n turn-of-the-century Memphis, Will Handy (Nat “King” Cole) grows up with unyielding aspirations to become a great musician. His father, a minister, is enormously opposed to the blues compositions Will listens to (although he receives some support from his aunt, played by Pearl Bailey), cursing it as “the devil’s music” and forbidding Will from playing it. Even when his father crushes the trumpet that Will purchased with his hard-earned money, he refuses to give up, stubbornly pursuing his one consuming passion, undeterred.

After attending a nice but unfulfilling school, which his father insisted upon, Will’s foray into professional musicianship is at first temporized in marching bands for political rallies, before he later finds employment at an unassuming bar. When he meets Gogo Germaine (Eartha Kitt), a crooner at The Big Rooster, he finally starts to realize his destiny of fame and fortune – until he begins to go blind. Struggling with the desire to continue performing his own style of music, yet still wishing to please his family, Will must decide whether his lifelong dreams outweigh the happiness and influence of the people he loves.

Blues music is mentioned on several occasions as being satanic, and that only one kind of euphony – hymns – pleases the Lord. Will’s father spouts this concept as a fanatical religious leader who commands great respect and authority from his followers. But the film depicts his governance as unjust power orchestrated through fear; everything he represents is a force of evil that suppresses man. “I’d rather be told you were dead than to be told you were in that place!” his father cries, referring to the bar where Will plays. The church, apparently, condemns individualistic acts of expression.

One of only three films in the ‘50s to feature an all black cast (the other two being “Carmen Jones” and “Porgy and Bess”), “St. Louis Blues” also provides the only starring opportunity for legendary jazz pianist and singer Nat “King” Cole. His depiction of Handy is well portrayed and believable (Cole’s father in real life was also a minister), while his musical talents are unquestionably sensational – the songs “Yellow Dog Blues” and “Careless Love” are particularly catchy and melodic. Unfortunately, the character is not that much fun to watch – a fault largely attributable to the bland script, which is procedurally documental in its biographical attempt (based broadly on the life of “Father of the Blues” W.C. Handy). In an almost comically stereotypical fashion, Will goes blind and begins to wonder if divine interference is at work. When teaching piano at the church and playing gospel music miraculously brings back his sight, audiences will likely be shocked by the heavy-handed spiritual insinuations. Even though Will eventually confronts his father (as does Gogo), and his confidence in his music is legitimized by a grand New York concert, it still feels like the oppressive villainy of overblown faith serves as his major nemesis.

Religion in “St. Louis Blues” is portrayed as a tyrannical corruption, and blues is the careless escape, like an addictive drug that must be surrendered and expunged – or like something out of a sci-fi dystopia. It conflicts with the more agreeable elements of celebrated arrangements, classic singing, and cameos by real-life musical prodigies. But with the horribly generic, humdrum approach to biographical storytelling, “St. Louis Blues” comes up just short of being a recycled and rehashed version of “The Jazz Singer,” which far more successfully presents an underdog who goes through similar struggles to achieve lofty goals.

– Mike Massie