Golddiggers of 1933, with its story of young showgirls trying to make ends meet during the Depression, is one of the most prominent films of the early 1930’s and is a brilliant commentary on the problems encountered by people of all walks of life during the Great Depression. Alternately funny and quick-witted and serious and slow, the film is an exercise in opposites, examining both the difficulties of the era and the pervasive hope that all will turn out ok in the end. The dialogue is interspersed with magnificent stage numbers choreographed by the legendary Busby Berkeley, but the movie avoids cheesiness or false sentiments by having all the musical numbers appear within the context of a stage show.
Without a doubt, the most poignant moment in the film is the last number, a startlingly real and grim analysis of the economic situation of the day and its effect on the population. The number, sung by a young woman who is clearly a prostitute, is a lamenting torch song dealing with the harsh realities that the American public has to deal with during this difficult time, and alludes to the fact that now that this woman’s significant other can’t support her anymore, she is resigned to the streets–not an unreal situation during the Depression.
The song also points specifically to the irony that the generation affected most by the Depression was that of the young men who served their country in World War I. The lyrics as articulated by Joan Blondell are more spoken than sung:
“Remember my forgotten man?/You put a rifle in his hand/You sent him far away/You shouted ‘Hip hooray!/But look at him today.”
The next verse touches on the physical labor that people put into the land, a land that no longer gives to them.
“Remember my forgotten man?/You had him cultivate the land/You had him walk behind a plow/The sweat fell from his brow/But look at him right now.”
Then the woman turns back to herself:
And once he used to love me/I was happy then/He used to take care of me/Won’t you bring him back again?
‘Cause ever since the world began/A woman’s got to have a man/Forgetting him, you see/Means you’re forgetting me/Like my forgotten man.
Very powerful stuff.
Note the song’s usage of “you” instead of “they,” addressing the unknown force at fault directly. It is not sung out of self-pity, but out of anger. It addresses the universalism of this crisis, affecting everyone from all walks of life, leaving them without a thing in the world.
We then see scenes of those affected by the Depression, beginning with a single mother and an old woman in a rocking chair, before being shown scenes of men returning home from war, on the battlefield, in breadlines, and finally marching in silhouette, reinforcing them as “forgotten men.” As they march, we see men in ragged clothes and their families on the stage, while Joan Blondell appears at the center and brings the song home, singing the last stanza in an incredibly heartbreaking, powerful moment, surrounded by the breadline men, the soldiers marching behind her, and the families at her side.
One of the things I like about this number is that it is able to show intense pain and sadness, without feeling like it has to tie it all off with a happy ending. It ends on an uncertain note and tone, not only emotionally but musically as well. There are tones in the last chord that sound final, but the chord is a dissonant one, not entirely sure where it is going. And though the number marks the end of the film, there is an unfinished air about it, musically telling the audience “We don’t know what’s going to happen to us.”
I dare say that this is one of the most memorable moments of the early 1930’s. Not only does it pack an intense punch, but it really sums up the era of pre-Code talkies. Stark, expressive, and poignant, it really shows what the future of cinema could have been, if the Hays Code hadn’t come in and dictated filmmaking for the next 35 years.