Yolanda and the Thief (1945)

Best movie ever!

Although it has its amusing moments, in eneral the plot does not convince.

It's funny, it's tense, it features two great performances from two actors and the director expertly creates a web of odd tension where you actually don't know what is happening for the majority of the run time.

This movie feels like it was made purely to piss off people who want good shows

A piece of Hollywood hokum, this musical has Lucille Bremer as an heiress who has been sheltered all her young life in a convent, and Fred Astaire as an enterprising thief who (stay with us here) presents himself, and is accepted as, Yolanda's guardian angel! Of course his aim is to get all her money and disappear over the border, but he's foiled along the way by fate (or is it?). The good thing about this hard to swallow fable is that there are two or three really enterprising dance numbers, and they are worth your time. But there are no real story surprises - the 'twist' you can probably see coming a mile away and of course, there is always a happy ending and a quick resolve in an MGM movie.

Canned magic from MGM and director Vincente Minnelli. Lushly-produced, if studio-bound musical about convent-school graduate who unknowingly inherits family fortune, and the con-artist who tries duping her out of it. Certainly an eyeful, "Yolanda" is tuneful and colorful yet aloof, never quite achieving its ambitions to be a romantic musical-comedy. The awkward prologue featuring South American schoolchildren gets the picture off to a clumsy start, although director Vincente Minnelli stages some beautiful production numbers. Fred Astaire and Lucille Bremer are not magnificent together, but they are charming, and their "Coffee Time" number is glorious. Mildred Natwick is hilarious as Bremer's batty aunt and there's a humdinger of a fiesta sequence. The colorful costumes are knockouts, but the film's finale seems truncated, tampered with (the plot threads are tied up off-screen). The cinematographer was Charles Rosher, whose beautiful colors evoke the best parts of "The Wizard Of Oz". Unfortunately for him and everyone else, the confines of the studio are in evidence throughout and one feels boxed in by the wall-to-wall whimsy. ** from ****

Just came from a full screen showing of Yolanda & the Thief at the Stanford Theater in Palo Alto. This movie has long been a cult favorite of mine. I use the term "cult" because Yolanda is seldom mentioned in the same breath with so many of Arthur Freed's other MGM musicals. Few people have even heard of it. I have a bootleg Beta copy but you won't find a VHS version and certainly not a DVD. Somehow the fantasy element skews the movie's appeal despite its lush pallet, the full throttle performances, and the campiest mis en scene to emerge from Hollywood in the 40s. The opening shot: Sunrise in a field in Patria, a nation that may be a combination of Peru and Bolivia (only without the poverty, the politics or the bad weather) high in a cardboard rendering of the Andes. School children have gathered for class. The teacher is a wise old man who uses a llama as a back rest. The boys (yes, they're all boys) are attentive, well-behaved, and ethnic. Even the tow head in the first row has enough pancake makeup to pass for a native. So what? We're there to learn about the Aquaviva family... rich, benevolent, monopolistic, off beat, the family runs Patria and controls the oil, the beef, the transportation (Pan Aquaviva Airlines). But do we cue the Commies to start marching in the streets, protesting the plight of the poor? No, the Patrianos (or whatever they call themselves) are too busy dancing and singing and selling trinkets to care about their oppression. We are in a world that existed exclusively in the heads of Vincent Minnelli and his production crew. The colors are bright and bold: Emerald greens, umber translucent skies, golden gowns. Minelli's directorial style is a kind of in your face bravado with crane shots for days (true sometimes they get a little bumpy but high altitudes will do that to you). No doubt the writers got their idea of Patria while visiting the bar at the Agua Caliente race track in Tijuana, or taking lunch breaks at Olvera Street. Don't see this movie for its politics (there are none) or the geography (the back lot of MGM) or cultural authenticity (the female vendors in the town plaza wear hats that resemble Bolivian bowlers with colors by Irene). Yolanda and the Thief is truly sui generis. There's never been anything like it before and there hasn't been anything like it since. Minelli made Y&TF and broke the mold. (One question: Who's the guy that keeps bumming cigarettes off Fred?)

I'd always been curious about this one, especially considering its rather unhappy reputation as a major disappointment in the Fred Astaire/Vincente Minnelli canon, and it's fairly easy to see why. Turner Classic Movies scheduled it recently and I tuned in to watch something that certainly made me glad Technicolor was invented but which fell somewhat short of its intended mark.The story is absolute piffle, almost redeemed by Mildred Natwick's genuinely funny portrayal of a dotty aunt. (Check out the sequence where she welcomes Yolanda home from her years at a convent school.) M-G-M stalwarts Leon Ames and Frank Morgan (Was he in every single class "A" Metro production from the late Thirties through the early Fifties?) lend reliable support with the little they're given to do. And Fred Astaire and Lucille Bremer get (only) two opportunities to display their dancing compatibility. Astaire, of course, managed to complement all of his dancing partners with his patented style and grace (even the miscast Joan Fontaine in "A Damsel in Distress") but, as a matter of personal opinion, I think that Ms. Bremer runs a very close second to the gorgeous Cyd Charisse as one of his most elegant and beautiful co-stars. She's too old for her role in this one, admittedly, but she's nevertheless quite charming and a prime object for the luscious Technicolor cinematography of Charles Rosher.The real star of this misbegotten show, however, is the opulence of the very artificial art direction, set decoration, and costuming. It's Hollywood at its most baroque and Minnelli keeps his cameras gliding through it all as if on angels' wings. If you're not looking for one of the Arthur Freed's unit's bona fide musical classics, this one will provide a phantasmagoria of color and motion that's rarely been equaled.