most infuriating example of the genre is “Jung Man With a Horn." Sorry-Young Man. The insane ilk of psycho-babble that floats through this movie like celluloid arteriosclerosis is unmatched. Kirk/Bix has “one wing" then falls for the broken pseudo-shrink Bacall who has a pet macaw? You're right, Kirk/Bix, she is “dirty and twisted inside," while you-were-born-to-play-the-trumpet-and-can-only-communicate-through-that-damn-horn. Bejasus. Don't ask me if the same 4th-class Freudianisms befoul the “Dorothy Baker novel of the same name." I can only deal with psychic spewage in one genre at a time.
And-"Based on the life of Bix Beiderbecke"? My moldy toenail. Uggh.
God bless Harry James, the film's “music adviser" who dubs the trumpet parts and Kirk Douglas, who pushes the trumpet valves convincingly and has the appropriate unyielding embouchure and convincing semi-ecstatic gleam in his eye. Unfortunately, Harry James' style bears as much resemblance to Bix's as, well-you finish the analogy. I don't want to sound churlish.
Happily, the movie is quite informative for all you trumpet players out there, as there are at least 4 mentions of the loathsome “roll" in this movie. You know, where the mouthpiece gets too low on your lower lip? You better correct it pronto, or I will strap you in this comfy chair and force you to listen to cinematic dialogue about trumpet rolls until your chops fall off.
There are good documentaries about jazz. Why is this music such an lousy fit in feature films?
A “Bad" Embouchure
