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Top Hat
Theatrical release poster
Directed byMark Sandrich
Screenplay by
Story byDwight Taylor
Based onA Scandal in Budapest
1911 play
by Alexander Faragó and Aladar Laszlo[1]
Produced byPandro S. Berman
StarringFred Astaire
Ginger Rogers
CinematographyDavid Abel
Edited byWilliam Hamilton
Music byIrving Berlin
Production
company
Distributed byRKO Radio Pictures
Release dates
  • August 29, 1935 (1935-08-29) (New York City, premiere)
[2]
Running time
101 minutes
CountryUnited States
LanguageEnglish
Budget$609,000[3]
Box office$3.2 million[3]

Top Hat is a 1935 American musical comedy film, in which Fred Astaire plays an American tap dancer named Jerry Travers, who arrives in London to star in a show produced by Horace Hardwick (Edward Everett Horton). He meets and attempts to impress Dale Tremont (Ginger Rogers) to win her affection. The film also features Eric Blore as Hardwick's valet Bates, Erik Rhodes as Alberto Beddini, a fashion designer and rival for Dale's affections, and Helen Broderick as Hardwick's long-suffering wife Madge.

The film was directed by Mark Sandrich, and was written by Allan Scott and Dwight Taylor, with songs by Irving Berlin. "Top Hat, White Tie and Tails" and "Cheek to Cheek" have become American song classics. It has been nostalgically referred to—particularly its "Cheek to Cheek" segment—in cinema, including films as diverse as The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985), The Green Mile (1999), and The Boss Baby (2017).

Astaire and Rogers made nine films together at RKO Pictures; the others include The Gay Divorcee (1934), Roberta (1935), Follow the Fleet (1936), Swing Time (1936), Shall We Dance (1937), and Carefree (1938). Top Hat was the most successful picture of Astaire and Rogers' partnership (and Astaire's second most successful picture after Easter Parade), achieving second place in worldwide box-office receipts for 1935.[4] While some dance critics maintain that Swing Time contained a finer set of dances,[4][5] Top Hat remains, to this day, the partnership's best-known work.[6]

Top Hat was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress in its second year, 1990, as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant".[7] The film has also been recognized by the American Film Institute on various lists commemorating the best of American cinema; the film appeared on their list of the twenty five greatest film musicals at number 15, and "Cheek to Cheek" appeared on their list of the one hundred greatest songs of American cinema, also at number 15.

Plot

[edit]

American dancer Jerry Travers comes to London to star in a show produced by the bumbling Horace Hardwick. While practicing a tap dance routine in his hotel bedroom, he awakens Dale Tremont on the floor below. She storms upstairs to complain, whereupon Jerry falls hopelessly in love with her and proceeds to pursue her all over London.

Dale mistakes Jerry for Horace, who is married to her friend Madge. Following the success of Jerry's opening night in London, Jerry follows Dale to Venice, where she is visiting Madge and modelling/promoting the gowns created by Alberto Beddini, a dandified Italian fashion designer with a penchant for malapropisms.

Jerry proposes to Dale, who, while still believing that Jerry is Horace, is disgusted that her friend's husband could behave in such a manner and agrees instead to marry Alberto. Fortunately, Bates, Horace's meddling English valet, disguises himself as a priest and conducts the ceremony; Horace had sent Bates to keep tabs on Dale.

On a trip in a gondola, Jerry manages to convince Dale and they return to the hotel where the previous confusion is rapidly cleared up. The reconciled couple dance off into the Venetian sunset, to the tune of "The Piccolino."[8]

Cast

[edit]

Production

[edit]
Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire in Top Hat
External videos
video icon Top Hat clips at TCM Movie Database

Top Hat began filming on April 1, 1935, and cost $620,000 to make. Shooting ended in June and the first public previews were held in July. These led to cuts of approximately ten minutes, mainly in the last portion of the film: the carnival sequence and the gondola parade which had been filmed to show off the huge set were heavily cut. A further four minutes were cut[9] before its premiere at the Radio City Music Hall, where it broke all records, went on to gross $3 million on its initial release, and became RKO's most profitable film of the 1930s.[10] After Mutiny on the Bounty, it made more money than any other film released in 1935.[5]

Script development

[edit]

Dwight Taylor was the principal screenwriter in this, the first screenplay written specially for Astaire and Rogers. Astaire reacted negatively to the first drafts, complaining that "it is patterned too closely after The Gay Divorcee", and "I am cast as ... a sort of objectionable young man without charm or sympathy or humour".[4] Allan Scott, for whom this movie served as his first major project, and who would go on to serve on six of the Astaire-Rogers pictures, was hired by Sandrich to do the rewrites and never actually worked with Taylor, with Sandrich acting as script editor and advisor throughout.[5] Allegedly Ben Holmes, Ralph Spence, and Károly Nóti were further contributors to the script.[11] The story itself was later said to have been inspired by two sources: ''Scandal in Budapest'' by Sándor Faragó, and ''A Girl Who Dares'' by Aladar LaszloIt.[12]

The Hays Office insisted on only minor changes, including probably the most quoted line of dialogue from the film: Beddini's motto: "For the women the kiss, for the men the sword" which originally ran: "For the men the sword, for the women the whip."[5][13] Of his role in the creation of Top Hat, Taylor recalled that with Sandrich and Berlin he shared "a kind of childlike excitement. The whole style of the picture can be summed up in the word inconsequentiality. When I left RKO a year later, Mark said to me, 'You will never again see so much of yourself on the screen.'"[5][14] On the film's release, the script was panned by many critics, who alleged it was merely a rewrite of The Gay Divorcee.[10]

Musical score and orchestration

[edit]

This was composer Irving Berlin's first complete film score since 1930 and he negotiated a unique contract, retaining the copyrights to the score with a guarantee of ten percent of the profits if the film earned in excess of $1,250,000.[10] Eight songs from the original score were discarded as they were not considered to advance the film's plot.[10] One of these, "Get Thee Behind Me, Satan", was also used in Follow the Fleet (1936). All five songs eventually selected became major hits and, in the September 28, 1935 broadcast of Your Hit Parade, all five featured in the top fifteen songs selected for that week.[10]

Astaire recalled how this success helped restore Berlin's flagging self-confidence. Astaire had never met Berlin before this film, although he had danced on stage to some of his tunes as early as 1915. There ensued a lifelong friendship with Berlin contributing to more Astaire films (six in total) than any other composer. Of his experience with Astaire in Top Hat Berlin wrote: "He's a real inspiration for a writer. I'd never have written Top Hat without him. He makes you feel so secure."[4]

As Berlin could not read or write music and could only pick out tunes on a specially designed piano that transposed keys automatically, he required an assistant to make up his piano parts. Hal Borne—Astaire's rehearsal pianist—performed this role in Top Hat and recalled working nights with him in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel: "Berlin went 'Heaven...' and I went dah dah dee 'I'm in Heaven' (dah-dah-dee). He said, 'I love it, put it down.'"[5] These parts were subsequently orchestrated by a team comprising Edward Powell, Maurice de Packh, Gene Rose, Eddie Sharp, and Arthur Knowlton who worked under the overall supervision of Max Steiner.[4]

Berlin broke a number of the conventions of American songwriting in this film,[further explanation needed] especially in the songs "Top Hat, White Tie and Tails" and "Cheek to Cheek",[15] and according to Rogers, the film became the talk of Hollywood as a result of its score.[15]

Set design

[edit]

In an Astaire-Rogers picture, the Big White Set—as these Art Deco-inspired creations were known—took up the largest share of the film's production costs, and Top Hat was no exception. A winding canal—spanned by two staircase bridges at one end and a flat bridge on the other—was built across two adjoining sound stages. Astaire and Rogers dance across this flat bridge in "Cheek to Cheek". Around the bend from this bridge was located the main piazza, a giant stage coated in red bakelite that was the location for "The Piccolino". This fantasy representation[16] of the Lido of Venice was on three levels comprising dance floors, restaurants and terraces, all decorated in candy-cane colors, with the canal waters dyed black. The vast Venetian interiors were similarly inauthentic, reflecting instead the latest Hollywood tastes.[17]

Carroll Clark, who worked under the general supervision of Van Nest Polglase, was the unit art director on all but one of the Astaire-Rogers films. He managed the team of designers responsible for the scenery and furnishings of Top Hat.

Wardrobe: The "feathers" incident

[edit]

Although Bernard Newman was nominally in charge of dressing the stars, Rogers was keenly interested in dress design and make-up.[18] For the "Cheek to Cheek" routine, she was determined to use her own creation: "I was determined to wear this dress, come hell or high water. And why not? It moved beautifully. Obviously, no one in the cast or crew was willing to take sides, particularly not my side. This was all right with me. I'd had to stand alone before. At least my mother was there to support me in the confrontation with the entire front office, plus Fred Astaire and Mark Sandrich."[19]

Due to the enormous labor involved in sewing each ostrich feather to the dress, Astaire—who normally approved his partner's gowns and suggested modifications if necessary during rehearsals—saw the dress for the first time on the day of the shoot,[20] and was horrified at the way it shed clouds of feathers at every twist and turn, recalling later: "It was like a chicken attacked by a coyote, I never saw so many feathers in my life."[21][22] According to choreographer Hermes Pan, Astaire lost his temper and yelled at Rogers, who promptly burst into tears, whereupon her mother, Lela, "came charging at him like a mother rhinoceros protecting her young."[23] An additional night's work by seamstresses resolved much of the problem; however, careful examination of the dance on film reveals feathers floating around Astaire and Rogers and lying on the dance floor.[4] Later, Astaire and Pan presented Rogers with a gold feather for her charm bracelet, and serenaded her with a ditty parodying Berlin's tune:

Feathers—I hate feathers
And I hate them so that I can hardly speak
And I never find the happiness I seek
With those chicken feathers dancing
Cheek to Cheek[10][24]

Thereafter, Astaire nicknamed Rogers "Feathers"—also a title of one of the chapters in his autobiography—and parodied his experience in a song and dance routine with Judy Garland in Easter Parade (1948).[4]

Astaire also chose and provided his own clothes. He is widely credited with influencing 20th century male fashion and, according to Forbes male fashion editor, G. Bruce Boyer, the "Isn't It a Lovely Day?" routine: "shows Astaire dressed in the style he would make famous: soft-shouldered tweed sports jacket, button-down shirt, bold striped tie, easy-cut gray flannels, silk paisley pocket square, and suede shoes. It's an extraordinarily contemporary approach to nonchalant elegance, a look Ralph Lauren and a dozen other designers still rely on more than six decades later. Astaire introduced a new style of dress that broke step with the spats, celluloid collars, and homburgs worn by aristocratic European-molded father-figure heroes."[25]

Musical numbers and choreography

[edit]

The choreography, in which Astaire was assisted by Hermes Pan, is principally concerned throughout with the possibilities of using taps to make as much noise as possible.[4] In the film, Astaire suffers from what Rogers terms an "affliction": "Every once in a while I suddenly find myself dancing." Astaire introduces the film's tap motif when he blasts a tap barrage at the somnolent members of a London Club.[4][26] There are eight musical numbers.

In the "Opening Sequence", after the RKO logo appears, Astaire, shown only from the waist down, dances onto a polished stage floor, backed by a male chorus sporting canes. On pausing his name appears. Rogers then follows suit and the two dance together as the picture dissolves to reveal a top hat. A similar concept was used in the opening sequence of The Barkleys of Broadway (1949).

The second is "No Strings (I'm Fancy Free)". On retiring to his hotel suite, Horton advises him to get married. Astaire declares his preference for bachelorhood and the song—this number was the brainchild of scriptwriter Dwight Taylor and is found in his earliest drafts—emerges naturally and in mid-sentence. Astaire sings it through twice[27] and during the last phrase leaps into a ballet jump, accompanied by leg beats, and launches into a short solo dance that builds in intensity and volume progressing from tap shuffles sur place, via traveling patterns, to rapid-fire heel jabs finishing with a carefree tour of the suite during which he beats on the furniture with his hands. On his return to the center of the room, where he noisily concentrates his tap barrage, the camera cranes down to discover Rogers in bed, awake and irritated.[28] As she makes her way upstairs, Horton fields telephone complaints from hotel management. Astaire incorporates this into his routine, first startling him with a tap burst then escorting him ostentatiously to the telephone. As Horton leaves to investigate, Astaire continues to hammer his way around the suite, during which he feigns horror at seeing his image in a mirror—a reference to his belief that the camera was never kind to his face. The routine ends as Astaire, now dancing with a statue, is interrupted by Rogers' entrance,[4] a scene which, as in The Gay Divorcee and Roberta, typifies the way in which Astaire inadvertently incurs the hostility of Rogers, only to find her attractive and wear down her resistance.[6]

In "No Strings (reprise)", Rogers, after storming upstairs to complain, returns to her room at which point Astaire, still intent on dancing, nominates himself her "sandman", sprinkling sand from a cigarette receptacle and lulling her, Horton and eventually himself to sleep with a soft and gentle sand dance, to a diminuendo reprise of the melody, in a scene which has drawn considerable admiration from dance commentators,[29] and has been the subject of affectionate screen parodies.[30]

In "Isn't This a Lovely Day (to be Caught in the Rain)", while Rogers is out riding, a thunderstorm breaks[31] and she takes shelter in a bandstand. Astaire follows her and a conversation about clouds and rainfall soon gives way to Astaire's rendering of this, one of Berlin's most prized creations. Astaire sings to Rogers' back, but the audience can see that Rogers' attitude towards him softens during the song, and the purpose of the ensuing dance is for her to communicate this change to her partner.[4] The dance is one of flirtation and, according to Mueller, deploys two choreographic devices common to the classical minuet: sequential imitation (one dancer performs a step and the other responds) and touching. Initially, the imitation is mocking in character, then becomes more of a casual exchange, and ends in a spirit of true cooperation. Until the last thirty seconds of this two and a half minute dance the pair appear to pull back from touching, then with a crook of her elbow Rogers invites Astaire in.[32] The routine, at once comic and romantic, incorporates hopping steps, tap spins with barrages, loping and dragging steps among its many innovative devices. The spirit of equality which pervades the dance is reflected in the masculinity of Rogers' clothes and in the friendly handshake they exchange at the end.[4]

For "Top Hat, White Tie and Tails", probably Astaire's most celebrated[33] tap solo, the idea for the title song came from Astaire who described to Berlin a routine he had created for the 1930 Ziegfeld Broadway flop Smiles called "Say, Young Man of Manhattan," in which he gunned down a chorus of men—which included a young Bob Hope and Larry Adler[10]—with his cane.[34] Berlin duly produced the song from his trunk and the concept of the film was then built around it. In this number Astaire had to compromise on his one-take philosophy, as Sandrich acknowledged: "We went to huge lengths to make the 'Top Hat' number look like one take, but actually it's several."[35] Astaire's remarkable ability to change the tempo within a single dance phrase is extensively featured throughout this routine and taken to extremes—as when he explodes into activity from a pose of complete quiet and vice versa.[4] This routine also marks Astaire's first use of a cane as a prop in one of his filmed dances.[36] The number opens with a chorus strutting and lunging in front of a backdrop of a Parisian street scene. They make way for Astaire who strides confidently to the front of the stage and delivers the song, which features the famous line: "I'm stepping out, my dear, to breathe an atmosphere that simply reeks with class," trading the occasional tap barrage with the chorus as he sings. The dance begins with Astaire and chorus moving in step. Astaire soon lashes out with a swirling tap step and the chorus responds timidly before leaving the stage in a sequence of overlapping, direction-shifting, hitch steps and walks. In the first part of the solo which follows, Astaire embarks on a circular tap movement, embellished with cane taps into which he mixes a series of unpredictable pauses. As the camera retreats the lights dim and, in the misterioso passage which follows, Astaire mimes a series of stances, ranging from overt friendliness, wariness, surprise to watchful readiness and jaunty confidence.[4] Jimmy Cagney attended the shooting of this scene and advised Astaire, who claims to have ad-libbed much of this section.[37] The chorus then returns in a threatening posture, and Astaire proceeds to dispatch them all, using an inventive series of actions miming the cane's use as a gun, a submachine gun, a rifle and, finally, a bow and arrow.[38]

The final supported backbend—Astaire and Rogers in the climax to "Cheek to Cheek"

Astaire's first seduction of Rogers in "Isn't This a Lovely Day," falls foul of the mistaken-identity theme of the plot, so he makes a second attempt, encouraged by Broderick, in the number "Cheek to Cheek". As in "No Strings," the song emerges from Astaire's mid-sentence as he dances with the hesitant Rogers on a crowded floor. Berlin wrote the words and music to this enduring classic in one day, and, at 72 measures, it is the longest song he ever wrote.[10] He was very appreciative of Astaire's treatment of the song: "The melody keeps going up and up. He crept up there. It didn't make a damned bit of difference. He made it."[4] As he navigates through this difficult material, Rogers looks attracted and receptive and, at the end of the song, they dance cheek to cheek across a bridge to a deserted ballroom area nearby. According to Mueller's analysis, the duet that follows—easily the most famous of all the Astaire-Rogers partnered dances[39]—reflects the complexity of the emotional situation in which the pair find themselves. No longer flirting, as in "Isn't This a Lovely Day?," the pair are now in love. But Rogers feels guilty and deceived and would prefer to avoid Astaire's advances—in effect, fall out of love with him. Therefore, Astaire's purpose here is to make her put aside her misgivings (which are a mystery to him) and surrender completely to him. The choreographic device introduced to reflect the progress of this seduction is the supported backbend, exploiting Rogers' exceptionally flexible back. The main dance begins with the first of two brief passages which reuse the device of sequential imitation introduced in "Isn't This a Lovely Day?". The pair spin and lean, dodging back and forth past each other before moving into a standard ballroom position where the first hints of the supported backbend are introduced. The first backbend occurs at the end of a sequence where Astaire sends Rogers into a spin, collects her upstage and maneuvers her into a linked-arm stroll forward, repeats the spin but this time encircles her while she turns and then takes her in his arms. As the music becomes more energetic, the dancers flow across the floor and Rogers, moving against the music, suddenly falls into a deeper backbend, which is then repeated, only deeper still. The music now transitions to a quiet recapitulation of the main melody during which the pair engage in a muted and tender partnering, and here the second passage involving sequential imitation appears. With the music reaching its grand climax Astaire and Rogers rush toward the camera, then away in a series of bold, dramatic manoeuvers culminating in three ballroom lifts which showcase Rogers' dress[40] before abruptly coming to a halt in a final, deepest backbend, maintained as the music approaches its closing bars. They rise, and after a couple of turns dancing cheek to cheek for the first time since the dance began, come to rest next to a wall. Rogers, having conducted the dance in a state of dreamlike abandon now glances uneasily at Astaire before walking away, as if reminded that their relationship cannot proceed.[6][41]

By now, Rogers has learned Astaire's true identity although neither of them yet know that her impulsive marriage to Rhodes is null and void. Dining together during carnival night in Venice, and to help assuage her guilt, Astaire declares: "Let's eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we have to face him," which serves as the cue for the music of "The Piccolino", the film's big production number. A gondola parade is followed by the entry of a dancing chorus who perform a series of ballroom poses and rippling-pattern routines choreographed by Hermes Pan. Berlin, who lavished a great deal of effort on the song[42] designed it as a pastiche of "The Carioca" from Flying Down to Rio (1933) and "The Continental" from The Gay Divorcee (1934),[43] and the lyric communicates its fake origin: "It was written by a Latin/A gondolier who sat in/his home out in Brooklyn/and gazed at the stars."[5] It is a song about a song[44] and Rogers sings it to Astaire[45] after which an off-camera chorus repeats it while the dance ensemble is photographed, Busby Berkeley-style, from above. The camera then switches to Rogers and Astaire who bound down to the stage to perform a two-minute dance—all shot in one take—with the Astaire-Pan choreography separately referencing the basic melody and the Latin vamp in the accompaniment.[4] They dance to the accompaniment as they descend the steps and glide along the dance floor, then, when the melody enters, they halt and perform the Piccolino step, which involves the feet darting out to the side of the body. The rest of the dance involves repetitions and variations of the Piccolino step and the hopping steps associated with the vamp, leading to some complex amalgamations of the two. On the vamp melody's final appearance, the dancers perform a highly embellished form of the Piccolino step as they travel sideways back to their table, sinking back into their chairs and lifting their glasses in a toast.[4]

"The Piccolino (reprise)": After the various parties confront each other in the bridal suite, with Rogers' "marriage" to Rhodes revealed as performed by a fake clergyman, the scene is set for Astaire and Rogers to dance into the sunset, which they duly do, in this fragment of a much longer duet—the original was cut after the July 1935 previews—but not before they parade across the Venetian set and reprise the Piccolino step.

Reception

[edit]

Box office

[edit]

The film opened at Radio City Music Hall in New York on August 29, 1935[46] and set a house record with a gross of $134,800 in its first week.[47] Twenty-five policemen were deployed to control the crowds.[48] In its 3 weeks at the Music Hall, it grossed $350,000.[49] Overall, the film earned rentals of $1,782,000 in the US and Canada and $1,420,000 elsewhere. RKO made a profit of $1,325,000, making it the studio's most profitable film of the 1930s.[3]

It was the 4th most popular film at the British box office in 1935–36.[50]

Critical response

[edit]

Reviews for Top Hat were mainly positive. The Los Angeles Evening Herald Express praised the film, exclaiming "Top Hat is the tops! With Fred Astaire dancing and singing Irving Berlin tunes! Well, one (in his right mind) couldn't ask for much more—unless, of course, it could be a couple of encores." The New York Times praised the film's musical numbers, but criticized the storyline, describing it as "a little on the thin side," but also stating that "it is sprightly enough to plug those inevitable gaps between the shimmeringly gay dances."Top Hat" is worth standing in line for. From the appearance of the lobby yesterday afternoon, you probably will have to."[51]

Variety also singled out the storyline as well as the cast, stating "the danger sign is in the story and cast. Substitute Alice Brady for Helen Broderick and it's the same lineup of players as was in The Gay Divorcée. Besides which the situations in the two scripts parallel each other closely". Nevertheless, it concluded that Top Hat was a film "one can't miss".[52]

Writing for The Spectator in 1935, Graham Greene gave the film a generally positive review, describing the film as "a vehicle for Fred Astaire's genius", and noting that Astaire's performance eliminated any concern over the fact that "the music and lyrics are bad" or that Astaire "has to act with human beings [who cannot match] his freedom, lightness, and happiness".[53]

As of 2022, the review aggregator website Rotten Tomatoes reported that the film had a 100% "fresh" approval rating based on 42 reviews, with an average rating of 8.70/10. The website's critical consensus reads, "A glamorous and enthralling depression-era diversion, Top Hat is nearly flawless, with acrobatics by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers that make the hardest physical stunts seem light as air."[54]

Awards and honors

[edit]

The film was nominated for the Oscar for Best Picture, as well as Art Direction (Carroll Clark and Van Nest Polglase), Original Song (Irving Berlin for "Cheek to Cheek"), and Dance Direction (Hermes Pan for "Piccolino" and "Top Hat").[55] In 1990, Top Hat was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant".[56] The film ranked number 15 on the 2006 American Film Institute's list of best musicals.[57]

The February 2020 issue of New York Magazine lists Top Hat as among "The Best Movies That Lost Best Picture at the Oscars."[58]

[edit]

Top Hat has been nostalgically referenced—particularly its "Cheek to Cheek" segment—in many films, including The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985),[59] The English Patient (1996),[60] The Green Mile (1999),[61] La La Land (2016)[62] and the animated film The Boss Baby (2017). Top Hat's movie poster appeared in Stephen Chow's movie Kung Fu Hustle. British-Irish singer-songwriter Chris de Burgh referenced the movie in his 1986 hit, "The Lady in Red", wherein he and the eponymous lady in the song danced "Cheek to Cheek."

The film is the namesake for the seventh episode of the DC Studios miniseries The Penguin, a spin-off of the 2022 film The Batman. In the episode, a young Oz Cobb and his mother Francis watch the film in a flashback. In the present, Francis is kidnapped by Oz's rival Sofia Gigante, who she tells that she believes Oz will kill her, and when he does, "[she'll] be tap dancing on [her] grave like Ginger fuckin' Rogers".

Stage adaptation

[edit]

The film has been adapted into a stage musical that began touring the UK during late 2011. The cast included Summer Strallen as Dale, Tom Chambers as Jerry and Martin Ball as Horace. The show opened at Milton Keynes Theatre on August 19, 2011, before touring to other UK regional theatres including Leeds, Birmingham and Edinburgh. The production transferred to the West End's Aldwych Theatre on April 19, 2012, opening on May 9, 2012.[63] It won three Olivier Awards in 2013, including for Best New Musical.

Home media

[edit]

In 2003, a digitally restored version of Top Hat was released separately, and as part of The Fred and Ginger Collection, Vol. 1 from Universal Studios, which controls the rights to the RKO Astaire-Rogers pictures in the UK. In both releases, the film features an introduction by Ava Astaire McKenzie.

In 2005, a digitally restored version of Top Hat, different from the Region 2 restoration, was released on Region 1 DVD separately and as part of The Astaire & Rogers Collection, Vol.1 from Warner Home Video. In both cases, the film features a commentary by Astaire's daughter, Ava Astaire McKenzie, and Larry Billman, author of Fred Astaire, a Bio-bibliography.[64]

See also

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References

[edit]
[edit]
Revisions and contributorsEdit on WikipediaRead on Wikipedia
from Grokipedia
The top hat is a tall, cylindrical hat featuring a flat crown and narrow, slightly curled brim, traditionally constructed from beaver felt or silk plush and emblematic of formal male attire since the late 18th century. Originating in Britain around 1793 with early silk versions by hatter George Dunnage and popularized by John Hetherington's 1797 public appearance, which reportedly caused a sensation in London, the style supplanted earlier tricorn and bicorn hats as a marker of sophistication and status. By the 19th century, top hats became ubiquitous for gentlemen in urban settings, business, and evening dress, often paired with frock coats or tailcoats, though their production involved hazardous mercury processing of fur felts, contributing to the occupational affliction known as "mad as a hatter." Peaking in the Victorian era as a near-universal male accessory, their use declined post-World War I with shifting fashions toward softer hats like fedoras, yet they persist in ceremonial contexts such as weddings, horse racing at Royal Ascot, and white-tie events. Notable wearers include Abraham Lincoln, whose distinctive stovepipe variant symbolized American statesmanship, and Winston Churchill, evoking imperial resolve.

Terminology

Etymology and Variations in Naming

The term "" originated in English in the mid-19th century, referring to the hat's distinctive tall, cylindrical crown topped by a flat brim. It is a shortening of "high-top hat," emphasizing the height of the crown relative to earlier hat styles like the or bicorn. The earliest recorded use of "" dates to 1864, though the style itself emerged in the late 18th century. Prior to widespread adoption of "top hat," the style was known by various names reflecting its shape, material, or cultural associations. In the early 19th century, it was commonly called a "beaver hat" due to its construction from felted beaver fur, prized for durability and sheen. American usage often favored "stovepipe hat," evoking the hat's resemblance to a chimney pipe, a term popularized by figures like Abraham Lincoln in the 1860s. Other colloquial English names included "chimney-pot hat," "cylinder hat," and "tile," the latter alluding to the crown's flat, glossy top resembling ceramic. In , equivalents emphasized the cylindrical form, such as the French " claque" for collapsible variants or simply "cylindre," while in German-speaking regions it was termed "Zylinder." These variations persisted into the , with " hat" or "dress hat" denoting the later silk-plush versions used in formal attire, distinguishing them from fur predecessors. Regional and class-based naming reflected material shifts, as fur declined due to overhunting by the 1830s, leading to alternatives.

Historical Development

Origins in the Late 18th and Early 19th Centuries

The top hat developed in the late 18th century as a taller, more cylindrical successor to earlier European men's hats, including the tricorne and bicorne styles that had dominated since the 17th and 18th centuries. These predecessors featured curved brims and lower crowns suited to military and formal attire, but shifting fashion toward streamlined Regency aesthetics favored vertical height and simplicity, reflecting broader trends in men's clothing that emphasized clean lines over ornamentation. Early top hats retained beaver fur felt as the primary material, prized for its durability and glossy finish after processing through matting, boiling, and buffing. The earliest verifiable silk top hat dates to approximately 1793, produced by London hatter George Dunnage of Middlesex, marking a shift from fur to silk plush for a smoother, more reflective surface. A widely circulated but likely apocryphal tale attributes the hat's public debut to haberdasher John Hetherington, who on January 15, 1797, reportedly wore a tall, beaver-felt "stovepipe" model through London's streets, inciting panic—women fainted, children screamed, and authorities fined him £50 for breach of the peace. This narrative, first detailed in late 19th-century periodicals, exaggerates the hat's novelty for dramatic effect and does not align with evidence of pre-existing prototypes; Dunnage's work predates it, and similar tall hats appeared in French fashion plates by the 1790s. By the early 19th century, particularly during Britain's Regency period (circa 1811–1820), the top hat transitioned from curiosity to staple under the influence of dandy George "Beau" Brummell, whose advocacy for understated elegance elevated it as essential daytime among the and emerging . Brummell's popularized variations with slightly conical crowns and curled brims, often in or felt, paired with tailcoats and in rejection of powdered wigs and . spread across and America, with showing top hats in Milanese uprisings by 1848, underscoring their in signaling and status amid industrialization.

Peak Adoption and Standardization in the 19th Century

During the 19th century, the top hat achieved widespread adoption among men of the upper and middle classes in Europe and North America, evolving from an emerging style in the late 18th century to a near-ubiquitous symbol of respectability and professional status. By the 1840s, it had become the definitive hat for the bourgeois man, signifying wealth and social standing in urban settings. This surge in popularity coincided with the Industrial Revolution, where the hat's tall, structured form projected an image of industriousness and elevation above manual laborers, who typically wore softer caps. Standardization of the top hat's design occurred progressively through the Victorian era, with the silk plush version—introduced around 1804—gaining dominance by the mid-century due to its glossy finish and durability, supplanting costlier beaver felt amid depleting wildlife populations. Crown heights stabilized at approximately 4 to 6 inches, with flat tops and curled brims, as manufacturers like those in Pennsylvania refined production techniques to meet mass demand. The hat paired routinely with frock coats and morning dress for business and formal occasions, embedding it in daily attire for professionals, politicians, and gentlemen from roughly 1806 onward. Notable figures such as engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel and U.S. President Abraham Lincoln exemplified this, with Lincoln's distinctive stovepipe variant becoming iconic during the American Civil War era around 1862. Peak adoption materialized in the 1860s through 1880s, when the top hat transcended elite circles to represent middle-class aspiration amid urbanization and economic expansion, worn even by revolutionaries in events like the 1848 Milan uprising against Austrian rule. British etiquette guides and fashion plates reinforced its role as the "most popular style of headwear for men," essential for signaling propriety in public life. Production scaled accordingly, with London and Philadelphia hubs exporting standardized models globally, though critiques emerged by the late century over its impracticality in wet weather and head constriction. This era marked the zenith before softer hats like bowlers encroached on everyday use.

Decline and Adaptation in the 20th Century

In the early 20th century, the top hat's role in everyday and business attire diminished as men's fashion shifted toward more casual and practical styles, including softer hats like fedoras and bowlers that better suited the lounge suit replacing the frock coat. The widespread adoption of automobiles further accelerated this decline, as the low roofs and open-air designs of early cars made tall, rigid top hats prone to damage and inconvenient for daily transport. By the 1920s, top hats were increasingly relegated to specific formal contexts rather than general urban wear. The and exacerbated the trend, with post-1945 modernization and a broader casualization of dress codes rendering top hats obsolete for most men outside elite or ceremonial settings. Changing grooming habits, including the rise of hair styling products that reduced the "hat hair" issue, also contributed to the abandonment of headwear altogether among younger generations. By the , the countercultural rejection of traditional formality had nearly eliminated top hats from public life, except in preserved niches. Despite the decline, top hats adapted as enduring symbols of high formality, retained in dress codes such as and for events like weddings, state funerals, and equestrian gatherings including Royal Ascot. Figures like continued wearing them into the 1910s for official portraits, underscoring their persistence among political and aristocratic elites. Manufacturers like Knox Hats promoted them through advertising as late as 1915, targeting remaining formal markets. This adaptation ensured the top hat's survival in specialized ceremonial roles, even as broader fashion trends favored simplicity and comfort.

Persistence and Niche Uses in the 21st Century

Despite its near-total eclipse from daily and broad formal attire by the early 21st century, the top hat endures in select ceremonial and institutional roles, preserving its association with formality and tradition. Primary among these is its mandated use at elite social events, where it complements prescribed dress codes emphasizing historical continuity. At Royal Ascot, the premier British horse racing meeting, men in the Royal Enclosure must wear a black or grey top hat with morning dress, a stipulation upheld in official guidelines as of 2025. This requirement, relaxed slightly in other enclosures since 2021, reinforces the event's status as a bastion of aristocratic sartorial norms, drawing thousands annually to observe the practice. In Freemasonry, top hats remain a ceremonial accoutrement for presiding officers, such as the Worshipful Master, during lodge proceedings in the United States and affiliated bodies. Styles vary, including black or white variants, but the hat symbolizes authority and is worn while the lodge is in session, a custom persisting without formal mandate but rooted in longstanding ritual. Formal weddings represent another niche, where grooms and ushers occasionally adopt silk or fur top hats to convey refined elegance, particularly in traditional or vintage-themed ceremonies. This usage, though not ubiquitous, aligns with the hat's historical ties to matrimonial formality, as noted in contemporary haberdashery advice favoring glossy silk for daytime events. The Punxsutawney Groundhog Club's annual Groundhog Day observance on February 2 perpetuates the top hat through its Inner Circle, a group of organizers clad in tuxedos and top hats who handle the groundhog Punxsutawney Phil's weather prediction ritual. This folk tradition, amplified by media since the 1993 film Groundhog Day, continues to feature the hats as markers of the event's whimsical yet enduring pageantry, with festivities drawing visitors each winter.

Design and Materials

Core Structural Features

The top hat is defined by its rigid, tall cylindrical crown with straight vertical sides and a flat, oval top, distinguishing it from creased or tapered crowns in other hat styles. The crown typically measures 14 to 16 cm in height for standard formal wear, though historical examples from the mid-19th century could reach 20 cm. Attached at the base of the crown is a narrow, stiff brim, usually 5 to 7 cm wide, with edges often slightly curled upward for aesthetic and structural integrity. This brim projects horizontally, providing minimal shade while emphasizing the hat's vertical silhouette. The junction between crown and brim forms a sharp, perpendicular angle, reinforced during construction to prevent sagging. Rigidity is achieved through the hat's foundational material—traditionally fur-felt or silk plush—formed over wooden blocks and stiffened with shellac or modern chemical agents applied to the felt body. This process ensures the crown maintains its precise cylindrical form and the brim its flat profile under wear. A leather sweatband lines the interior base of the crown for fit and moisture absorption, while an optional silk liner covers the inner crown surface. A grosgrain or silk hatband encircles the crown's lower edge, concealing the seam and adding decoration without altering core structure.

Construction Methods and Materials

Top hats traditionally consist of a stiff, tall cylindrical crown and a flat, upturned brim, formed from a felt body that provides structural rigidity. Historically, the body was crafted from beaver fur felt, derived from pelts processed through felting techniques involving matting, pummeling, and boiling to create a durable, waterproof material prized for its natural luster and water resistance. This felt was sourced primarily from North American beaver pelts until the 1830s, when overhunting led to scarcity and higher costs, prompting a shift away from beaver as the primary material. By the mid-19th century, construction increasingly involved covering or stiffened fabric shell with —applied over for added stiffness and gloss. The process began with blocking the felt hood (a pre-formed conical piece) on wooden molds to shape the crown and brim, followed by trimming, stiffening, and meticulously easing the covering to align seams without wrinkles, often requiring hand-sewing for precision. was sewn inside for fit, and bound the brim edge. production, concentrated in French mills, ceased in 1968 with the closure of the last factory, rendering authentic toppers reliant on vintage stock today. In contemporary manufacturing, top hats are predominantly made from fur felt derived from rabbit or hare fur, or specialized long-fiber wool felts like Melusine for a silk-like sheen, offering greater durability than historical silk versions. The hood is softened by steaming or misting with water to reactivate stiffeners, then blocked using heat, pressure, and wooden or aluminum forms—often by hand for bespoke pieces—to form the crown (typically 4-6 inches tall) and brim (2-3 inches wide). Post-blocking, the hat cools to set the shape, the brim is trimmed, and components like the satin or leather lining, leather sweatband, and decorative ribbon are hand-attached, with final brushing to enhance gloss. High-end examples may incorporate beaver felt for superior quality, though ethical and supply constraints limit its use.

Collapsible Opera Hats

Collapsible opera hats, also known as gibus hats or chapeau claque, represent a specialized variant of the top hat engineered for compactness. These hats feature a spring-loaded mechanism that allows the crown to fold flat against the brim, enabling easy storage in tight spaces like theater seats or cloakrooms. The design addressed the impracticality of rigid top hats in crowded evening venues, where gentlemen required formal headwear without the bulk. The invention is attributed to French hatmaker Antoine Gibus, who developed the prototype around 1812 and secured a patent for the "chapeau mécanique" in Paris on November 30, 1837. This mechanism utilized hinged metal ribs or hoops within the crown, connected to springs that permitted manual compression and expansion with a distinctive snapping action—hence the French term "chapeau claque," evoking the clacking sound upon opening or closing. Gibus's innovation quickly gained traction in Europe, with production centering in Paris and London, where early prototypes emerged before the formal patent. Typically constructed from black or over a lightweight frame, opera hats maintained the cylindrical shape and flat brim of standard top hats when extended, measuring approximately 4-5 inches in height. The interior often included sweatbands and linings for comfort, while the collapsible feature relied on concealed springs to ensure rapid deployment—essential for quick donning during intermissions or . By the mid-19th century, these hats became de rigueur for formal attendance, as evidenced by surviving examples from manufacturers like Knox of New York, which produced versions into the late 1800s. Their popularity peaked during the , aligning with the rigid dress codes of urban nightlife, but waned in the 20th century alongside the general decline of top hats in everyday . Nonetheless, collapsible opera hats persisted in niche applications, including performances and historical reenactments, with modern reproductions employing similar spring systems for durability. Antique specimens, such as those held by the , demonstrate the hat's evolution from utilitarian accessory to collectible artifact.

Other Formal Hat Derivatives

The homburg hat emerged in the late 19th century as a structured felt hat featuring a curled brim, a flat crown with a central crease, and a stiff construction, serving as a transitional formal option between the rigid top hat and softer fedoras. Popularized by Edward VII after acquiring one during a visit to Bad Homburg in 1897, it offered a slightly less ceremonial profile suitable for daytime business or diplomatic attire while retaining associations with upper-class formality. By the mid-20th century, the homburg had gained prominence in formal daywear, exemplified by its adoption by figures like Dwight D. Eisenhower at his 1953 inauguration, where it replaced the traditional top hat. The bowler hat, also known as the derby in the United States, developed concurrently in 1849 when hatters Thomas and William Bowler crafted a low-crowned, rounded, hard-felt design initially for gamekeepers needing head protection during hunts, diverging from the top hat's tall cylinder through its compact, resilient form. Though originating as a practical alternative for rural and working-class use, it transitioned into urban formal wear by the late 19th century, particularly in British city professions like banking and clerking, where its durability suited protective needs without the top hat's ostentation. In formal contexts, such as with lounge suits or frock coats, the bowler provided a standardized, less elite symbol of respectability, remaining viable into the early 20th century before broader casualization of menswear. These derivatives reflected adaptations to practicality and , with the homburg emphasizing refined creases for a polished and the bowler prioritizing rounded reinforcement against impacts, both influencing subsequent formal in Western professional spheres.

Cultural and Social Significance

Symbolism of Status and

The top emerged as a key emblem of and elite in the , particularly within Victorian Britain and the , where it distinguished gentlemen from lower classes through its association with formal attire like coats and tailcoats. Crafted from costly materials such as plush or felt, the hat's production demanded skilled labor and expense, rendering it accessible primarily to those of means; a glossy, impeccably maintained top hat thus signaled prosperity and upward mobility, while a worn example denoted decline. In spheres of power, including politics and business, the top hat reinforced authority; Members of who deviated from this norm, such as by wearing flat caps, faced ridicule, as seen in 1898 press accounts critiquing non-conformity in the . It embodied hegemonic tied to rational discipline and restraint, contrasting sharply with the casual headwear of laborers and symbolizing elite men's public dominance. Prominent figures like popularized the stovepipe variant—a taller top hat form—during the era, linking it enduringly to leadership and resolve in national crises. This symbolism persisted into the early among industrialists and statesmen, though its exclusivity waned with broader of ; nonetheless, the top hat retained connotations of patriarchal command, as evidenced by its role in defining respectable manhood against egalitarian shifts.

Roles in Ceremonies, Organizations, and Events

In equestrian events such as Royal Ascot, top hats form an integral part of the prescribed morning dress code for male attendees in the Royal Enclosure, where grey or black fur felt variants are worn with tailcoats to maintain formal tradition dating back to the event's establishment in 1711 by Queen Anne. This attire enforces a strict dress protocol enforced by stewards, with top hats required alongside striped trousers and waistcoats to signify respect for the monarchy and racing heritage. Top hats appear in select wedding ceremonies under white tie or morning dress protocols, particularly for grooms, fathers of the bride, or ushers in British-influenced formal settings, where silk or felt models complement tailcoats for outdoor or morning services. Their use has declined since the mid-20th century but persists in high-society or themed nuptials emphasizing historical elegance, as evidenced by custom orders from specialist hatters. Within , the Worshipful Master of a lodge dons a during meetings and processions to symbolize authoritative leadership, evoking King Solomon's crown as a marker of rank and command over proceedings. This practice traces to 18th-century Continental influences, where the hat's height and form denote hierarchy, with only the presiding officer entitled to wear it indoors, reinforcing structure. Variations include wool felt models sized from medium to extra-large for lodge-specific . In academic contexts, such as at or Universities, top hats accompany tailcoats in student processions for or ceremonial events, upholding subfusc traditions that blend 19th-century formality with institutional identity. For funerals, top hats have historically suited pallbearers or in Anglican or state services, paired with coats to convey , though their prevalence waned post-World War II amid simplified mourning attire. Contemporary instances remain rare, confined to aristocratic or military honors funerals adhering to pre-1940s protocols.

Representations in Literature, Media, and Arts

In literature, the top hat often served as a marker of Victorian-era gentility and eccentricity, notably in Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (1865), where the Mad Hatter's oversized, tag-adorned top hat underscores themes of absurdity and social inversion amid formal attire. In Charles Dickens's works, such as Pickwick Papers (1836–1837), characters like Mr. Pickwick wear top hats to signify middle-class respectability, reflecting the garment's role in 19th-century British social satire. In film and television, top hats evoke elegance and archetype, as in the 1935 RKO musical Top Hat, where Fred Astaire's character dons one in choreography sequences like "No Strings (I'm Fancy Free)," cementing its association with sophisticated romance and tapping routines that influenced subsequent depictions. The accessory recurs in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971), with Gene Wilder's portrayal featuring a velvet top hat as a prop for whimsy and authority in the titular character's fantastical world. In The Greatest Showman (2017), P.T. Barnum's top hat symbolizes entrepreneurial ambition and showmanship, passed as a heirloom to represent authenticity amid spectacle. Visual arts leveraged the top hat for portraits of modernity and class, with Vincent van Gogh's Old Man with a Top Hat (c. 1882) depicting a Hague almshouse resident in modest attire, highlighting everyday utility over ostentation for working-class subjects. Félix Vallotton's The Top Hat (Interior or The Visit) (1897) uses the hat in a domestic scene to convey restrained realism and social interaction in post-Impressionist style. Politically, cartoonists employed it as shorthand for capitalism and elitism, as in 19th-century satires critiquing industrialists, where the tall silhouette denoted detached authority. Across media, the top hat persists as a capitalist emblem, exemplified by Planters' Mr. Peanut mascot (debuted 1916), whose monocle-top-hat ensemble caricatures refined enterprise in advertising. Magicians' routines, from 19th-century stage acts onward, ritualize it for illusions like rabbit production, blending formality with deception in performing arts.

Criticisms, Practical Limitations, and Health Concerns

Impracticality and Social Critiques

The top hat's pronounced height and rigid cylindrical form posed significant practical challenges for daily use, rendering it ill-suited to active pursuits or inclement weather. Its elevated crown, often exceeding 6 inches (15 cm), made it vulnerable to dislodgement in windy conditions or crowded thoroughfares, as the lack of a secure grip or tie-down mechanism allowed easy displacement during movement. Silk variants, predominant from the mid-19th century onward, were particularly susceptible to , requiring owners to carry protective covers or avoid entirely, while felt versions demanded meticulous brushing to maintain shape and luster. Storage and portability further compounded these issues; unlike softer hats such as bowlers, top hats resisted compression, necessitating dedicated hat boxes or shelves that occupied considerable space in homes or vehicles, impractical for the average urban dweller by the early . Production intricacies, including labor-intensive steaming, blocking, and finishing processes—historically involving fur felting until silk's dominance around 1850—elevated costs, limiting accessibility and reinforcing its ceremonial rather than utilitarian role. These factors contributed to its phased obsolescence in favor of lower-profile alternatives like the homburg or , which better accommodated evolving lifestyles, including the advent of enclosed automobiles with restricted headroom post-1910s. Socially, the top hat drew critiques as an ostentatious marker of class stratification, emblematic of bourgeois excess amid industrial-era inequities. By the 1840s, its ubiquity among the affluent—spurred by endorsements from figures like Prince Albert—prompted satirical depictions in periodicals portraying wearers as vain dandies detached from laboring realities, such as in Punch magazine caricatures lampooning top-hatted gentlemen evading social responsibilities. Reformist voices, including those in early labor publications, condemned it as a wasteful luxury symbolizing inherited privilege, particularly as beaver-derived models consumed vast fur resources—up to 20-30 pelts per hat—while workers faced subsistence wages. Post-World War I egalitarian shifts amplified these reproaches, with the hat's association with prewar aristocracy evoking resentment in a democratizing society wary of visible opulence; fashion historians note its deliberate rejection in interwar casual attire as a rebuke to "old money" aesthetics amid economic upheaval. Such sentiments, echoed in cultural analyses, underscore how the top hat's formality clashed with rising meritocratic ideals, hastening its confinement to niche rituals. The production of traditional top hats, particularly those made from fur felt in the 19th century, involved significant occupational health risks due to the use of mercury compounds in the felting process. Hatters applied mercurous nitrate—a form of mercury—to or fur pelts to separate the hairs and facilitate matting into felt, a step essential for creating the durable, glossy material prized for top hats. This chemical treatment, introduced in the and widespread by the 1800s, generated toxic mercury vapors during the "carroting" stage, where pelts were brushed, steamed, and dried in poorly ventilated workshops. Chronic exposure led to , a characterized by tremors, irritability, memory loss, slurred speech, and hallucinations, which contributed to the "." Symptoms often mimicked intoxication or , delaying recognition of the cause until medical investigations in the mid-19th century linked them to mercury and absorption. Beaver fur, sourced from North American pelts and dominant in top hat production until the 1850s, amplified these dangers due to its density requiring intensive processing, with hatters working in confined spaces exacerbating fume accumulation. Mortality rates among hatmakers were elevated; for instance, British records from the era documented widespread debility, with some workers experiencing tooth loss and kidney damage from prolonged contact. Even finished hats retained residual mercury, posing secondary risks to wearers through skin contact or degradation, though primarily affecting producers. Regulatory responses were slow; U.S. and European bans on mercury in hatmaking emerged only in the early 20th century, after alternatives like synthetic fibers reduced reliance on fur felting. In modern top hat manufacturing, which shifted to silk plush or synthetic materials post-1940s, mercury hazards have been eliminated, but vestigial risks persist in niche fur-based production, including exposure to dyes, adhesives, and solvents during assembly. Bleaching and dyeing processes for remaining fur variants can involve chromates or formaldehyde, potentially causing dermatitis or respiratory irritation without proper ventilation, though industry standards now mandate protective equipment to mitigate these. Overall, contemporary hazards are far less severe than historical ones, with no documented outbreaks akin to mercury erethism since the decline of traditional methods.

References

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