Maria Montez was once quite rightly dubbed Queen of Technicolor. As for the King? Well, there was a King, true, but he wasn't an actor (at least not a regular actor). He was director Michael Curtiz, called the King of Technicolor because it was claimed he directed more Technicolor (two-strip and three-strip Technicolor, that is) movies than anyone else. A difficult assertion to prove or disprove. Certainly Curtiz was King of Technicolor on the Warner Bros. lot. Maybe over-all. I'll leave that for some other researcher to ponder. What we do know for a fact is that 1930 was one of Technicolor's greatest years. Sixteen full-length features plus one, M-G-M's The March of Time shelved and never released, plus eighteen features with Technicolor sequences, totals thirty-five — a figure not exceeded until 1948. Warner Bros.-First National were responsible for no less than sixteen of these Technicolor releases, but only three were directed by Curtiz: Bright Lights, Under a Texas Moon and sequences in Mammy. Just about all the Warner-First National output were musicals (no wonder the public tired of the genre so quickly in 1930). Bright Lights is no exception. It's a shame in fact that even more songs weren't packed in to edge out even more of the silly story. It would have to be the most stupid, most idiotic, most unbelievable, most melodramatically ridiculous plot I've ever encountered. At least it's original. No-one would ever want to copy or imitate it, that's for sure!
However, the story does allow us to evaluate the players, particularly lovely, charismatic, almost forgotten, British-born Dorothy Mackaill, a big star in silents who made the transition to sound with no problems at all, but was left on the sidelines when Warner Brothers bought out First National and began trimming National's star roster at the height of the Depression. Another problem – not of Dorothy's making, but entirely the fault of Jack Warner – was that her vehicles were not popular with the public. This one, chock-a-bloc with elaborate production numbers, hit theaters when the public was absolutely fed up with musicals. Hence a desperate title change to Adventures in Africa which was not only inappropriate – the "African" footage didn't amount to more than ten minutes – but wildly deceptive. So who did people blame? Jack Warner? No! Mike Curtiz? No! "Humph" Pearson and Henry McCarty? No! Even over-zealous Frank Fay who out-stays his welcome. No! This was only Fay's third feature film, and he had no box office drawing power anyway. For 99% of moviegoers, Dorothy Mackaill was number one on their hit list. My dad thought that the sole function of producers was to shell out the money and that directors were in charge of photography and other technical aspects. As for the stars – they made up their own scripts and directed themselves! And those notions was shared by almost the entire line-up of rank-and-file picturegoers. So if they hated Adventures in Africa – which they did (in spades) – the number one (and perhaps only) figure on their hate lists was Dorothy Mackaill. True, Frank McHugh's inebriated reporter hit the spot, but his routines ranked a poor second to all that singing and dancing – which you and I love, but which back in 1931, just about everyone from critics to choir boys hated!
However, the story does allow us to evaluate the players, particularly lovely, charismatic, almost forgotten, British-born Dorothy Mackaill, a big star in silents who made the transition to sound with no problems at all, but was left on the sidelines when Warner Brothers bought out First National and began trimming National's star roster at the height of the Depression. Another problem – not of Dorothy's making, but entirely the fault of Jack Warner – was that her vehicles were not popular with the public. This one, chock-a-bloc with elaborate production numbers, hit theaters when the public was absolutely fed up with musicals. Hence a desperate title change to Adventures in Africa which was not only inappropriate – the "African" footage didn't amount to more than ten minutes – but wildly deceptive. So who did people blame? Jack Warner? No! Mike Curtiz? No! "Humph" Pearson and Henry McCarty? No! Even over-zealous Frank Fay who out-stays his welcome. No! This was only Fay's third feature film, and he had no box office drawing power anyway. For 99% of moviegoers, Dorothy Mackaill was number one on their hit list. My dad thought that the sole function of producers was to shell out the money and that directors were in charge of photography and other technical aspects. As for the stars – they made up their own scripts and directed themselves! And those notions was shared by almost the entire line-up of rank-and-file picturegoers. So if they hated Adventures in Africa – which they did (in spades) – the number one (and perhaps only) figure on their hate lists was Dorothy Mackaill. True, Frank McHugh's inebriated reporter hit the spot, but his routines ranked a poor second to all that singing and dancing – which you and I love, but which back in 1931, just about everyone from critics to choir boys hated!