Singin- In The Rain

For over seven decades, the simple image of a man swinging on a lamppost, umbrella in hand, and grinning despite a torrential downpour has become the universal symbol of unbridled joy. That man is Gene Kelly, and the film is Singin' in the Rain.

Released in 1952 by MGM, Singin' in the Rain was initially considered a modest hit, overshadowed at the Oscars by The Greatest Show on Earth. But time has been extraordinarily kind to this Technicolor gem. Today, the American Film Institute ranks it as the greatest movie musical of all time. But what is it about this specific film about the death of the silent era that makes it feel so eternally alive?

Jean Hagen’s performance as Lina Lamont is one of the greatest comedic performances in film history. She is vain, stupid, and cruel—but Hagen plays it with a desperate fragility.

Lina doesn't understand why she can't be in talkies. She thinks her shrill, grating voice is elegant. In the modern era of social media, Lina is the influencer who cannot comprehend why her "authentic self" is repulsive to the public. When she finally gets her comeuppance (the famous "Can't stand 'em!" moment with the microphone hidden in her prop flowers), we laugh, but we also wince. Her career is over because of biology, not malice. That ambiguity makes the film smarter than you remember. Singin- in the Rain

A musical is only as good as its villain, and Jean Hagen’s Lina Lamont is a masterpiece of comedic acting. In a film about sound, Hagen—who actually had a beautiful, dulcet speaking voice—chose to speak like a buzzsaw.

Lina is not evil; she is blissfully unaware of her own mediocrity. The scene where she tries to speak into a hidden microphone, resulting in the famous line, "I can't make 'em love me," is heartbreaking and hilarious. She is the anchor of reality in a fantasy world.

If you’ve never seen it (and if you haven’t, please close this tab and rectify that immediately), the setting is Hollywood, 1927. Don Lockwood (Gene Kelly) and Lina Lamont (Jean Hagen) are the silent film era’s ultimate power couple. They’re handsome, popular, and completely fake. Don despises Lina’s vanity, and Lina has the speaking voice of a chalkboard being scratched by a dying seagull. For over seven decades, the simple image of

Enter Kathy Selden (Debbie Reynolds), a perky chorus girl who claims she doesn't watch "pictures" because they are "picturesque, but not... deep."

The inciting incident is the release of The Jazz Singer. Suddenly, the "talking pictures" are here. The studio heads panic. Don and Lina’s lavish new silent epic, The Dueling Cavalier, is instantly obsolete.

The solution? Turn The Dueling Cavalier into a musical. There’s only one problem: Lina sounds like a monster. The fix? Dub over Lina’s voice with Kathy’s. Romance, betrayal, and the greatest dance sequence ever filmed ensue. But time has been extraordinarily kind to this

There is a common critique of Singin’ in the Rain: the 13-minute "Broadway Melody" ballet sequence in the second half stops the plot dead. A film critic in 1952 called it "self-indulgent."

And they’re not wrong. It does stop the plot.

But it also elevates the film from a fluffy comedy to high art. This sequence—featuring Cyd Charisse as a femme fatale in green—has nothing to do with Don Lockwood or talking pictures. It is a dream. It is a dance of violence, lust, and ambition. Gene Kelly goes from a streetwise hoofer to a murdered lover. The colors are noirish. The music is aggressive.

It is the film acknowledging the darkness that the rest of the movie glosses over. Without the "Broadway Melody," Singin’ in the Rain is a cartoon. With it, it is a masterpiece.