Gold Diggers of 1935: Weirdly hypnotic musical chaos

If you want a movie that makes you feel like you’ve accidentally drank three martinis at 10 AM, Gold Diggers of 1935 is your best friend. You should watch this if you enjoy watching people dance on pianos or if you have a high tolerance for 1930s-style screaming matches. If you need a plot that holds together like a brick house, you’ll probably hate it within ten minutes. 🍸

The whole thing takes place in this resort that feels like a fever dream of velvet and polished floors. It’s supposed to be a romantic comedy, but the romance is just kind of… there. It’s a backdrop for the real stars: the massive, impossible dance numbers that defy physics.

There is this one moment where the camera starts circling the dancers from above, and it just doesn't stop. It goes on for so long that you start to wonder if the cameraman got stuck on the crane. It’s hypnotic. It’s also completely absurd.

Dick Powell is running around trying to be charming, but honestly, the furniture has more personality. He just kind of smiles and sings, and you’re supposed to believe he’s a mastermind. The supporting cast is having way more fun than he is, especially Alice Brady, who plays an eccentric mother with such frantic energy she might actually be vibrating.

Wait, what is happening?

• The piano number is pure nightmare fuel.
• The dialogue is mostly people shouting over each other.
• I swear the same three extras are in every hallway shot.

I’ve seen some weird stuff in Queen of the Chorus, but this is a different kind of beast. It’s not trying to be a drama, and it’s not trying to be grounded. It’s just trying to fill the frame with as many white tuxedos as physically possible. 🕺

Some of the humor lands, but a lot of it feels like a stage play that forgot it was being filmed. There’s a scene involving a hotel detective that goes on about forty seconds too long. You can feel the air leaving the room while he talks. It’s awkward, but in a way that’s kind of funny if you’re tired enough.

Don't expect a Scaramouche level of narrative focus here. It’s a series of bright, loud events held together by sheer willpower and a lot of hairspray. Is it good? Who knows. Is it a blast? Yeah, actually.