The transition between the silent and sound eras was truly a fascinating time, and even looking back at it from nearly a century later, we can find several compelling works that serve as the bridge between the two major periods in Hollywood history. Bright Lights is one of the more notable examples, but not always in the way that some may expect. The film, which was one of many that Michael Curtiz made when he was primarily working as a journeyman director hired to helm a range of films due to his ability to deliver them very fast and cheap, occurs at the intersection between the two, and it is quite fascinating to see how the remnants of silent cinema continue to thrive in this film, despite new opportunities to go beyond them. It’s not necessarily a revolutionary work in the traditional sense, but rather a delightfully strange film that is more of a novelty than a work of great artistic merit, and Bright Lights knows how to project many compelling ideas onto what appears to be a relatively simple premise, to the point of actually being quite off-the-wall in terms of some of its content, which is delivered here in a way that is all too familiar to those who paid attention to the films produced during those few years between eras, where Hollywood was willing to take a few risks, many of which did not have a particularly long shelf-life, but still made for oddly invigorating and wildly entertaining cinema, even if much of this was accidental, as is the case with nearly every memorable element underpinning this film.

The film is primarily a musical, and like many produced at the time, the plot is not all that important, ultimately because it just serves to be the framework around which this story takes place, with the emphasis being on the actual musical productions, rather than the details of the plot. However, the film simply cannot avoid dipping into the silent era melodrama audiences had grown accustomed to, with the story of romance and murder feeling quite out of place in an otherwise effervescent and entertaining comedy – and considering how Bright Lights seems to be pitched towards the more lighthearted side of the tonal spectrum, it remains upbeat, even when dealing with something as challenging as a cold-blooded killing masquerading as a suicide. There are several off-kilter choices made, both in terms of the music and plot, that can feel quite bewildering, but they at least offer the film a sense of intrigue, even if only circumstantially. The inadvertent absurdity that emerges from the collision of two distinct eras proves how the transition was not nearly as smooth as it could have been – but rather than simmer in the difficulty moving to the sound era, this film embraces its peculiarities and makes for a suitably charming film that says as much about this era of filmmaking as it does the specific plot details, which become relatively inconsequential, both because they’re simply not all that interesting, and because there are many more intriguing components to be found throughout the story.

Bright Lights was designed as a starring vehicle for its two main actors, who have the entire film constructed around them as the consummate performers, both as actors and singers. The film is punctuated by lavish production numbers, which hints at where the lion’s share of the budget went (especially since the rest of the film takes place in cramped dressing rooms and hallways that supposedly connect these stages), and Dorothy Mackaill and Frank Fay alternate between performing a range of interesting numbers, some of them more memorable than others. “I’m Crazy for Cannibal Love” and “Man About Town” give Mackaill the chance to shine, while “Nobody Cares If I’m Blue” and “Wall Street” are very much structured around Fay, whose strong talents are unfortunately hidden beneath layers of ghastly makeup, with the film not realizing that it didn’t need to emphasize the actor’s face for him to show emotion, which is one of the more unconventionally amusing elements of the film that is taken from the silent era. With a film like Bright Lights, you get exactly what you pay for, so expecting anything even remotely challenging from the two leads is going to end up being a disappointment, especially since there isn’t all that much done to develop them beyond the stock archetypes they’re playing – and this isn’t even saying anything about Wallace Beery, who is the film’s villain, a Portuguese brute who happens to be more interested in speaking Spanish – one of the many details that help make Bright Lights such a bizarre but oddly captivating work of Pre-Code cinema.

However we look at it, Bright Lights is a wonderfully strange curio of a film, and one that may be relatively obscure by contemporary standards, but at least carries with it certain elements that help us see it as far more than just a run-of-the-mill romantic comedy from a time when they were a dime a dozen. Everyone involved in the film went on to have relatively decent careers, some of them more influential than others. However, what the film does exceptionally well (and seemingly without a moment’s hesitation) is it provides us with a wealth of interesting ideas that show the bridge between major eras, and while it is not the most effective in demonstrating the transition, often being quite clumsy in both the broad strokes and small details, it makes up for it in pure ambition, its willingness to leap into the sound age without fully abandoning the comforts of the silent era leads to a lot of fascinating intersections, with the new ideas intermingling with the remnants of the past, leading to quite an enthralling and deeply captivating document that feels far more entertaining than it perhaps ought to have been. Running at a mere 68 minutes, and made without too much fanfare (precisely to ensure that the stars were doing what they were expected, rather than being challenged), Bright Lights is understandably polarizing, but also very strong and deeply entertaining, especially to those with a penchant for Hollywood history, since this is a very strong example of the changing industry, and how the shift between eras was far less simple than merely adopting a new form of technology.