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5.6/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 5.6/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Roof Tops of Manhattan remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you have twenty minutes to spare and love dusty 1930s dance acts, Roof Tops of Manhattan is a weird little time capsule worth pulling up. But if you want a real story with actual characters, you will probably hate this and turn it off after five minutes. 🍸
It is basically just a glorified variety show masquerading as a movie. The "plot"—if you can even call it that—is about a girl going to a fancy rooftop night club with a guy her parents probably do not approve of.
The funny part is, her entire family also happens to be at the exact same club on their own secret dates. Nobody seems to notice each other because they are too busy watching the stage show.
Honestly, the romance here is so incredibly dry. It completely lacks the raw, desperate chemistry you get in something like Man's Castle.
Here, the lovers just kind of stand around looking like they are waiting for their paychecks. The main reason to watch this is for the weird acts.
Gil Lamb does this bizarre, rubber-legged dance that made my own knees hurt just watching it. His face goes into these strange contortions that I think were supposed to be funny, but mostly just looked painful.
Then there is Edith Helena. She does this opera singing thing that is so high-pitched it probably made every dog in a three-block radius bark back in 1935.
Her performance goes on for way too long. The crowd in the background is smiling so hard their cheeks must have been cramping.
The camera just sits there, barely moving. It feels like they just parked a heavy piece of equipment in the middle of the room and told everyone to try not to trip over the power cords.
There is one extra in the back left who keeps looking directly at the lens. I spent about five minutes just watching him instead of the actual dancers.
Is it a masterpiece? Absolutely not.
But it has this clunky, honest charm that modern stuff just cannot recreate. It is just people doing their little acts, hoping someone in the audience throws them a bone.