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Feb 09, 2022 Web Exclusive By Austin Trunick

In the thick of the Great Depression, Broadway has grinded to a halt. New York City’s overrun with young, pretty dancers who don’t have a show, and are struggling to pay their rent. This includes a cadre of roommates whose last production was shut down by debt collectors before it had a chance to open. One of the girls, Polly (Ruby Keeler), has fallen hard for an aspiring songwriter, Brad (Dick Powell), who lives across the alley—a young man who, it turns out, mysteriously has a line on the cash that everyone else seems to lack. He becomes an angel investor for a new show that he’s co-writing—until the men who know his true identity come to New York to stop the show, and prevent his marriage to the comely showgirl. It’s up to her performer friends (Ginger Rogers, Aline MacMahon, Joan Blondell) to run interference on these wealthy interlopers.

Released shortly before the Legion of Decency essentially turned the Hays Code into Hollywood law, Gold Diggers of 1933 is one of the raciest (and funniest) musicals of Thirties. The summary above deliberately danced around details, as we wouldn’t want to spoil what little plot the movie contains—but the non-musical sections largely revolve around the resourceful “gold diggers” engaging in screwball antics, and perpetuating a case of mistaken identity. There’s lots of drunken tomfoolery and out-and-out innuendo—all four girls, but especially Blondell and MacMahon, have excellent comedic timing, and great foils in Warren William and Guy Kibbee, who are more charming than villainous.

Hot dog – we haven’t even gotten to the Busby Berkeley numbers!

Released the same year as two of his other masterworks, 42nd Street and Footlight Parade, Gold Diggers of 1933 features four showstoppers from cinema’s most recognizable choreographer. The best-known is the movie’s shortest: “We’re in the Money” features chorus girls waving oversized coins as fans, and Ginger Rogers singing in pig latin. “Pettin’ in the Park” is surprisingly raunchy, with a school-aged Billy Barty pulling up the curtains on silhouetted beauties as the change their clothes, and our hero using a can opener to cut away our heroine’s aluminum swimsuit. “Shadow Waltz” is gorgeously surreal, with dancers in flowing hula hoop skirts playing neon-wired violins, creating symmetrical patterns on a ribbon-like stairway both lit and in pitch darkness. The movie’s final number is far more serious than the rest of the film: “Remember My Forgotten Man” juxtaposes images of injured soldiers returning home from WWI with shots of those same actors standing in soup lines, commenting on the ongoing Depression that left so many veterans out of work. It’s a hell of a number to end the film on, and resonates after the words “The End” have faded from the screen.

Berkeley’s musical numbers look wonderful in HD on Warners’ new Blu-ray, which is the most important aspect of this release. It’s made even better by a hefty serving of extras, including a mini-documentary about the film’s production pulled from a prior DVD release, a trio of WB cartoons that recycled songs from this movie for comedic effect, and three older shorts with content that ties into the main feature. (“Seasoned Greetings” features an incredibly young Sammy Davis Jr. in a small role.) All in all, it’s a great package—recommended for fans of pre-Code comedies, and essential for any Berkeley devotees.

(Warner Archive Store)