On some barren hills just south of San Francisco sits the town of Colma, consisting mostly of cemeteries. The dead outnumber the living by thousands to one. Colma is known as "the city that waits for the city that waits to die to die." If it had been open in 1906 business would have been booming.
In 1906, Clark Gable is Blackie Norton, proprietor of a honky tonk who hires Jeanette MacDonald as a singer, humiliating her in the process, although she's a nice young lady and he's a ruthless thuggish kind of guy. Blackie's pal, Spencer Tracy is a priest and always trying to snap Blackie out of his coarse ways, but doing it gently.
MacDonald has a voice that belongs in the opera, and an impresario (whatever that is) tries to hire her, but Blackie won't let her out of her contract. Room for all kinds of conflict there -- nice girl loves ambitious bum, fatherly opera owner takes an interest in her, friendly priest tries to keep the lid on. There's even a rough-edged middle-aged blond who excoriates Blackie for his spitefulness, though she has a heart of gold and is fond of MacDonald.
The Big One comes and MGM puts on a lavish display of earthquake and fire. It's not entirely historically accurate because the real one took place around five in the morning. But it was a monster alright. It drove Enrico Caruso out onto the streets in his night clothes, hugging a picture of Theodore Roosevelt. The effects are pretty good for the period and I'm happy they're there because without them this would have been a rather ordinary tale of misunderstandings, self interest, and love, enlivened by MacDonald's soprano, which sounds like a vibrato-ridden lunch whistle.
Poor Blackie pulls himself out from under the rubble and stumbles about the streets, helping strangers, searching desperately for MacDonald, whom he has come to realize he truly loves.
Does he find her? You bet. She's unharmed too. She's down at the car barn helping Father Tracy tend the wounded and underemployed. They hug. A crowd gathers and sings "Nearer My God To Thee" before engaging in a colossal thigmotaxis and marching back towards the ruins of the city to a rousing chorus of "San Francisco." They did rebuild it too, and quickly enough for an international exposition to be held there a few years later. And not everyone came out of it worse than he went into it. A. P. Giannini was able to turn his little Bank of Italy in North Beach into the big Bank of America by making loans to working people of the city. If you carry a Visa in your wallet, the San Francisco earthquake of April, 1906, has something to do with it.
It's not a bad movie. It chugs slowly along though, and the plot seems at times like just mere filler until the Big One comes along. Spencer Tracy hadn't yet hit his stride as an actor. His priest, as written, is one-dimensional and his face is as interesting as a baked potato. Gable, as Blackie, although elevated by the nimbus of his Gablehood, seems darker than usual. Jeanette MacDonald at least is pretty and gets to sing an aria or two.
In 1906, Clark Gable is Blackie Norton, proprietor of a honky tonk who hires Jeanette MacDonald as a singer, humiliating her in the process, although she's a nice young lady and he's a ruthless thuggish kind of guy. Blackie's pal, Spencer Tracy is a priest and always trying to snap Blackie out of his coarse ways, but doing it gently.
MacDonald has a voice that belongs in the opera, and an impresario (whatever that is) tries to hire her, but Blackie won't let her out of her contract. Room for all kinds of conflict there -- nice girl loves ambitious bum, fatherly opera owner takes an interest in her, friendly priest tries to keep the lid on. There's even a rough-edged middle-aged blond who excoriates Blackie for his spitefulness, though she has a heart of gold and is fond of MacDonald.
The Big One comes and MGM puts on a lavish display of earthquake and fire. It's not entirely historically accurate because the real one took place around five in the morning. But it was a monster alright. It drove Enrico Caruso out onto the streets in his night clothes, hugging a picture of Theodore Roosevelt. The effects are pretty good for the period and I'm happy they're there because without them this would have been a rather ordinary tale of misunderstandings, self interest, and love, enlivened by MacDonald's soprano, which sounds like a vibrato-ridden lunch whistle.
Poor Blackie pulls himself out from under the rubble and stumbles about the streets, helping strangers, searching desperately for MacDonald, whom he has come to realize he truly loves.
Does he find her? You bet. She's unharmed too. She's down at the car barn helping Father Tracy tend the wounded and underemployed. They hug. A crowd gathers and sings "Nearer My God To Thee" before engaging in a colossal thigmotaxis and marching back towards the ruins of the city to a rousing chorus of "San Francisco." They did rebuild it too, and quickly enough for an international exposition to be held there a few years later. And not everyone came out of it worse than he went into it. A. P. Giannini was able to turn his little Bank of Italy in North Beach into the big Bank of America by making loans to working people of the city. If you carry a Visa in your wallet, the San Francisco earthquake of April, 1906, has something to do with it.
It's not a bad movie. It chugs slowly along though, and the plot seems at times like just mere filler until the Big One comes along. Spencer Tracy hadn't yet hit his stride as an actor. His priest, as written, is one-dimensional and his face is as interesting as a baked potato. Gable, as Blackie, although elevated by the nimbus of his Gablehood, seems darker than usual. Jeanette MacDonald at least is pretty and gets to sing an aria or two.