“Times is hard, sehr. Times is haaaaaaarrrd…” Sorry, after this reading, I couldn’t resist slipping a little musical number in there.
I’m a little ashamed to admit I’ve never actually seen The Gold Diggers of 1933. We were more of a The Public Enemy and Baby Face household and that probably says it all. “People functioning in a dysfunctional society… living through the after effects of a catastrophe.” I love a good song and dance, but does anybody really wonder why the gangster films outlived the dance extravaganzas? The influence of the Busby Berkely musicals is more prevalent in modern dance and stage productions than in how today’s directors shoot musicals. Apart from Baz Luhrman, very few people do.
Dickstein was wrong to say that audiences during the Depression were not seeking escapism in the darkness of the movie theater (they were spending fifteen cents to watch Ginger Rogers dance at a time when the same amount of money could buy you lunch), just as I would be wrong to say that people today don’t seek escapist diversions in video games and multi-player online games, for that is at least part of their purpose. I do think he was right when he said that the Depression kick-started a fascination in film narratives that are parables of success and failure.
The two films I think of when I think of the 1930s are The Public Enemy and A Star Is Born: both stories of people from modest backgrounds who climb the ladder of success and end up either miserable or dead. Both films directed by William Wellman. Both films were huge hits, set box office records, and were remade not once but twice in the succeeding decades. But it was The Public Enemy that made a huge star out of its lead actor, James Cagney, while the leads of the big movie musical faded into obscurity. In the age of the Great Recession (let’s be honest, any age), it’s easier and more entertaining to identify with the narrative of a Tom Powers or a Scarface: the protagonist starts out with nothing, hustles, swindles and does what he has to to survive, reaches the pinnacle of success and then steps off a cliff of his own making.
It’s an odd mix of schadenfreude, moral ambiguity and the cyclical financial boons and fallout from catastrophe capitalism that makes these narratives enjoyable in film and other contexts (Grand Theft Auto, anyone?). I’m surprised Dickstein didn’t elaborate on that point more than he did.