Isn't It A Lovely Day to Be Singin' in the Rain: Astaire vs. Kelly and Why I Care

For years, ever since I had the somewhat dubious delight of renting and watching the entirety of  'An American in Paris', I have wondered something: why does Gene Kelly, a man known the world over as one of the finest dancers of his generation, not only not impress me, but annoy me? What is it about his movement that causes me to cringe? Why do I prefer to put on 'Swing Time' rather than 'On the Town'? Why, in short, do I prefer Fred Astaire?

I am not myself a dancer, but I can appreciate good dancing as much as any layman.  I enjoy the elegance of good choreography; as a drummer, I delight particularly in good tap.  And as a woman I appreciate a healthy display of male athleticism and ability.  Perhaps, I thought, my peculiar hang-up, my dislike of Kelly is the same as my inexplicable dislikes of Christian Bale, Montgomery Clift, and a number of other actors, male and female, who simply get on my nerves through no intrinsic fault of their own, through no lack of ability or talent.  We all have our types; perhaps Kelly is simply not mine.  

Then, I came to realize something from an offhand comment thrown out by a film studies professor I just happened to be listening to.  The key differences between Kelly and Astaire, two dancers often compared to each other, are quite simple: Kelly is more athletic, a more bound mover; he also either dances alone or with male partners.  Astaire either dances alone, or with female partners.  At first I thought, how very progressive of Kelly! And then it came to me, my reasons for disliking Kelly.  

It is not that he was progressive, but rather that his performances make dancing the prerogative of men.  Dancing in his hands (or feet) ceases to be the interplay of two bodies flowing in tandem with each other, of two people moving across the floor in synchronicity and understanding, and becomes an athletic performance, the artistic equivalent of a narcissist saying 'Look what I can do!' Even when he dances with women, he does not really dance with them; he dances around them.  They become objects for him to twirl about, not performers in their own right.  He cannot really abide to have a woman equal him in ability.  He never tapped with Anne Miller or Ginger Rogers, who quite frankly would dance him right off the stage.  Most of Mr. Kelly's female partners are either not allowed to equal him if they can, or seem hand-picked they really can't.  Debbie Reynolds in 'Singin' in the Rain' is very nice to look at, but her few dances with Kelly mostly consist of him moving around her.  Leslie Caron is likewise nice, and talented, eye-candy, but is again sidelined in favor of Kelly's overblown balletic histrionics.  Kelly seems much more at ease jumping over chairs with Donald O'Connor than he does putting his arm around Reynolds.  Women are not partners for Gene Kelly; they are props.  

When Astaire wants to dance with an object, he dances with a hat rack; when he dances with a woman, he actually dances with her.  Watch any one of his films with Ginger Rogers.  Each dance is meticulously constructed to prove just how compatible, and combative, these two people are.  'Night and Day' in 'The Gay Divorcee', one of the first true Astaire/Rogers numbers, was meant to, in Astaire's own words, be a substitute for sex; anyone watching the film comes away with the sense that they've just watched a love scene being enacted, in which lips never touch and clothes never come off.  Astaire and Rogers complement each other; their movements are meant to flow continuously together, they mirror one another on many occasions.  Ginger Rogers once famously said that she 'did everything Fred Astaire did, only backwards and in high heels'.  Astaire may always lead, but the focus is rarely on one performer or the other; the dance is not built to show off his physical prowess, but the synchronicity of a couple's movements.  On the occasions when Astaire dances alone, he does so less with a desire to 'show off' (he is never, in other words, proving to Rogers what he can do) and more with the desire to entertain: most of his solo dances take place on stage in front of an audience.  

In fact, if Astaire ever does begin to 'show off', he is usually put promptly in his place.  His tap in front of Rogers in 'Top Hat', where he sings and then dances to 'Isn't It A Lovely Day', begins as a solo performance.  He steps away from her, about to show what he can do.  But Rogers quickly joins him, doing everything he does (and often then some).  Finally, the couple come together and their dance is a joyous union.  Narcissism takes a back seat, even if it is sometimes present.

All of the dances in the Astaire/Rogers films serve in some way to advance the narrative, from the playful dancing of 'Isn't It A Lovely Day' to the more sombre performance in 'Swing Time' of 'Never Gonna Dance'.  They find, lose, and regain each other, all through dance.  Kelly's dances, by contrast, sometimes do not advance the narrative.  His predilection for extended 'dream' or balletic sequences in his films often stop the story flat (see 'An American in Paris', 'On the Town', and 'Singin' In The Rain' some time, if you don't believe me).  He often dances when he feels most alone, giving vent to his desires without the object of desire being present.  Astaire perpetually chases the desire; if Rogers (or Charisse, or Hayworth) is not present, has left him, he often chooses not to dance.   

There are always exceptions, of course, for both men: Astaire dances for, not with Rogers, to 'I Won't Dance'; Kelly and Caron dance together in 'An American in Paris'.  Astaire's later films betray a search for a 'new Ginger', with Fred pairing off with Cyd Charisse, Rita Hayworth, Joan Fontaine (!), Judy Garland, and even, God save us, Audrey Hepburn (in another of the long line of films in which Hepburn is paired romantically with a man old enough to be her father).  But I would argue that these films still establish what is so likable about Astaire as a performer: he must have a female partner.  A brilliant dancer in his own right, he is at his best with a woman of equal ability standing opposite.  

Astaire, then, in my opinion, keeps dancing sexual.  His elegant performances with Rogers are love scenes in themselves; no kiss is needed.  Kelly, by far the better looking male of the two, might as well be dancing in front of a mirror.  He is far more interested in making himself look good than he is in flowing with his female partners.  (Astaire, by the way, did not have a corner on the 'older man/younger woman' market: for sheer weirdness, watch an elder Kelly chase after Catherine Deneuve in 'The Young Girls of Rochefort').  Astaire appreciates the importance of the female counterpart.  Kelly might as well be dancing with that hatrack.