Hallelujah I'm a Bum

I'm not much of a fan of musicals but have always been partial to the stylish, sophisticated and sometimes dazzlingly experimental examples of the genre that emanated during the early years of Talkies - the Lubitsch films, Rouben Mamoulian's LOVE ME TONIGHT (1932) and also the delightful French films of Rene' Clair.

To these I can now add this Al Jolson vehicle directed by one of the great exponents of American cinema (at his best during the 1930s, though he continued to work steadily till 1962). This was only my 3rd Jolson film - not counting THE JOLSON STORY (1946), the first of two biopics made while he was still living!; the others were his history-making debut THE JAZZ SINGER (1927), the pioneering Sound picture, and ROSE OF WASHINGTON SQUARE (1939) - actually, his penultimate film, by which time he had been relegated to supporting roles!

Anyway, the film under review here is something of an oddity in that, not only does it present such humdrum fare as the Great Depression through the eyes of a cheerful tramp and his 'colleagues', but it also makes use of rhyming dialogue (whch in the trailer included on the DVD is ballyhooed as a new fad, but it obviously couldn't last!) which was perhaps intended as a natural lead into the songs; in fact, rather than by official screenwriter S.N. Behrman (adapting a Ben Hecht story), these lines were written by lyricist Lorenz Hart! Unfortunately, however, the print utilized for the MGM/UA DVD is quite battered with the soundtrack coming off rather muffled as a consequence!!

Still, its essential quality remains intact: while the plot may seem dated and even fanciful today (both its romanticized view of unemployment and the hero's eventual decision to 'reform' on account of a woman), atmosphere and characterization are as charming as ever: Jolson, dubbed by his cronies "The Mayor Of Central Park" truly comes off as larger-than-life here, but he's matched by the great Silent comedian Harry Langdon (in his only notable Talkie role) - as one of Jolson's pals, a politically-savvy street-cleaner named Egghead(!) who's picked on by the other tramps because he has a job - and Frank Morgan as the real Mayor of New York (whose life Bumper, the Jolson character, had saved during a protest).

The film also involves a three-way romance between Jolson, Morgan and lovely leading lady Madge Evans: she's the latter's girlfriend but, having incurred his distrust, leaves him intent on committing suicide; she's saved by Jolson and, now an amnesiac, Evans is cared for by him who, in order to pay the rent of her new lodgings, even asks his friend Morgan for a job in a bank!; however, noticing Morgan's own concern about his missing girlfriend, Jolson tries to console him...until he realizes just who she is, after which he decides to re-unite the two of them and himself goes happily back to a life on the streets!

Many films have dealt with the theme of the Great Depression but this one's certainly its most original treatment while also being, along with the marvelous screwball comedy MY MAN GODFREY (1936), one of the very best.

This upbeat depression era musical features Broadway sensation Al Jolson as hobo king Bumper. Living in Central Park he and his followers choose a life of leisure to wage slavery debating it in song and rhyme with among others a Red grounds keeper. Even though he's a confidant of the mayor he prefers his laid back lifestyle to patronage work. One night Bumper saves a woman who throws herself off the Bow Bridge. Stricken with amnesia she takes up with Bumper who falls hard enough for her to get a job. When Bumper's "Angel" get's her memory back things change and Bumper returns to his previous vocation.

By 1933 massive unemployment stretched across the land and I can only imagine what the audience reaction of the time might be regarding a musical that extols the joy of joblessness. Jolson's popularity was on the wane having been supplanted by Bing Crosby but he still had enough draw in his voice to make Hallalueh, I'm a Bum a moneymaker and the flimsy story written with sly subversiveness by Ben Hecht does have a light satiric humor to it.

Edgar Conor as sidekick Acorn and silent film clowns Harry Langdon and Chester Conklin add to the film's amiability while Madge Evans as the amnesiac retains a sinewy seductiveness in an evening gown she wears for days on end. Director Lewis Milestone adds his usual camera movements with a striking tableaux here and there but there is also some sloppy back projection and pedestrian editing that gives the finished product a rushed feel. Overall though Hallalueh, I'm a Bum is an oddly interesting take on tough times featuring a legendary talent in fine form.

Hallelujah, I'm a Bum is the only film Al Jolson did in which he eschewed his blackface completely. He should only have done it earlier and stuck to it.

This film was an experiment in something the producers call "rhyming dialog" Today I think it would be called rap. Audiences didn't really take to it in 1933, but today's audience would probably appreciate it more.

A knowledge of history would help. Until the summer of 1932, New York City had a mayor who was something of a ladies' man whose favorite nightspot was a nightclub right in Central Park. It hasn't been there since the late thirties, Tavern on the Green is a poor substitute. Mayor James J. Walker's favorite dining spot was the Central Park Casino. And many homeless and jobless lived in Central Park in their own makeshift city as the recent film Cinderella Man so aptly demonstrated to today's audience.

Frank Morgan before he became typecast as Mr. Befuddlement is the Mayor of New York. And Al Jolson is the unofficial mayor of Central Park. Through a chain of circumstances they both become involved with the same girl, Madge Evans.

Rodgers and Hart wrote two songs in addition to the rhyming dialog, the title song and You Are Too Beautiful. The latter is a nice romantic ballad that Jolson delivers well. Later on in the 1940s both Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra had primo versions of this song as well.

In Great Britain the film was released as Hallelujah I'm a Tramp because in the British Isles, the word bum has a different connotation.

It's an enjoyable film today if you can catch it by all means do so.

To call this film "unusual" feels like a thundering understatement. Hallelujah, I'm a Bum is so strikingly original, so unlike anything else Hollywood ever attempted, one hardly knows where to begin in talking about it. What can you say about a musical-comedy-drama with satirical touches made in the darkest days of the Depression that celebrates the superiority of happy-go-lucky hobo life, centered on a motley gang of homeless people who live in Central Park and consider "work" a dirty word? What if the unofficial leader of these hobos is none other than Al Jolson, that brash show biz legend who, in this incarnation, is a humble tramp nicknamed 'Bumper' who pals around with a young black sidekick called 'Acorn'? And just to add to the incongruity, what if fading silent comedy star Harry Langdon is added to the mix as a trash collector called 'Egghead' who spouts Marxist rhetoric and warns his cohorts that the Revolution is imminent? Speaking of odd casting, what if the romantic lead of the story, the melancholy, middle-aged Mayor of New York City, is played by the Wizard of Oz himself, Frank Morgan? (And by the way, he does a damn good job!) And what if the characters switch from naturalistic dialog to Rodgers & Hart songs and then to a kind of rhyming recitative, rather like a comic operetta? In short, there's no fast or easy way to sum up the experience this movie provides, but I'll say right now that even allowing for occasional patches where the material doesn't quite come off the film is absolutely fascinating.

During the transition to talkies in the early '30s director Lewis Milestone was known for dynamic effects at a time when many of his colleagues were still struggling to regain the fluidity of late silent cinema. Milestone took full advantage of his medium with swooping tracking shots, rapid montage, offbeat camera angles, and clever use of sound, and all of these techniques can be found in Hallelujah, I'm a Bum. A bravura comic highlight combining several of these effects is the sequence in which the mayor must lay a cornerstone at a new school with all due pomp and ceremony while earnest, homely children serenade him with "My Country 'Tis of Thee." This film integrates its songs into the flow of action with finesse, which is all the more impressive when you consider that only two or three years earlier most Hollywood musicals were clunky stage pageants trapped within the proscenium arch. Milestone takes the action to Central Park and stages some of his best scenes outside under the trees, although the movie's best known song, "You Are Too Beautiful," is sung by Jolson to leading lady Madge Evans on the fire escape of her dingy apartment, while couples across the street slow-dance at a club called Loveland. It's a moving scene that artfully captures the melancholia of the era.

Beyond these directorial flourishes, however, the most striking thing about this movie is its off-the-wall casting. I've never seen Al Jolson as likable as he is in this film, and in a role utterly unlike anything else he attempted in his Hollywood career. He is our central figure and drives the story, yet Jolson, uncharacteristically, is nonetheless only part of an ensemble of strong performers who each make major contributions to the success of the whole. I gather Roland Young was originally cast as Mayor Hastings and filmed a number of scenes, but he took sick and was replaced by Frank Morgan. Those who know Morgan only from The Wizard of Oz or from the blustery character roles he played later in his career are in for a surprise: he is a revelation as the aging, rueful playboy mayor --doubtless based on NYC's Mayor Jimmy Walker-- who suffers from romantic difficulties with his much younger girlfriend, the gorgeous Madge Evans. Hastings is often depressed and morose, yet he's a square-dealing guy who earns our sympathy. (And in an accidental inside joke, the future Wizard of Oz at one point drunkenly intones: "There's no place like home.") Morgan is terrific, and so is Harry Langdon, the one-time silent star who received his best-ever talkie role on this occasion and rose to the challenge like a champ. A number of other silent comedy veterans appear along the way in small roles, which is a treat.

There's no denying, however, that Hallelujah, I'm a Bum sugarcoats the reality of poverty, and it did so at a time when millions of formerly middle-class Americans found themselves in dire financial straits, which was doubtless a factor in the film's less-than-stellar showing at the box office. On some level audiences must have seen through the songs and comedy and recognized that some very handsomely-paid screenwriters, composers and performers were trying to convince them that they were better off poor; after all, as Jolson sings, "What Do You Want With Money?" That couldn't have gone over too well when this movie was released in the last days of the Hoover Administration, a time of bank failures, foreclosures, evictions and genuine, widespread distress. For us, the struggles of 1933 are long past, but as we deal with the problems of our own era this film stands as a fascinating time capsule, a one-of-a-kind curio that captures the mood of its age better than any other.

It's hard for most of today's audience to imagine why Al Jolson was once considered the world's greatest entertainer. The well-known clips from THE JAZZ SINGER are more of an embarrassment today than something to be proud of, and he hasn't had much of his recorded legacy in print recently, and what is often tends to be later re-recordings. HALLELUJAH I'M A BUM is one of the best examples of Jolson's charm and wit as a performer and although the film is a quirky period piece, it should be of interest to anyone who appreciates musical theater. While the film features "songs," it also features dialog that is spoken to a beat and to a musical background. It's difficult to describe, but it's charming. Jolson plays Bumper, unofficial "Mayor" of the "bums" of New York. He's accompanied by a short Black sidekick named Acorn played by Edgar Connor, a very talented man (also seen in the infamous "Rufus Jones For President" short with the young Sammy Davis Jr. and Ethel Waters). Other colorful characters include the great Harry Langdon as the Marxist trash collector (his scenes with Jolson are wonderful...I think I read once that his part had been cut down somewhat. A shame the outtakes don't survive), and silent comedy legend Chester Conklin as Sunday, who operates a horse and carriage. Frank Morgan as the mayor of the REAL New York City, and Madge Evans as the mayor's amnesia-suffering girlfriend (whom Jolson saves from drowning herself) represent the "Straight" non-bum world, which Bumper and Acorn briefly join, but cannot find happiness in. I'm don't know a lot about the Rodgers and Hart team, but their songs and dialog are still fresh sounding today, and they created a wonderful vehicle for Al Jolson that, unintentionally, may well be the best documentation of him for the modern viewer. This is NOT a film that you may always be in the mood to watch. I can imagine many viewers catching a little of the romanticized homeless people reciting "Musical dialog" and scratching their heads in confusion. I don't usually like musicals (I bought the film back when it came out on VHS because Harry Langdon was in it), but I was won over by it and I can imagine I'll watch it again in a year or two and show it to friends who are involved in musical theater. Check it out if the above description sounds interesting!