Sun Valley Serenade (1941)

 

Sonja Henie sure did smile a lot in her movies. She seems particularly happy in Sun Valley Serenade, one of her better films. Here she plays Karen Benson, a Norwegian refugee during World War II (although the war isn’t explicitly mentioned) who becomes orchestra pianist Ted Scott’s charge. He was expecting a little child, you see, but when he shows up at Ellis Island, he discovers that he’s got a fully grown woman who almost immediately falls in love with him. Unfortunately, Scott (played by the handsome John Payne, who really can fill out a sweater nicely) has just fallen in love with big band singer Vivian Dawn (played archly by Lynn Bari). Ted’s band, with Vivian in tow, has to play a gig in Sun Valley, and with the help of publicity hound Nifty Allen (played by Milton Berle, of all people), Henie’s Karen sneaks on board the train. Berle isn’t quite yet the comic legend here; his funniest gag involves him wearing a large fur coat that makes him look like he’s been swallowed by a bear. In fact, he is upstaged on a couple of occasions by Joan Davis’s Miss Carstairs, who manages to get the best, funniest lines of the film. Anyway, after a remarkably shot skiing sequence involving Karen repeatedly out-hotdogging Ted on the slopes, the contest for Ted’s affections gets heated between Karen and Vivian. Thanks to some manipulation on her part—she destroys two sets of skis—Karen and Ted get stuck overnight in a cabin and, well, it’s a romantic comedy so they have to wind up together, but not before Bari’s Vivian delivers the best characterization of Karen in the entire film: she calls her a “Scandinavian hillbilly.” The plot, as the description might suggest, is not the highlight of the film; it’s the musical sequences that really dazzle. Glenn Miller and his orchestra perform as Phil Corey and the Dartmouth Troubadours, Ted’s band, and their musical sequences are beautifully handled. The first performance features the use of shadows and close-ups of trombones that are very effectively. Later, an extended sequence for “Chattanooga Choo Choo” features not only the band but singing and lively tap dancing by the Nicholas Brothers and Dorothy Dandridge. It’s a great sequence, but it’s sad to realize that the way the performance was shot, it could have been easily cut for screenings in the southern United States. The film ends, as it must, with a showcase of Henie’s ice-skating talents. She was a three-time Olympic champion, but at this point the primary focus in on her spinning ability. She’s quite superb in the various positions and the speed of her spins. She even skates briefly with a partner, not Ted, though, and she gets able support from a series of couples on the ice. I have to admit, though, that the ice looked funny to me, and I had to do some research on it to satisfy my curiosity. Apparently, the studio wanted a reflective surface for the skating, so black dye was added. Then the black ice showed the blade marks too much, so the production crew spread wet dye over the surface, which explains why the ice looked like it was melting. What a mess that must have been. By the way, the reason for the ice show is never explained in the film; it just happens and you’re left to assume that Vivian’s abrupt departure has left the orchestra without a show. It’s tough to imagine that one singer could be that important, but the entire sequence is skated to a medley of songs from throughout the movie, so the implication is that the orchestra is performing for Karen’s ice spectacular. I could have done without the ridiculous song “The Kiss Polka” (and the silly dance that accompanies it), but the songs in the film also include “I Know Why (And So Do You)” and “It Happened in Sun Valley,” both of which are beautifully sung, and Payne and Henie have a nice chemistry that keeps the plot moving alone at a nice pace.

Oscar Nominations: Best Black-and-White Cinematography, Best Scoring of a Musical Picture, and Best Original Song (“Chattanooga Choo Choo”)