I had long wanted to see this Vitaphone short film starring baseball legend Babe Ruth, and when TCM aired it as part of a mini-baseball movie marathon a few weeks back, well, I finally got my chance.
After I saw it, I googled it and realized it's widely available on the Internet, and I felt like a complete moron. But, hey, just because I could have seen this one on the web doesn't make Turner Classic any less wonderful for showing it.
All I had ever seen was the thrilling climax of this short subject, and that's the Bambino dressed in formal wear in front of an orchestra, awkwardly reciting lines like "Strike one," and "Ball one," while waving his arms stiffly. The buildup to this scenario couldn't possibly be as amusing, and, no, it isn't. But the short is still essential viewing for the comedy value of the Babe's "performance" alone.
The film opens with the Sultan of Swat doing what he always does in the offseason: Spending time on a hunting trip in a small cabin with a group of dudes. Note some of the words missing from that sentence, words like "broads" and "booze." Yep, even before we get to Maestro Bambino in the studio, we have reason to question the verisimilitude of this film.
Speaking of truthiness, Babe tells his version (at least his 1937) version of his legendary "called shot" home run in the '32 World Series. You know how baseball historians have researched this story and found a lot of ambiguity? Well, there ain't none of that pesky ambiguity here. Babe called his home run off Charlie Root, and as longtime Yankee announcer Mel Allen might say, "There was no doubt about it!"
Anyway, one of the Babe's pals is working on a tune for an upcoming radio broadcast, and he's having a tough go of it until, what do you know, Ruth dazzles the group with his own songwriting prowess. After hearing the song on the piano (the guys may have forgot the women and the spirits, but, by gum, they made darn sure that cabin had a piano) he tells everyone to do a "Home run on the keys," which consists of plunking a few ivories while imitating a home plate umpire. Instead of telling him, "Hey, did we ever tell you how to hit a curve?" the gang rejoices, embracing Babe's contribution as if it were Bruce Dickinson calling for "more cowbell."
My first reaction is, uh, can we hear that story about the '32 Series again? But I'm glad the story continues, because we go into the radio studio for a live performance. After we hear a couple of kids do their song (sorry to give them short shrift, but it's like if Alvaro Espinoza batted ahead of Babe Ruth--we just want to get to the big guy). The emcee beckons him to the mic and tells him to let the audience know what he's gonna do, and then Ruth feigns total ignorance of the concept of radio. "Well, I can't tell a crowd that I can't see," he protests. He quickly gets the hang of it, though, doing a little patter before delivering that immortal performance of "Home Run on the Keys."
"Play ball! Strike one! Strike two! Foul ball..."
For me, the wait for this gem was well worth it, though it still stings to know it was on YouTube a year ago! Some folks might think corny stuff like this takes away from the legend of Babe Ruth, but I think it only enhances it. Sure, the clip is a little goofy, but Ruth comes off as a swell guy, and there is a charm to it that MLB couldn't hope to capture today.
Were audiences in 1937 better off not hearing so much about the more tawdry aspects of the Babe Ruth story? Were they able to enjoy this on a purer, more sincere level? Perhaps. However, seeing it in 2010 is still a joyous experience, even while chuckling about some of the aspects of it--OK, all of the aspects of it.
The film opens with the Sultan of Swat doing what he always does in the offseason: Spending time on a hunting trip in a small cabin with a group of dudes. Note some of the words missing from that sentence, words like "broads" and "booze." Yep, even before we get to Maestro Bambino in the studio, we have reason to question the verisimilitude of this film.
Speaking of truthiness, Babe tells his version (at least his 1937) version of his legendary "called shot" home run in the '32 World Series. You know how baseball historians have researched this story and found a lot of ambiguity? Well, there ain't none of that pesky ambiguity here. Babe called his home run off Charlie Root, and as longtime Yankee announcer Mel Allen might say, "There was no doubt about it!"
Anyway, one of the Babe's pals is working on a tune for an upcoming radio broadcast, and he's having a tough go of it until, what do you know, Ruth dazzles the group with his own songwriting prowess. After hearing the song on the piano (the guys may have forgot the women and the spirits, but, by gum, they made darn sure that cabin had a piano) he tells everyone to do a "Home run on the keys," which consists of plunking a few ivories while imitating a home plate umpire. Instead of telling him, "Hey, did we ever tell you how to hit a curve?" the gang rejoices, embracing Babe's contribution as if it were Bruce Dickinson calling for "more cowbell."
My first reaction is, uh, can we hear that story about the '32 Series again? But I'm glad the story continues, because we go into the radio studio for a live performance. After we hear a couple of kids do their song (sorry to give them short shrift, but it's like if Alvaro Espinoza batted ahead of Babe Ruth--we just want to get to the big guy). The emcee beckons him to the mic and tells him to let the audience know what he's gonna do, and then Ruth feigns total ignorance of the concept of radio. "Well, I can't tell a crowd that I can't see," he protests. He quickly gets the hang of it, though, doing a little patter before delivering that immortal performance of "Home Run on the Keys."
"Play ball! Strike one! Strike two! Foul ball..."
For me, the wait for this gem was well worth it, though it still stings to know it was on YouTube a year ago! Some folks might think corny stuff like this takes away from the legend of Babe Ruth, but I think it only enhances it. Sure, the clip is a little goofy, but Ruth comes off as a swell guy, and there is a charm to it that MLB couldn't hope to capture today.
Were audiences in 1937 better off not hearing so much about the more tawdry aspects of the Babe Ruth story? Were they able to enjoy this on a purer, more sincere level? Perhaps. However, seeing it in 2010 is still a joyous experience, even while chuckling about some of the aspects of it--OK, all of the aspects of it.
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