Why White Christmas is a Camp Classic

Christmas has always been a little flamboyant; the drama of fur-lined Santa coats and hats, Christmas trees weighed down with opulent, gaudy trimmings (I’m looking at you, tinsel), and all that singing.

So it’s no surprise that some of our most cherished Christmas movies have a certain extravagant frivolity, an ostentatious visual flair – hallmarks of the camp style – that outshine any ideas about peace and goodwill.

White Christmas (1954) is no exception. Produced during Hollywood’s Golden Age, it favours experimentation and spectacle over a complex plot and strong character development.

And for these things, I adore it.

Here’s five camp scenes from White Christmas that live in my head rent free:

*White Christmas* is packed with visual flair.

When you’re unhappy, I’m unhappy

In their dressing room, Bob Wallace (Bing Crosby) and Phil Davis (Danny Kaye) fling props, hats and ties at each other. They catch the flying objects effortlessly, sometimes without even looking. It’s an elegantly choreographed scene, blocked like something out of live theatre. The pair go on to remove their jackets and shoes in synchronised movement. Until Crosby drops a shoehorn that Kaye has tossed his way, there are no slip ups; the two men appear to be one and the same.

The chemistry between Crosby and Kaye here is delightful. The dynamic duo play a pair of theatre producers, in the style of Rogers and Hammerstein. Crosby’s smooth nonchalance provides the necessary grounding to Kaye’s ebullient, golden retriever personality; their relationship feels something in the nature of a wearied married couple (‘when you’re unhappy, I’m unhappy,’ Davis confesses), or perhaps two schoolboys (‘Do you really wanna know?’/’Yes, I really wanna know,’/ ‘All right, I’ll really tell you,’/Well then lay it on me, will ya?’).

As far as camp goes, it’s of the gentle kind, the theatrical bickering of two people with a deep love for one another. Who else will toss you a shoehorn, anticipating that you’re about to change your kicks?

The best things happen on a zipline

‘The Best Things Happen While You’re Dancing’ opens with a romantic, but civilised quick-step. Phil gently guides his newly-acquainted love interest, Judy Haynes (Vera-Ellen), around the terrace. Every time she twirls, her dress stirs the air with layers of frothy, pink chiffon.

But soon the dance becomes energetic; it evolves into a flamenco, to pole acrobatics, to the pair jumping on a hangar and gliding across a gantry like a zipline prototype, moving into the next beat of choreography the moment their feet hit the ground. It’s a dance that shows off the first buds of outlandish routines that only continue to blossom throughout the film.

It also captures the giddy momentum of falling in love, and Kaye doesn’t stop grinning for a moment. I find that I seek him out during most scenes, even the dance numbers – no mean feat, as Fred Astaire was originally set to play Phil. A more than competent dancer in his own right, Kaye is a perfect match for Ellen’s technical prowess; he’s all lift and bounce, positively floating around those poles like a cluster of leaves caught in the wind, following her trail.

The misters become sisters

In the aptly-titled ‘Sisters’, we meet sister act Betty (Rosemary Clooney) and Judy Haynes, the soon-to-be love interests for Bob and Phil. But when the two women need to escape a meddling landlord, the song is performed again – this time as a lip sync.

‘Sisters (reprise)’ is one of the campest numbers in White Christmas. Crosby and Kaye are resplendent in shimmering butterflies and periwinkle sashes, fumbling with their feathered fans.

Kaye positively dazzles in this scene. He plays coy, clutching his feathers against him like a full skirt, and minces across the stage like a schoolgirl. It’s no surprise that he managed to crack the notoriously serious Crosby during filming; in the closing bars, he playfully slaps his scene partner with his fan, with Crosby’s surprised laughs making it into the final cut.

Dance but make it a fever dream

The ‘Choreography’ number is chaos incarnate. It does nothing to advance the plot – in the world of White Christmas, it’s a song featured in the musical that Bob and Phil are producing, a show-within-the-show experience.

And I adore it.

This number is a fever dream about classical dance, the new contemporary styles coming through, and their discordant battle for dominance. It’s clear which side is winning; the contemporary dancers – led by Danny Kaye – look grey and drab, mournfully propelling themselves around the space like so many dying ducks. The classical dancers, however, are the epitome of flair, discipline, and joy; Vera-Ellen floats down from on high in a fuscia pink cloud, tapping the ball of her foot with impossible speed – the dying ducks look on, enthralled but skittish around this witchcraft. Later, her dance partner (John Brascia) launches himself into the action through a trapdoor in the floor, all smiles and flamboyance.

‘Choreography’ is one of the film’s more spectacular numbers, and wonderfully experimental too; a dance battle that captures the tensions between the dominant styles and the modern ones gaining popularity.

Love, you sent me a quartet of Ken dolls

Oh, to emerge from behind a haze of sheer, pink curtains in a showstopping black dress and sing about the pain of thwarted love while your ex sits in the back row.

Musically, ‘Love, You Didn’t Do Right by Me’ is one of the weaker songs in White Christmas. But it compensates for this by how…interestingly it’s staged.

In her only solo song in the film, Betty is accompanied by a quartet of backing dancers. With their shiny hair and angular poses, they look like a collection of Ken dolls. Evidently, they’re meant to symbolise a string of failed romances – stone-faced, they take turns limply embracing Betty – but the effect is more comical than dramatic. The dancers slide into frame, then abruptly twirl back out. Half the fun comes from guessing where they’ll pop up next – keep an eye out for when all four of them appear together towards the end of the song, one falling into Betty’s arms, the rest forming a wonky heart shape behind her.

It’s this commitment to a dramatic tone – and instead coming off as the complete opposite – that makes this number one of the campest scenes in the film.

***

White Christmas is padded out with some pointless, but fun musical numbers. So if your old festive favourites are wearing thin, why not give this camp classic a whirl?