Recreating a Slice of "Old Hollywood" on the Set of New York, New York

Old Hollywood, romanticized on the silver screen but in reality dominated by cigar-chomping studio bosses, was drawing its last few breaths in the 1960s. Big-wigs were dying out, budgets were being slashed, and most of the production studios were sold to overseas conglomerates. The major studios no longer directly controlled production themselves; instead, that responsibility went to independent studios, producers and agents. By the 1970s, a new breed of filmmaker emerged through the void, the so-called "Movie Brats," a pack of young up-and-coming auteurs with names like Martin Scorsese and Francis Ford Coppola who sought to revolutionize the industry by taking the movies out of the studio lots and into the streets.

Not only did the shift promise smaller production costs for bottom line-oriented studios houses, but it also meant movies found themselves more grounded in realism, depicting real life from the real streets, instead of some cardboard façade propped up on the studio back lot. It was no surprise, then, that realistic, seemingly grittier films such as The French Connection, Taxi Driver and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest were dominating box offices at the time.

So when news spread that Scorsese – buoyed by the success of Taxi Driver in 1976 – wanted to make an experimental, big-budget movie musical, Hollywood’s eyes rolled. Movie musicals were passé – too "Old Hollywood" – and besides, why would one of these gritty Movie Brats want to make a glamorous musical? Despite the chortles, Scorsese managed to convince bankrollers that his fresh approach to filmmaking would create the first "film noir musical," a re-imagining of the syrupy, Technicolor musical of yesteryear through the eyes of a modern, realistic filmmaker. Knowing that films made outside the "traditional Hollywood mold" of late were winning praise and revenues, studio executives took the risk and handed Scorsese $14 million to make New York, New York, starring Liza Minnelli and Robert DeNiro as a musician couple navigating life, love and career in post-World War II America.

It all started when cinematographer Laszlo Kovacs (Easy Rider, Five Easy Pieces, Paper Moon) received an unexpected phone call from Scorsese, who asked Kovacs to meet him for lunch at a little restaurant on Sunset Boulevard. Kovacs arrived early and threw back a couple of espressos, when suddenly: "Here comes (Scorsese) with his fast-talk, and the whole rhythm suddenly changed. He started talking about this project, telling me, ‘I’m going to make a ’40s-’50s musical. But not just any musical – the visuals have to be very much the way it used to be like a Technicolor film," Kovacs recalled in a recent interview about his experiences making New York, New York.

But there were obvious hurdles to recreating such a film. "The Technicolor process was already finished – we sold all the machines to Red China," Kovacs said. "The only thing available was the Eastman-Kodak negative." But Scorsese was undeterred. " ‘We can do it,’ he said, and he just kept telling me about this musical drama and the characters and how much they clash and how much they dramatically involve each other."

"I knew I couldn’t do it myself," Kovacs recalls. "I needed a supporting team." So, to recreate the brilliance and bright colors typical of a Technicolor picture, Kovacs turned to costume designer Theodora Van Runkle and production designer Boris Leven. While Van Runkle sewed elaborate Old Hollywood-style costumes of vibrant, primary colors, Leven worked to re-create fantastical yet realistic sets on the same soundstages where many of the great musicals of the 1940s were filmed. The presence of Minnelli, the daughter of Hollywood legends Judy Garland and Vincent Minnelli, added to the Old Hollywood feel. (Interestingly, Minnelli used her mother’s old dressing room and hairdresser while working on her mother’s old MGM soundstages.)

And so, with costumes, sets and actors ready, it was time to start filming New York, New York. A new wrinkle quickly emerged: the new breed of filmmakers were used to being mobile and shooting out in the real world with lightweight equipment. "Now suddenly, the whole movie had to be made the same way the movies used to be made in the ’50s," Kovacs said. That meant big heavy cameras, big sets and elaborate lighting – all shot in the confining space of the studio. It was an adjustment for all parties: "My lighting man … was used to running cables in the street. Now, he’s working on a stage. We had to go back to the old-fashioned studio lights, which (were) big and heavy," Kovacs said.

With the magical element of the musical finished, the crew set out to film the dramatic scenes. And considering the acting chops of the movie’s headliners, the drama was, well, quite dramatic. Sometimes, it was too dramatic, Kovacs said. "I can confess now, after so many years, that I couldn’t watch that scene (in the car where a pregnant Francine and Doyle are fighting and punching each other). That scene was too much for me, and I just had to leave. You get very involved in the characters when you’re making a movie, and they get so close to you."

Despite its heartfelt emoting of sentiment, New York, New York garnered a cold reception when it premiered in 1977. Scorsese’s musical tribute to his home town was perhaps ahead of its time and was ultimately dubbed a box office failure. The filmmaker fell into a deep depression, and his abuse of cocaine worsened.

The film, however, is now enjoying a new life, thanks to its release on DVD. "The film still lives with the audience, there are still a lot of people who have seen it, especially young filmmakers who’ve been asking, ‘What happened to New York, New York? When is that going to be ready so we can see it?’ Reviving a work like this is wonderful," Kovacs said.