Steffi_P The story of the 1930s musical is very much the story of its stars. As the genre developed different stars came and went. And sometimes, established stars adapted alongside the musical itself. Al Jolson featured in some of the most successful movies of the early talkie era, in what were not really true musicals but stories about the music hall, essentially showcasing the persona Jolson had been playing for years on the stage. However by 1933 such theatrical musicals no longer cut it with audiences, and Hallelujah, I'm a Bum sees Jolson ditching his blackface and immaculate dinner suit for the battered attire of a down-and-outer in this topical depression-era musical in which the songs weave into the narrative.Hallelujah, I'm a Bum was not like those flimsily-plotted stage musicals, where the story really only existed to string the numbers together. Its screenplay is by no less a personage than S.N. Behrman, from a story by Ben Hecht. These two practically defined screen writing in classic-era Hollywood, and their list of credits is astounding. For this particular opus, they make light of the poverty-stricken times with a tale of homeless folk being cheerful about their situation. Rather disrespectful perhaps, but it's belittling poverty as much as it's ignoring the real unpleasantness of it. And all this jocularity builds into a very tender and poignant love story, giving a bittersweet twist without having to wallow in the depressing business going on in the streets at that time.The music and lyrics are by that celebrated duo Rodgers and Hart. Richard Rodgers is now of course better-known as having been one half of Rodgers and Hammerstein. His melodies are still just as beautiful, if a little less grand than they would be with Oscar Hammerstein, but Lorenz Hart was very much a writer of unique style, one that was crucial in the development of the genre. As oppose to the strictly stand-alone nature of most songs in musicals, Hart often leads in or out of a number with rhyming dialogue. He also has multiple singers take part in a song, often changing singer halfway through a line, making the song more a conversation than a performance. This all chimes in with the fact that the songs actually move the plot forward rather than commenting upon it.Director Lewis Milestone didn't too many musicals, but he was a great stylist as a filmmaker, using technique to build rhythms and tones on the screen. And this was ideal, because just as musicals were becoming less about stage performances, so too did they become more fluid in their stylisation. Milestone is great at making a choreography out of normal actions, such as Bumper and Acorn hitching a ride on the back of a cart on their way to New York. He makes every frame compliment the dynamics of the music at the time. In the first version of the title song, he switches quickly from a thronging crowd to a shot of Jolson on his own beside a tree, a couple of people walking leisurely in the background. It's a sublime moment.As for Jolson himself, he may have changed his clothes and surroundings, but he still has all the charm and appeal that made him the most popular entertainer of his day. At times his movements are so hammy they would look ridiculous from any lesser performer, but Jolson has such a genuine earnestness he makes us overlook that. When he makes his defence in the "trial" scene and does the little routine with two imaginary fleas, it harks right back to the music hall, but he makes it fit to this more contemporary character, pleading in a way that is comical but also endearing. A brief mention should also go to Jolson's co-star Harry Langdon, an old silent-era comic who made some truly appalling feature films in the previous decade. But as a supporting player with some kind of structure about him, he is not too bad, creating a jolly little character with some carefully-timed mannerisms. Even if Langdon wasn't a rival to Chaplin or Keaton, he was certainly a good comedy actor.The early sound era had been a testing time for the musical. The genre had been thrust to the forefront of the new medium, having had no time to develop (there were of course no silent-era musicals!). But Hallelujah, I'm a Bum is really everything a great screen musical should be, showing a dramatic shift in structure and tone but with a consistency of heart that a player like Al Jolson could bring – even if the demands upon him are slightly different. It demonstrates that, by this stage, the genre had well and truly arrived.

MartinHafer Wow, is this an unusual film! Not only is it about how wonderful it is to be a bum, but there also is a song that is anti-Bolshevik! For the life of me, I can't think of another film with themes like this!! Unlike most musicals, most of the dialog is actually sung--some very well and some definitely not! While this might sound like a good thing, it was NOT--especially when seen today. It's all very, very hard to enjoy as there aren't any particularly memorable songs and a little of this goes a very long way! As a result, it's a mildly interesting curio at best--and a film only for Jolson fans (both of them).Despite me not enjoying this film, it is interesting to silent comedy fans like me. Two old-time comedians are in the film--Harry Langdon (a gifted comic who is practically unknown today) and Chester Conklin (of the Keystone Kops and other supporting roles). Look for Langdon as 'Egghead'(the supposed Bolshevik) and Conklin plays 'Sunday' (sporting the familiar mustache but here it's gray--plus he also wears spectacles).

planetguy Only one person mentions the "sacrifice" that the Al Jolson character Bumper makes in the story. I think this is the central item of the movie that shows that being a bum is not at all positive and even a sweet, honest, charitable guy like Bumper loses Angel to the suspicious, vindictive, sharp Hizzonor (the mayor) who is gainfully employed. Yes, the movie throughout sugarcoats what it means to be jobless and homeless. Imagine that living in Central Park (even during the non-winter months) could be pleasant. Although it is fascinating to see what that part of New York (even an idealized, movie version) looks like in 1933. The mayor played by Frank Morgan is a nuanced character. He does quite a few favors for Bumper but he treats Angel poorly. It takes until the end of the story for the point to be made that being a bum is definitely a negative. The bums made a positive out of the necessity of being jobless and homeless during another of our society's financial "adjustments."

bkoganbing 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.