After graduating from military school in 1914, Berkeley found work in a shoe factory. Making shoes was not exactly what he had in mind, so three years later he enlisted in the U.S. Army and went to France during the First World War. While there, he conducted military drills. Not happy with the same old routines, Berkeley designed new ones. He taught 1200 men a ‘trick’ drill explaining each movement by numbers. His method allowed the drill to be completed in silence. It was an amazing sight to see such a large number of soldiers marching in patterns without hearing any orders. It was also the beginning of Berkeley’s magic.After completing his military service, he brought his skills to Broadway and by 1928, he was the hottest dance director in New York. Hollywood took note. Filmmaker Sam Goldwyn hired Berkeley to direct production numbers in the movie version of Ziegfeld’s Whoopee (1930). He found the work challenging so he stayed on with Goldwyn for two more years as a dance director, but it was after moving to Warner Bros. in 1933 where he made movie history.
42nd Street (1933) was a festival of music and Berkeley’s first major Hollywood triumph. He dared to be different using dozens of women to form complex geometric patterns as he moved the camera itself, allowing the audience to view the action from all sorts of angles. 42nd Street was followed by Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933) and Footlight Parade (1933). The dazzling costumes and showy sets created a unique imagery new to filmgoers.Berkeley spent up to $10,000 (about $175,000 today) for each minute of his flamboyant production numbers with Warner Bros. footing the bill. He had a monorail built for overhead tracking shots. He used cranes, hoists and aerial platforms. He even cut holes in the roofs of the sound stages in order to achieve the necessary height for his kaleidoscope-like shots. In the midst of all this equipment, he never used more than one camera. While filming Cain and Mabel (1936) with Clark Gable and Marion Davis, Berkeley outdid himself. He cut the sound stage off at its base and raised it with enormous jacks, enabling him to film one of the dance numbers exactly as he envisioned it. Davies’ lover, William Randolph Hearst, picked up the $100,000 tab without so much as a blink.
Springing from the Great Depression, Busby Berkeley musicals brought joy and hope to despairing Americans. Even today, one of his productions can still make toes tap and lips smile. Oh, and did I ever tell you where he got that name? He was named after actress Amy Busby, a member of the Tim Frawley Repertory Company where his parents worked. It turned out to be an appropriate name for a one-of-a-kind showman who got his best ideas relaxing in the bathtub with martinis.