MEET ME IN ST. LOUIS (1944)

The Smith family are just one of many looking forward to the 1904 World’s Fair in St Louis, Missouri. Not only that, but sisters Esther (Judy Garland) and Rose (Lucille Bremer) have their hearts full of romance, and their heads filled with dreams of marriage and family. However, devastating news arrives home one day: Alonzo (Leon Ames), the Smith patriarch and sole breadwinner, is being promoted, meaning the whole family will have to move to New York. Each member of the Smith family slowly comes to terms with the notion that this will be the last Christmas they spend in their beloved home.

Meet Me in St Louis is an iconic musical from the Golden Age of Hollywood, one that hasn’t shown even an iota of ageing in the last 80 years. With lavish sets, inspired performances, and heartfelt themes of family, home, and young love, Meet Me in St Louis will no doubt pull on the heartstrings of any viewer who has ever had to venture off into the unknown. Despite the relative shortcomings of the plot, the story is genuinely moving, even if the ending leaves me with mixed emotions.

The central conflict that plagues our family is found in a simple question: do you prioritise tradition and family values, or money and career success? Of course, while the question can be put simplistically, the answer is by no means straightforward. After the Smith family have received the news, they’re horrified, and not placated by the promise of Alonzo’s augmented salary. Rose declaims: “Money. I hate, loathe, despise and abominate money.” However, as her father wisely informs her: “You also spend it.”

Alonzo is aware of the burdens he’s faced with, as well as how his efforts to shrug them off only lead to him being depicted as a villain. However, the fact that he’s initially so unwavering in his resolve reveals his central belief: that a man must provide, and his family must support him in that endeavour, no matter how emotionally painful it may be. As he comes to consider the potentially irrevocable heartbreak he’s putting his family through, the story surprisingly doesn’t once become saccharine.

It instead feels like an earnest portrayal of a man contemplating the values a country obsessed with productivity, wealth, and excess has instilled in him. After all, the Smith family aren’t exactly destitute: they live in an enormous house, and show no signs of reaching bankruptcy. Alonzo’s desire to uproot his family makes transparent his pathological need for more, a neurosis he must overcome if his loved ones are ever to feel happy.

However, time is slowly dwindling. Meet Me in St Louis takes place over a single year, neatly split into four seasons (though this split isn’t exactly done evenly). By the end of 1903, the family will have upped sticks and moved. Much like When Harry Met Sally… (1989) did almost a half-century later, this narrative device renders all the action more impactful: the movement of time is always visually present, so the theme is never far removed from our attention.

Structuring the film into a quartet imparts the sensation of time passing. Romance feels especially fleeting when we watch lovers kiss under the falling leaves of autumn, only to witness their mournful goodbyes one season later, their final embrace enshrouded by gleaming snow. The vicissitudes of life are laid bare before us: elation and despair, the euphoria of young love and the inconsolable sorrow of first heartbreaks. Minnelli’s film captures these emotions with all their raw, forceful intensity.

Much like Going My Way (1944) of the same year, or Garland’s world-renowned performance in the MGM favourite The Wizard of Oz (1939), there is a preoccupation with home. The family plot is romanticised through song, dance, and dialogue. Conversely, that which exists past the boundary of the backyard is treated with suspicion: the entire city of New York is described as a colossal slum, one that maliciously keeps its denizens cooped up in minuscule flats, all contained in grey, lifeless tenements. In short, the exact opposite of the American Dream, where a man owns his house and raises his family in it till the end of their days.

It’s for this reason that nostalgia infuses the entire film. There’s a melancholic air, as though Minnelli is wisely warning his audience not to abandon traditional values — homeownership, familial stability, and neighbourly affection —for elusive career success. With Alonzo evidently making a mistake, the message behind the film is plainly didactic: don’t go hurrying off to strange places, abandoning the good you have in life for the illusory dream of something better.

This is a motif that could have been better explored. Alonzo mostly operates as a peripheral figure in the story, so his steadfast dedication to the move is never fleshed out quite like the patriarch’s mentality in Mary Poppins (1964). Additionally, Alonzo only announces his plans to upheave the family to New York around two-thirds into the film. Up until this time, the story doesn’t have much of a direction, and it’s a pity this revelation wasn’t made sooner: it would have coloured all the events, romances, and friendships that followed in a more tragic hue.

Truthfully, the plot itself is rather weakly structured, mainly hinging on the romantic dalliances of young adults as they negotiate the various hurdles inherent in first loves. Due to the lack of a definite central conflict, it sometimes feels as though the narrative’s events are simply happening, as opposed to moving in a particular direction. Still, Minnelli and screenwriters Irving Brecher and Fred F. Finklehoffe maintain situational tension, even if they never quite optimise it.

It’s a slice of life tale, and the capable performances, engaging songs, and gorgeous design carry the show, even if the writing could have done more with its premise. These include a raucous Halloween bonfire, a divinely elegant ball, and a sequence where Esther and John (Tom Drake) turn out the lights downstairs, which scintillates. As she nervously anticipates his kissing her, we are gripped on the edge of our seats, and more than a little spellbound. Moreover, we get a laugh as Tom, who’s as clueless as he is clumsy, finally gives her a handshake: “You’ve got a mighty strong grip for a girl!”

George J. Folsey’s cinematography deserves particular commendation. The technical prowess of an increasingly capable studio-recording system is on full display here: ornate, mobile camera movement and tracking shots capture Esther and Tom’s every step as they dim the lights after the party, following them throughout the house. Purely by virtue of never losing focus of them, it feels as though we’re sharing that overwhelmingly intimate moment with them.

It helps as well that the set design is incredibly resplendent and vivid, and that the performances still stun. Judy Garland delivers a completely touching performance: her eyes twinkle and her voice cracks nervously when opposite her beloved, all done so authentically that it utterly mesmerises. Though her iconic role in The Wizard of Oz will forever be her most famous, I still think this is her best performance. It’s understated, solemn, and reveals a maturity that belied her years.

And of course, the songs are magnificent earworms — I challenge anyone to watch this film and not hum the title song for days. A sequence that takes place on the tram — “The Trolley Song” — is similarly addictive listening, and the dance sequence is infectiously exuberant. However, they’re also wholly touching. Garland sonorously crooning “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” becomes tremendously sad: it’s not just a Yuletide song, but an ode to the home they are going to leave forever.

As the young Tootie (Margaret O’Brien) sheds a tear in Esther’s arms for the home she’ll never see again, we are forced to contemplate all those transitional moments in our lives that left indelible marks on us. When we took one final look at the house we grew up in, or the streets that we once walked as children. The Smith family realise, with deep solemnity, that all of that’s going to change. And while all things must change, the sensation of letting go of the warmly familiar is indescribably painful, and often very frightening.

So, as our characters lament their fortune (despite the luxury they enjoy), we empathise with their predicament: losing precious things to the unstoppable march of time is a universal agony we all must face, at one point or another. It’s for this reason that, even with an inevitably happy ending, it still feels bittersweet. Maybe it’s because it feels unrealistic, and after spending the last 45 minutes dreading the move, we feel slightly cheated out of the emotional catharsis.

Because no matter how you spin it, most people don’t have St Louis or the World’s Fair right where they live — most have to go and find it. Most do have to leave the place they love, the plot they call home, and that can be utterly heartbreaking. As escapism, Meet Me in St Louis remains a piece of rosy entertainment. The songs are catchy, the camerawork is technically stunning, and the colourful set design is a marvellous sight to behold.

However, I can’t help but think this film would have been more impactful had it dedicated itself to the genuine tragedy of growing up, and not shied away from all the things that life entails: loss, sacrifice, and a certain powerlessness to control those critical moments that will shape your life in ways you can’t possibly fathom. As we watch a loving family steadfastly resolve to remain together, right at home where they’re safe and warm, you think of the times you didn’t have that choice. And your heart will return to the times when you had to say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye to your own St Louis.

USA | 1944 | 113 MINUTES | 1.37:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

director: Vincente Minnelli.
writers: Irving Brecher & Fred F. Finklehoffe (based on the short stories by Sally Benson).
starring: Judy Garland, Margaret O’Brien, Mary Astor, Lucille Bremer, Tom Drake, Marjorie Main, Harry Davenport, June Lockhart, Joan Carroll, Hugh Marlowe, Chill Wills & Dorothy Tuttle.