Sitting through this exercise in self-congratulatory Hollywood tedium is enough to give you the shakes nearly as bad as those experienced by the title character.
Helen Morgan (Ann Blyth) is a young singer from Danville, Illinois who dreams of seeing her name in lights. Stardom comes quicker than you can say the words "cheap montage," but with it comes gobs of heartache, mostly in the form of wrong guys and too much alcohol.
Directed by Michael Curtiz and written by a credited committee of four, "Helen Morgan" throws up every convention of the time in which it was made, with no real heart in evidence. The New York Times called it "as heartwarming as an electric pad," which gets across the level of manipulation on offer even if it oversells the warmth by a few degrees.
Blyth looks terrific, anyway, convincingly lip-synching Gogi Grant's off-camera singing. Paired up with a young and handsome Paul Newman as a shifty bootlegger named Larry Maddux, you get a lot of sex appeal, anyway.
Right away you know you are in trouble, when we see Helen in a train while a group of Charleston-dancing men strum ukuleles and wear mink coats. It's the 1920s, in case you didn't know, a point that Curtiz continues to harp upon in scene after scene.
Everything is force-fed to you in this film. It's all about the men in the world of Helen, as she gets pinballed from one bad thing to another, whether it's being left out to dry by Larry after a one-night fling, or later being caught masquerading as a Canadian for a beauty pageant.
That's one of the few elements, by the way, which happened to the real Helen Morgan, but here it just serves as another installment of the pain parade Larry puts her through, not to mention her chance to meet another wrong guy who gets to disqualify her.
"I'm so ashamed," she tells him.
"There's one thing you don't have to be ashamed of," he replies. "Your looks. You're a very pretty girl."
This counts for a gallant overture in this very dated, awkward film.
Blyth isn't bad, just not very convincing. Forced as she is by a stupid script to never take a stand for herself, just drink more and more to register her pain, I'd say she does as good as she can.
Newman's better, much better, mainly because he gets to make his choice comments from the sidelines while poor Ann has to drag this dead cat of a story on her petite shoulders. Playing anti-heroes became a specialty of his, and he does the best he can with this one.
Judy Garland reportedly turned down the lead role in this production with the famous line "No more sad endings for me." Judy was smart; you can be, too. Unless you're a Newman completist, or a self-abusive depressive, give this one a miss.
Helen Morgan (Ann Blyth) is a young singer from Danville, Illinois who dreams of seeing her name in lights. Stardom comes quicker than you can say the words "cheap montage," but with it comes gobs of heartache, mostly in the form of wrong guys and too much alcohol.
Directed by Michael Curtiz and written by a credited committee of four, "Helen Morgan" throws up every convention of the time in which it was made, with no real heart in evidence. The New York Times called it "as heartwarming as an electric pad," which gets across the level of manipulation on offer even if it oversells the warmth by a few degrees.
Blyth looks terrific, anyway, convincingly lip-synching Gogi Grant's off-camera singing. Paired up with a young and handsome Paul Newman as a shifty bootlegger named Larry Maddux, you get a lot of sex appeal, anyway.
Right away you know you are in trouble, when we see Helen in a train while a group of Charleston-dancing men strum ukuleles and wear mink coats. It's the 1920s, in case you didn't know, a point that Curtiz continues to harp upon in scene after scene.
Everything is force-fed to you in this film. It's all about the men in the world of Helen, as she gets pinballed from one bad thing to another, whether it's being left out to dry by Larry after a one-night fling, or later being caught masquerading as a Canadian for a beauty pageant.
That's one of the few elements, by the way, which happened to the real Helen Morgan, but here it just serves as another installment of the pain parade Larry puts her through, not to mention her chance to meet another wrong guy who gets to disqualify her.
"I'm so ashamed," she tells him.
"There's one thing you don't have to be ashamed of," he replies. "Your looks. You're a very pretty girl."
This counts for a gallant overture in this very dated, awkward film.
Blyth isn't bad, just not very convincing. Forced as she is by a stupid script to never take a stand for herself, just drink more and more to register her pain, I'd say she does as good as she can.
Newman's better, much better, mainly because he gets to make his choice comments from the sidelines while poor Ann has to drag this dead cat of a story on her petite shoulders. Playing anti-heroes became a specialty of his, and he does the best he can with this one.
Judy Garland reportedly turned down the lead role in this production with the famous line "No more sad endings for me." Judy was smart; you can be, too. Unless you're a Newman completist, or a self-abusive depressive, give this one a miss.