Till the Clouds Roll By

Popular song writers have come in for an awful beating in a series of film biographies. Following the other-world treatment given Gershwin, Cole Porter and Irving Berlin, Metro wisely took another tack and put the life of Jerome Kern on the screen much as it should be presented in little more than concert form. If there is a story in "Till the Clouds Roll By," it is the harmless sort of narrative involving no backstage inamoratas or tearful college reunions. According to the film, the greatest difficulties in Kern's life were a ne'er-do-well arranger and his (Kern's) stagestruck daughter. With that casually attended to, the audience can bask in the warmth of some of the finest music America has produced in the popular vein.

There are Kern melodies from musical comedy hits and from Hollywood, patter songs and "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes," frivolity in a corn-laden rendition of "I Won't Dance" and theater with a soul in a reproduction of the original setting and arrangement of "Old Man River." Some of filmdom's greatest are hauled in to do their bits with varying results. By far the worst of these contributions is a second round with "Old Man River" with Frank Sinatra, the co-ed's Caruso, sliding all over the range in an effort to bring this great folk-tune into the bedroom. Among the brighter spots are Van Johnson's cocky clowning through "I Won't Dance" and Lena Horne's delivery of "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man" with the force of a tropical storm and the understanding reminiscent of the days when gals perched step pianos.

The songs are the show. There is little scheme or reason to the way they are strung together, but they are there, done up in some of Hollywood's best whipped-cream arrangements, and spiced with song-and-dance people who seem to understand what Kern was singing about. There are plain actors and a story in "Till the Clouds Roll By," but the best idea is to sit back, close your eyes and just listen to the music. You won't miss a thing.